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“Easier,” I supplied, leaning into his palm and trying not to shudder at the warmth of him. He nodded, expression solemn, pained as he continued that steady stroke over my cheek.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice tight. “It is.”

“I deserved your anger, Cyrus.”

“Maybe. But not any more than I deserve yours.”

“Your mother⁠—”

“Was a monster.” His eyes went glassy, fingers tightening on mine. “My monster, at least.”

“Still your mother.”

“Still my mother,” he agreed, dropping his eyes as his jaw tightened. I summoned the bowl of sweets from his dresser, earning a chuff of humor as I fished one out and handed it over. He released me to catch it, expression pinched as he unwrapped one. The stubborn ass hissed as he flared his wings to prop himself on his elbows, muscled chest rippling with effort. “Your idea of a peace offering?”

I shrugged. “I can do better.”

“Food’s a decent starting ground.”

“Like luring in a stray cat,” I said with a saccharine smile.

“Look who’s talking.” He held the strawberry candy up to me. When I reached for it, he smirked and pulled it back with a serrated chuckle—the sound like warmth breaking through a suffocating winter. I wanted to capture it. Tuck it aside for rainy days. For days he remembered why I was his nightmare.

Holding his amused stare, I leaned forward, crushed my ego, and let the man feed me, even as the beautiful idiot grimaced with the effort of it. I closed my lips over his fingers, relishing the shiver that shot through him, his eyes closing. Snatching his wrist, I pressed my lips to each of his knuckles before at last leaning back.

“Wicked little demon creature,” he accused, eyes narrowing. I just winked at him, and he shook his head. “My wicked little demon though.”

Pretty sure words wouldn’t be strong enough to form, I nodded, peeled open a second candy, and held it out in offering. He took it, popping it into his mouth while he studied me like he was dissecting my intentions.

“Can you behave yourself long enough to let me get some shit off my chest?” When I nodded, he tucked the candy into his cheek. “You wield truth like a weapon. It’s a gift I admired before it was my family’s betrayals you upended. It’s taken time—is still taking time—for me to reconcile… everything. Her. Her part in your misery. My father. The Bond. Everything I thought we stood for. I… I’m not… goddammit.” He flopped back onto the bed, scrubbing both hands over his face.

“You don’t⁠—”

“I do, though,” he complained, words muffled behind his hands. “Because you were gonna choose that slimy little worm because I don’t know how to… I’m trying to…”

“Vocalize?”

“Christ, yes. Why is it so fucking hard?”

“That’s what she said.”

He leveled me with a glare, but the effect was ruined when his lips quivered and he shook his head before sucking down a breath. “Child.”

“Pot. Kettle.”

His smirk broadened. “Maybe that’s why fate thought we’d fit.”

“I thought it was our dashing good looks, and dazzling personalities.”

He snorted, smiling more to himself than to me. I stole it anyway, tucking it close to my chest. “Words no one has ever uttered about us in five hundred years, Freya.”

I grinned. “Speak for yourself. I’m delightful.”

“And psychotic.”

“Please. You love my propensity for bloodshed. And you secretly find me charming.”

“Sometimes.”