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“Come with me,” Khorli spoke, threading our fingers together as he pulled me along behind him. I didn’t know where he planned on taking me, and I didn’t care. He could lead me far away from the village and never let me return. I’d do nothing to stop him. I almost craved it. But there was nowhere in this world he could belong, and nowhere in his for me. We just weren’t meant to be, and yet here we were, stealing more moments together in the shadows.

As we strayed from the path, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. Eyes that looked at us, more accurately at me, with something far from kindness or curiosity. But as long as I was with him, I knew I’d be safe. Not even the shadows would touch him. The light that came from him was a shield around us.

3

JEREMIAH

The crisp night breeze carried the song of insects and the call of the creek. Dirt and grass turned to rocks and pebbles beneath my boots as we made it to the stream.

The further we walked—from the walls, from the altar and the bridge between our worlds—the safer I felt, until we were far enough away that no one from either of our worlds could stumble across us. Whatever else was lurking in the darkness would be no match for Khorli.

There was a clearing ahead. I knew it even in the darkness. It was where we often spent our time, sitting on felled trees as we savored these stolen moments we had with each other.

Khorli sat cross-legged, his back against a stump that had once been a mighty tree. I shuffled from foot to foot until he chuckled, yanking me by our intertwined hands until I stumbled into his lap. Khorli had always been more comfortable initiating physical affection than I was.

His arms circled around me, and I inhaled a scent unlike anything from this world. Warm and comforting. Sweet and woodsy.

I wasn’t a short man, by any definition. But Khorli stood easily two feet above me even without taking his horns into consideration. He made me feel small in a way I never anticipated I’d crave.

Before Khorli, I didn’t know it felt so good to be held. Now, as strong arms pulled me in closer, and a long tail wrapped up my lower leg, I felt so profoundly claimed. There was no place I’d rather be than here with him.

“My Jem,” his low voice purred. Golden pupils scanned over my face carefully. “You are tired.”

It wasn’t a question, and I saw no reason to deny it. I nodded.

“Rest. I will guard you.”

I huffed. “But you just got here.”

“And here I will stay. Rest now. You must keep healthy.”

I longed for a world in which he could hold me always, in which the time we spent together was not dictated by the rising sun and the fear of others.

“I missed you,” I told him.

His smile widened. “And I you, my Jem.”

Khorli’s clawed fingertips ran through the short strands of my hair, the sharp tips sending small sparks of pleasure over my scalp.

I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to savor every moment I had with him like a precious treasure, but the deep rumble of the purr in his chest, the warmth of his arms around me, and the bliss that rippled over my skin, all combined to force my heavy eyelids closed.

I wasn’t sure how long passed before they opened again, but Khorli was still running his fingers through my hair and purring as he looked up at the stars.

They were so brilliant and bright, but none as bright as him.

“What are you thinking about, Tusks?” I whispered.

His lips curved into a smile as he turned his head down to look at me. Before we’d been able to communicate well enough to tell each other our names, I’d referred to him as Tusks. I probably could have picked something a little more imaginative or endearing, but he’d found it amusing.

I didn’t have to feel bad about it, though, because he’d called me Bunyi. I’d thought it sounded cute until he’d brought me a gift to show me what a bunyi was. It had been a pretty bug, but it was still a bug. Khorli had told me it was because I was beautiful and rare like a bunyi, and tasted almost as good. I still wasn’t sure I liked being compared to an insect, but thankfully he’d become much fonder of another nickname.

“You, my Jem. It’s always you.”

I reached for him, my palm smoothing over his cheek, and he tilted his head into my touch. His eyes searched mine, then dropped to my lips.

Warmth bloomed in my chest as our lips connected. It traveled, spreading through all of me. Love and lust lit up my veins as his tongue pressed at the seam of my lips and I parted them for him.

Wet heat. The taste of him. My nails dug into his shoulder, pulling him closer, begging for more. He understood. That heat inside me grew. Collected. My body responded to him in ways that had only ever been shameful before they were caused by the one being I could never be ashamed of loving.