Wed to the Wild God (Aspect and Anchor)

"I know it's a big deal," I interrupt, chuckling.

He shakes his head again. "No, you don't. I am a god. A god that has been punished by the High Father many times over for my infractions. With immortality and power, you are used to getting what you want. Anything you ask for is yours. Anything you say is law. It ends up affecting how you think. The High Father has been trying to make us realize that for a very, very long time, but we are stubborn children. Resistant. I have had many anchors, and none of them have affected me like you do. None of them have talked to me as you do. They were either afraid of me, or so fiercely determined to do my bidding and please me that they lost their own way. It did not help me." Kassam gives me an earnest look. "But you, Carly, you help me."

I'm silent. Astonished, but silent.

"You make me realize when I am being selfish, or foolish. You point out when I am not thinking of others, only of myself. And you make me think. You make me realize when I am thinking only of my needs, and you make me consider other ways. For the first time in my long existence, I worry about how another being will perceive me. I have never cared if the High Father thought I was aimless, or useless. I have never cared if the dragons suffered under my rule, or if the conmac were angry at being forced to serve. I thought it was my right as a god. As their god. But when I am with you, and I see your disapproval, it makes me think. It makes me try to see it from their eyes. To realize that just because it is something I want, that does not make it right." He clenches a fist over his heart. "I have known many humans, my Carly, but you pierce my soul."

Oh.

Wow.

No one has ever said such sweet, such earnest things to me. I'm a little shell-shocked to hear this coming from laughing, carefree Kassam. Flustered, I manage a smile. "You make it sound like I'm special, but I'm not, Kassam. I'm just an average woman from Earth. It's not like I did anything unusual. Maybe…maybe you were just ready to have your soul pierced. Maybe after what you went through, you were ready to listen. It doesn't mean that I'm special."

"You are special to me." He devours me with his eyes in that hungry, hungry gaze. "Surely the Fates will look kindly upon that."

"I hope so," I say softly. I want that, more than anything. I want to stay with him and help him restore himself to power. I want to watch him grow in his awareness of how it is to be human. I want to play more one-up games with him. I want everything that being with Kassam has to offer. For the first time, I realize that I don't want to go back to Chicago. That I miss my mother, that missing her is like a dull ache in my breast that throbs daily, but I don't want to return.

Not if it means I lose Kassam. I want to be his wife. I want to be his partner. His everything.

I hope we can figure it out.

Kassam studies me, his expression thoughtful. "Your head still hurts you, does it not? I can feel it."

Does it? Everything feels so “off” and unsettled in my body at this point that it's hard to tell. I can't decide if things are broken inwardly or if they've always just felt a little hollow. Maybe “busted” is my new norm. At any rate, it doesn't matter. This is what I've got to work with. I shake my head at him and pick up my tunic once more, determined to finish washing him off. "You're the one that fought a nasty battle today. I should be taking care of you."

He snatches the tunic out of my hands. "Carly," he warns.

"Kassam," I mimic his scolding tone and reach for the tunic.

"Do you think your path was any easier? I was the one in the city, but you were the one fueling me. It was your power that created those bridges. Your strength that allowed our army to move forward. I felt how much it drained you. I felt your pain." The anguished expression returns to his face. "I felt all of it, and I still kept going, because I thought I had to. I thought I needed it, until I saw your face and realized how much it had cost you."

I bite the inside of my cheek. Everything in me says I should tell him that he pulled so hard that he broke something inside me. That I felt a snap—oh god, I hope it wasn't my thread—and I've felt unmoored ever since. But I don't want him to think I blame him. I don't. This was wholly my choice. It was my idea for the bridges, my idea for him to pull his magic, and I'm going to own it. "Let's just agree that we both had a shitty day, hmm?"