When you end that girl…

My hands clench at my sides. I can still feel the press of the Devaliant’s body against mine in the sky. The way she’d laughed—unguarded, just a little bit wild. The emotion in her eyes when I caught her. Trust. For a few hours, she’d trusted me up there in the clouds, and a part of me keeps itching to see her look at me like that again.

I’m going to have to cut that part out of me.

Some games have no winners. Only casualties.

The Devaliant doesn’t turn at my approach. Her attention is fixed on the neat row of blades placed on the table before her, but I know she senses me. I see it in the subtle tensing of her shoulders, the way her head tilts just slightly—listening and tracking me. As aware of me as I always am of her.

“Is Amara done playing teacher for the day?” She trails her fingers along a dagger’s edge.

“She has places to be. I’m taking over your training today.”

“Lucky me.” The Devaliant selects a dagger, testing its weight in her palm. “Let’s resume our game, then. I wouldn’t want to slack on my role as your entertainment.”

Shit.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Whatever carried on the breeze, which was enough.” She flicks the blade back and forth, movements agitated. “Don’t worry about breaking my heart. I’m not stupid enough to give it to you.”

“And what if I took it?” I can’t help but ask.

When she looks at me, her eyes are sharp. “You’d have to carve it out of me.”

She’s throwing up her boundaries, retreating behind her armor. And who could blame her? We both know what this is.

I force my expression to remain impassive. Bored, even. No need to let her see how deep she’s burrowed beneath my skin. Wanting her doesn’t have to mean anything. Maybe fucking her would solve the problem.

I step forward until I’m crowding into her space, close enough to feel the heat of her and see the constellation of freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose. The flecks of silver threaded through the amethyst of her eyes.

“Where did Amara leave off?”

A shiver goes through her at my nearness. “Compensating for crossbreezes when throwing.”

Settling my hands on her hips, I pivot her to face the battered target. The movement brings her flush against me, and she lets out a quiet gasp that shoots straight to my cock.

“You have a bad habit,” I say, ghosting my palms up her sides, “of releasing your breath too soon. Power comes from here.” I splay my fingers beneath her ribs. “Your center. You need to exhale into the throw.” My thumbs find the dimples at the base of her spine and press in a gentle rebuke, watching her lashes flutter. “One fluid motion from here”—I tap her sternum—“to here.” I walk my fingers down her arm in a slow drag. “Understand? Center to extremity.”

Her lips part, and she swallows hard, her body yielding against mine as if she were made to fit there. Damn, I want to do terrible things to this woman.

Dangerous thought. Kill it.

I step away, giving her space. “Now draw back and sight the target. Account for distance, wind speed, and the arc of the throw. Then breathe in.”

She obeys, muscles flexing as she focuses. Her chest expands on an inhale.

“Breathe out. And let go.”

The Devaliant looses a controlled exhale—and then whips forward. The knife sinks into the target, this time a little closer to the center.

“Not bad.” I retrieve the weapon, pressing it into her waiting palm. “But this time, don’t treat it like archery. That’s more about the precise mechanics of the draw and release.” I curve my body around hers again. “Knife-throwing is a more intimate art.”

“How so?”

“It’s about learning to move your body just right. How to pivot. The angle of your arm. The timing of your breath…” I demonstrate the motion, letting her feel the roll of my hips. “Every part of you working as one. You have to learn the weapon’s weight and balance, how it sits in your hand. The right amount of pressure to apply at just the right moment.” My fingers trail up the inside of her arm, and she shivers like she can’t help herself. “You listen to what it’s telling you. How it wants to move.”

“And then?” A whisper.

“Then you build the tension.” Another demonstration, slower this time. “Draw back, feeling the anticipation grow. The way everything narrows down to the moment of perfect alignment. When you let the knife fly, it’s not about forcing it to hit the target. It’s about trusting that all that careful preparation and intimate knowledge will guide it.”

Her chest rises and falls quickly. “Like dancing.”

“Or seduction.”

She inhales sharply. “I… What?”

“You can’t just go through the motions and expect it to work. You have to pay attention. Learn how to touch them just right…” My hand slides down her side, settling on her hip. “To create the response you want.”

Another small noise escapes her—some quiet, needy sound. I pray to the stars for patience, and failing that, enough indifference to settle my hardening dick.

Control yourself, you pathetic fuck.

“Try again,” I tell her, stepping away. “But this time, stop thinking so much. Let your body remember what it wants to do.”

A change comes over her. Her muscles relax, and her fingers trail along the blade in a caress, like she’s learning it, understanding it. Her brows pinch in concentration as she draws back. The knife leaves her hand in a perfect arc, and then—

Thunk.

Dead. Fucking. Center.

“I did it!” She spins toward me, eyes bright with victory. “Did you see that? I actually—”

The words die as our eyes meet. Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I know—know—she’d let me kiss her. More than let me. She’s looking at me like she wants to shove me against the wall and take what she wants.

Do it, the monster in me snarls. Take her mouth. Make her yours.

Calm. The fuck. Down, the rational part of me snaps back.

I can’t stop myself from reaching out and trailing my knuckles along her cheek. “You did well.”

We’re standing too close. Close enough that I can feel her breath on my face, see the way her pupils have blown wide. All I’d have to do is lean down a few inches…

She blinks hard, like she’s coming out of a trance, and steps back. “I think that’s probably enough for today. Can we pick up again tomorrow?”

“I won’t be able to do any blade work with you for a few days.”

The Devaliant’s brows pinch. “Why?”

I tip my head back, considering the sky and its darkening swathes of teal and violet. The familiar tension is already gathering, my body harmonizing with the magic in the air—the call of the realm. “Have you ever heard of Aethertide?”

The furrow deepens. “No. Should I have?”

“It’s a celestial event that occurs here every century or so. A realignment of polarities and energies that brings a spectacle to the skies.” I slide her a look, curious how she’ll take this. “It also triggers a biological imperative in Scillari’s inhabitants. Especially the males.”

Color floods her cheeks. “It induces rut? In everyone?”

“Only the unattached.”

“And you’re…”

“Very much unattached.” I give her a quick smile. “Humans nearly wiped out the Eternal population during the war, and it destabilized the magic. Scillari has been trying to compensate ever since.”

“By triggering the drive to”—she waves a hand, that blush deepening—“mate.”

I nod. “Two powerful demis can create a future Eternal. It’s up to the realm to decide if a demi is worthy of ascension to claim a territory. Scillari needs at least eight Eternals to remain stable. Ten is preferable.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” The Devaliant clears her throat, hesitating. “You mentioned the war created an imbalance in your numbers. I thought only Eternals could kill other Eternals. How did humans manage to take out enough of you that the realm’s still compensating centuries later?”