A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

I looked up to his eyes.

Silver.

Eyes that were an incredible, luminous shade of silver, bright as the moon itself. Beautiful. That was all I could think at first, and then…I saw the light behind his pupils, the wispy tendrils of eather.

“You’re a god,” I whispered.

He said nothing while instinct fired through me, urging me to either submit or run—and to do either of those two things fast. It was a warning, a reckoning that screamed I wasn’t even inches away from one of the most dangerous predators in any realm.

But I…I couldn’t get over how he looked no more than a handful of years older than me, somewhere between Ezra’s and Tavius’s ages. That most likely wasn’t the case. He could be centuries older. But other than the night I was to be married, I’d never been this close to a being from Iliseeum before. It unnerved me how young he appeared.

It struck me then that I’d tried to kick a god—multiple times. I’d tried to stab a god.

And he…he hadn’t struck me down.

He hadn’t even hurt me. All he’d done was stop me from harming myself. And, well, now he was holding me here. Still, he could’ve done much, much worse.

Could that mean that he was from the Shadowlands Court and answered to the Primal of Death? My stomach tumbled. I had no idea if any of the gods that served the Primal of Death knew about me since any deal struck between a mortal and a god was known only to those two, but this deal had been different. It was quite possible that every god within the Shadowlands knew that the Primal had a Consort he hadn’t claimed, even though he’d bartered for one.

Thick, wavy hair fell against this god’s cheeks as he dipped his head. His gaze snared mine, and I couldn’t look away—not even if the Primal of Death himself appeared beside us. Not when the wisps of eather swirled through the silver of his eyes.

My throat tightened, but it was a surreal feeling to have someone look upon my face so intently. After seventeen years of wearing the Veil of the Chosen, I wasn’t used to it. Being so seen left me feeling…vulnerable, which was why I opted to keep my face hidden beneath a hood whenever I wasn’t around my mother, who now preferred that my face be shown as if it were a reminder of my failure. As silly and nonsensical as it was, a sense of wonder bubbled up.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

A tripping motion went through my chest. Did he know who I was? If so, how was that possible? I’d been kept so hidden. Not even the Shadow Priests had ever seen my face while knowing who I was. “What?”

His gaze flicked over my features so intensely that each and every freckle across my nose and cheek started to tingle. His eyes closed briefly, and as close as we were to each other, I could see just how thick the fringe of his lashes was as they swept back up. “Every mortal knows better than to interfere with a god.”

I swallowed hard, feeling all the building wonder collapse. “I do know. But—”

“They killed an innocent,” he cut me off and glanced up toward the entrance of the vine tunnel. “You still know better.”

My fingers curled helplessly in his grasp. I knew I shouldn’t talk back. I should thank him for his aid—help I didn’t ask for—and then put as much distance between us as possible. But that wasn’t what I did. It was like I had no control over my mouth. And maybe that was the recklessness that Sir Holland bemoaned every chance he got. Maybe it was that small part of me that had stopped caring. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about the fact that they killed an innocent child than what I was about to do?” I demanded. “Or do you not care because you’re a god?”

Those eyes burned even brighter. Dread blossomed in the pit of my stomach, and a trickle of fear entered my blood. Mortals did not talk back to a god. I also knew that. “Those three will pay for what they’ve done. You can be assured of that.”

A chill erupted over my skin, despite him not acknowledging my ill-advised behavior. He spoke as if he had the power and authority to carry that out. As if he wanted to see to it personally.

His attention snapped in the direction of the lane again, and then his gaze met mine. “They’re coming,” he warned.

Before I could say a word, he lowered my arms and let go. There wasn’t time to make use of the freedom. The god grasped my hips and lifted me off my feet, sliding a hand down the bare length of my left thigh. He hooked my left leg around his waist. A ripple of shock whipped through me. What in the—?