“You will not do this to me,” he said, cold in his anger, though I heard the taut fear that lay under it. “You will not throw away your life because you were unlucky enough to be nearby when those fools started their blundering ‘investigation.’ Or because of that selfish bastard who lives with you.” He clenched his fists. “And you will never, ever again offer to die for my sake.”
I sighed. I didn’t want to hurt him, but there was no reason for him to stay in the mortal realm and put up with petty mortal politics. Not even for me. I had to make him see that.
“You said it yourself,” I said. “I’m going to die one day; nothing can prevent that. What does it matter whether that happens now or in fifty years? I—”
“It matters,” he snarled, rounding on me. In two strides, he crossed the room and took me by the shoulders again. This caused a ripple in the surface of his mortal shape. For an instant, he flickered blue and then settled back, sweat sheening his face. His hands trembled. He was making himself sick to make a point. “Don’t you dare say it doesn’t matter!”
I knew what I should have said then, what I should have done. I had encountered this with him before—this fierce, dangerous, all-consuming need that drove him to love me no matter how much pain that caused. He was right; he needed a goddess for a lover, not some fragile mortal girl who would let herself get killed at the drop of a hat. Dumping me had been the smartest thing he’d ever done, even if letting him do it had been the hardest choice I’d ever made.
So I should have pushed him away. Said something terrible, designed to break his heart. That would’ve been the right thing to do, and I should’ve been strong enough to do it.
But I’ve never been as strong as I would like.
Madding kissed me. And gods, was it sweet. I felt him this time, all the coolness and fluid aquamarine of him, the edges and the ambition, everything he’d held back two nights before. I heard the chimes again as he flowed into me and through me, and when he pulled away, I clutched at him, pulling him close again. He rested his forehead on mine, trembling for a long, pent moment; he knew what he should do, too. Then he picked me up and carried me back to the pile of cushions.
We had made love before, many times. It was never perfect—it couldn’t be, me being mortal—but it was always good. Best of all when Mad was needy the way he was now. He lost control at such times, forgot that I was mortal and that he needed to hold back. (By this I don’t mean his strength, though that was part of it. I mean that sometimes he took me places, showed me visions. There are things mortals aren’t meant to see. When he forgot himself, I saw some of them.)
I liked that he lost control, dangerous though it was. I liked knowing I could give him that much pleasure. He was one of the younger godlings, but he had still lived millennia to my decades, and sometimes I worried that I wasn’t enough for him. On nights like this, though, as he wept and groaned and strained against me, and scintillated like diamond when the moment struck, I knew that was a silly fear. Of course I was enough, because he loved me. That was the whole point.
Afterward we lay, spent and lazy, in the cool humid silence of the late-night hours. I could hear others moving about in the house, on that floor and the one above: mortal servants, some of Madding’s people, perhaps a valued customer who’d been given the rare privilege of buying goods direct from the source. There were no doors in Madding’s home, because godlings regarded them as a nuisance, so the whole house had probably heard us. Neither of us cared.
“Did I hurt you?” His usual question.
“Of course not.” My usual answer, though he always sighed in relief when I gave it. I lay on my belly, comfortable, not yet drowsy. “Did I hurt you?”
He usually laughed. That he stayed silent this time made me remember our earlier argument. That made me fall silent, too.
“You’re going to need to leave Shadow,” he said at last.
I said nothing, because there was nothing to say. He wasn’t going to leave the mortal realm, because that would get me killed. Leaving Shadow might get me killed, too, but the chances were lower. Everything depended on how badly Previt Rimarn wanted me. Outside of the city, Madding had less power to protect me; no godling was permitted to leave Shadow by decree of the Lady, who feared the havoc they might cause worldwide. But the Order of Itempas had a White Hall in every sizable town, and thousands of priests and acolytes all over the world. I would be hard-pressed to hide from them if Rimarn was determined to have me.
Madding was betting Rimarn wouldn’t care, however. I was easy prey, but not really the prey he wanted.