A low chuckle rumbled from him as his thumb swept over the curve of my shoulder. “What is written in your histories about the gods, Primals, and Iliseeum is not always accurate. Some Primals’ age would shock you.”

“Because they’re so old?”

“Because they’re so young in comparison,” he corrected. “The Primals you know of now didn’t always hold those positions of power.”

“They didn’t?” I whispered.

Ash shook his head. “Some gods have even walked both realms far longer than the Primals.”

If I weren’t already lying down, I would’ve fallen over. What he said sounded unbelievable. And he was right. I had no idea how old the Primal of Death was. He, like Kolis, the Primal of Life, had never been depicted in paintings.

“I have so many questions,” I admitted.

“I can only imagine.” His gaze flickered over my face. “But I’m sure the questions you have cannot be answered now.”

Not now? As in there’d be a later? A rush of anticipation surged through me before I could stop it.

There was never a later to look forward to.

The pleasant warmth his touch had created cooled, and I suddenly needed space. I sat up, and this time, he didn’t stop me. His hand slipped from my arm, leaving a wake of awareness behind. I reached around, gingerly prodding at the back of my head. I didn’t feel any cuts, so that was good, and it wasn’t exactly sore either.

I glanced down at myself and nearly choked on my breath. Where the pale ivory slip had met my damp skin, the already near-translucent material had become even sheerer. I could see the halo of the rosier skin of my breasts, and the cold-water-hardened…

“You sure you’re fine?”

“Yes.” Hoping he couldn’t see the blush I could feel spreading over my cheeks, I glanced at him. He was leaning against the rock that had taken me out, legs stretched out in front of him, crossed loosely at the ankles. Still shirtless. Did he not have a shirt with him?

Ash’s eyes were shadowed as he watched me. “Did killing the creature bother you?”

“It didn’t.” I had no idea how we were even having this discussion. What made him think that it had bothered me?

“Just in case it did bother you,” he said, “they weren’t mortal.”

“I know that.” I tugged on the edge of my slip—it had ridden up my thigh as I moved. “But just because something isn’t mortal doesn’t make it okay to kill,” I added, realizing how rich that was coming from my mouth.

“As admirable as that proclamation is, you misunderstand.” He cocked an arm back on the boulder, and the roll and stretch of lean muscle was…well, distracting. “Or you’ve forgotten what I said. The Hunters were no longer alive.”

“I remember what you said, but they were something. They walked, and they breathed—”

“They do not breathe,” he interrupted, gaze flashing to mine. His eyes looked like pools of moonlight. “They do not eat or drink. They do not sleep or dream. They are the dead given form to serve whatever need the god has.”

 I shuddered a little at that description. “Maybe you simply have little regard for killing,” I said, acknowledging to myself the hypocrisy of what I was saying, considering how many lives I’d ended in the last three years.

“Killing is not something one should have little regard for,” he replied. “It should always affect you, no matter how many times you do it. It should always leave a mark. And if it doesn’t, then I would have grave concerns about that individual.”

I wanted to be relieved to hear that. Someone—mortal, god, or Primal—who could kill with hardly any thought was terrifying.

Which was why Ezra was a little afraid of me.

But I did give it thought…after the fact. Sometimes.

“So, you’ve killed a lot?” I asked.

He arched a brow. “That seems like an incredibly personal and somewhat inappropriate assumption and question.”

“Yeah, well, spying on my unmentionables is an incredibly personal and inappropriate act, so my question or assumption can’t be of greater offense.”

That softer curve returned to his lips. “I was not spying on you, and I’m willing to bet that you know that by now. However, you were staring at me. Quite openly, I might add, as I walked out of the lake.”

The skin of my throat flamed. “I was not.”

“You lie so prettily,” he murmured, and gods help me, it was a lie.

I sat back, crossing my arms. “Why are you even here? You could’ve left once you realized I was okay.”

“I could’ve left, but like I said before, it would be incredibly rude to leave someone unconscious on the ground,” he returned.

“Well, aren’t I lucky that you’re a polite pervert?”

Ash laughed, low and smoky. “Why haven’t you left, liessa?”

Chapter 12

Well.

Dammit.

I exhaled noisily. “Good question.”

“Or a pointless question.”

“How so?”

He tipped closer, and that scent of his—the fresh, citrusy one, wrapped its way around me. “Because we both know why we remained right where we are. I interest you. You interest me. So, here we remain.”

Denials rose, but even I had the foresight to know how weak they would sound if I attempted to give voice to them.

What was I doing here? With him?

My stomach tumbled as my gaze dropped to his mouth, and I quickly looked away. Staying here had nothing to do with his mouth for godssake. My heart skipped anyway. I was here because when would I ever get to speak so openly with a god who was rather mild-tempered? When did I get to talk so openly with anyone? Any other conversation was always shadowed by how I’d failed the kingdom.

But he was a god. And even if he wasn’t, I couldn’t say I knew him all that well. I was barely dressed, and Ash made me wary. Because right now, I could easily see myself doing something incredibly impulsive and reckless enough to blow up in my face.

I peeked at Ash. He’d drawn that bottom lip of his between his teeth as he watched me. My heart started thumping, and all I could think was that today had been so very…weird.

“Why are you interested enough to stay?” I asked.

Dark eyebrows rose. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Why would a mortal be of interest to someone from Iliseeum?”

He tilted his head. “I am beginning to think you don’t know much about us.”

I shrugged.

A breeze picked up a strand of his hair, tossing it across his face. “We find mortals to be very interesting beings—the way you all choose to live, the rules you create to govern and sometimes limit yourselves. How fiercely you all live—love and hate. Mortals are uniquely interesting to us.” He lifted a shoulder. “And you? You interest me because there seems to be little time between what occurs in your head and what comes out of your mouth. And there seems to be little regard for the consequences.”

My brows knitted. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment.”

He chuckled. “It is.”

“I’m going to have to take your word for that.”

That soft half-smile made another appearance, and that was all he said for a little while. “You asked earlier if I killed a lot,” he said, surprising me. “Only when I had to. Has it been a lot? I’m sure to some it has been. To others? Probably not something they’d blink an eye at, but I haven’t enjoyed any.” His voice was heavy. “Not a single one.”

Even though his answer caught me off guard, it was clear this was something he didn’t like to talk about. I shifted, pressing my knees together. “I’m sorry.”

“An apology?”

“I…I shouldn’t have asked that question in the first place. It’s not any of my business.”

Ash stared at me.

“What?”

“You are entirely contradictory,” he said. His gaze met mine and then flicked away. Several long moments passed. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, and maybe that was because I was used to the quiet. “I remember the first time I had to kill someone. I remember how the sword felt in my hand—how it felt as if it weighed double. I can still see the look on his face. I will never forget what he said. ‘Do it.’ Those were his words. Do it.”