Page 55 of On Burning Paths

I startle so hard the bowl nearly slips from my hands. In all the time I've known him, I'm not sure I've ever heard that sound from him, full and unguarded, and I feel a smile break across my own face.

"Oh, fuck," Talon says, leaning sideways into the demi-god. "Rian here is already wasted."

Thorian pulls himself back into a scowl and shoves Talon off with one arm. "I am not." He looks at me. "You don't like it?"

I look at the bowl again and take a more considered sip. "It's much sweeter than I expected."

"Yes," Thorian says. "The gods like their drink sweet."

“Pussies,” Fenric mutters, smiling and tipping his head back against the cave wall.

Talon and Thorian both start laughing again, and to my surprise, I laugh too. The concept of Fenric, a lowly berserker, calling the gods such a vulgar name is hilarious. It’s such a stark contrast to what he's normally like.

The cave darkens.

I look up. Clouds are rolling across the blood moon, thick and slow, and when they pass, the moon on the other side of them looks different. Redder. Deeper, somehow, like something has shifted in it, like it's waking up.

A shiver moves through me that has nothing to do with the cold.

They're coming soon. Whatever the blood moon calls out of the dark, whatever hunts on a night like this, it won't be long now.

“I still feel afraid,” I whisper, knowing that I’ll guide danger right to us.

"That's because you've only taken a sip, love," Talon says, letting his head loll to the side.

Taking a deep breath, I try to steady myself. Maybe it’s real or imagined, but I swear I can hear screaming in the distance.

I pinch my nose and knock back a much larger swig of the stuff. Talon whoops, and Fenric starts to clap, and a loose, goofy smile stretches over my lips.

The red light from the moon continues to filter in through the waterfall on the far side of the cave, getting deeper and deeper as time stretches on, and we continue passing around the drink. Each time I get it, it tastes a little better than the last.

“Still afraid, Nyx?” Thorian asks, his deep voice softened, his normally hard jaw a little looser than normal. I want to reach over and run my thumb along the stubble there. In fact, I want to crawl over his outstretched legs and deposit myself in his lap.

He’s stupidly attractive.

I blink rapidly, looking away from him and to Talon, who smirks back at me as though he knows what I’m thinking. That smirk is devilish. In fact, it should be illegal. And even Fenric, when I look at him, seems the most appealing version of himself.

Still shirtless under his coat, he looks genuine, earnest. His burgundy curls flop down into his face, and those eyes are more green than I’ve ever seen them. I know that if I got close to him, I’d feel his heat instantly.

Talon and Fenric: cold and hot. Thorian is stoic and dark, like a savory dish, while Talon and Fenric are bright. Talon is salty and terribly delicious, and Fenric is a sweet dish you can't get enough of. It's like a palette of flavors, or the balancing of colors on a beautiful painting.

The bowl comes around again. I take another sip and the world shifts for just a minute. Warmth surrounds me, and my muscles feel like they’re melting.

I feel… good.

I run my hand absently along my arm and my fingers catch on dried mud, a long flaking strip of it, and beneath that the ghost of the watery day at the bridge still clinging to my skin. I look down at myself. There's grime worked into my knuckles and ground into the fabric of my clothes in ways that feel permanent. The canyon. The rain. Days of all of it layered on top of each other.

Gross. I don’t want to be gross.

"I think I'm drunk," I announce, getting to my feet.

Why should I be filthy when there is water right there?

"Nyx," Thorian says, his voice rough and a little more serious when I stagger toward the pool of water. "What are you⁠—?"

I don't answer him. Instead, I find the straps of my leather top and pull them loose, letting it fall away from my body and revealing my back to the men.

This should matter, I'm aware, as they go completely still and quiet behind me. It should bother me that I'm undressing in front of them. But I like them, and I trust them, and beyond the death and grueling agony of the Trials here, the worst part has been the filth. I’m tired of being caked in dirt.