And he’s right. They’ll be in the thick of the fight soon. There isn’t a lot of time left for purple moon festivals or kissing at the bottom of kindred rivers, and yet...

It feels empty. Enticing but empty.

Because she doesn’t really know Fyordin, save what he looks like and how he barks out commands and utilizes his vast power as a weapon. And she doesn’t want her first kiss to be trivial, after having waited this long.

“I... I can’t. Not tonight,” she says, even as her magic yearns to stream toward his.

Fyordin cocks a brow. “Perhaps another night?” he presses invitingly.

He truly wants me, Tierney considers, the idea surreal. He’s like a maelstrom ripe for the taking. A shiver runs through her. But still, she holds back. Acutely mindful that there’s one young man here who hasn’t offered to be her Xishlon’vir. A young man whose offer she shouldn’t want. But increasingly, she finds herself imagining what it would be like to kiss him.

A glimmering awareness flutters through her mind, perhaps drawn in by her thoughts of Viger Maul. He’s here, she realizes. He’s been here all the time.

Surprise lights over being able to sense Viger’s Death Fae presence. She turns to find a spot of dark mist forming at the far side of the terrace, his tall, pale form materializing from it, his corporeal presence making her feel a bit breathless.

Fyordin follows her gaze, and Tierney can feel the spike of animosity shivering through his power. “Look at him,” Fyordin jibes, as if sensing that Viger has something to do with Tierney’s hesitation. “A Death Fae. So obviously besotted with you. Take care, Asrai’kin. There’s no such thing as a Death Fae who is truly on the side of this realm. Or any realm.”

“Are you saying that they’re traitors?” Tierney asks, a defensive flare rising.

“There’s a reason the Sidhe Fae courts shunned them. And a reason our religions mark them as evil—”

“Oh, you can stop right there, Fyordin.” Tierney shuts him down. “I just came from a place very free with tossing around the ‘Evil Ones’ label, so don’t even try to get me to pin it on anyone here.”

Fyordin’s power circles protectively around her. Which she doesn’t want. She’s not interested in being protected. “You’re Asrai,” he says, his energy taking on a covetous tension. “Just be sure you remember that.”

Tierney’s ire rises. “And what if I were Deathkin?” she challenges. “Or Gardnerian for that matter?”

“You’re not.”

“But what if I were, Fyordin?” she bites out, beating back her cursed water magic as it makes an attempt to surge toward his incredible power.

Fyordin’s lips twitch up. “It’s strong, isn’t it?”

“What?” Tierney spits out.

“Your attraction to me.”