A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

“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.”

I squeezed my knees together even tighter.

“No death has been easy, but that one?” His hand opened and closed as if he were trying to work feeling back into his fingers. “That one will always leave the deepest mark. He was a friend.”

I pressed my palm to my chest. “You…you killed your friend?”

“I didn’t have a choice.” He stared at the lake. “That’s not an excuse or justification. It was just something that had to be done.”

I couldn’t understand how he could do that, and I needed to. “Why would it need to be done? What would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

A muscle throbbed along his jaw. “Dozens, if not more, would’ve died if I hadn’t taken his life.”

“Oh,” I whispered, feeling a little sick to my stomach. Had his friend been hurting people, forcing his intervention? If so, then I could understand that. Do it. Had his friend known that he needed to be stopped? I didn’t ask if that was the case. I wanted to. The question practically burned my tongue, but it didn’t feel right. And it didn’t feel right knowing that he’d been forced to do that and had also lost another friend to those three gods. “Then I’m sorry you had to do that.”