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“Fell?”
“In love,” he said, a wry grin appearing. “You see, each time the Primals and gods interacted with the mortals, they became more curious, until they were enthralled with the wide range of emotions that the mortals experienced—something that neither my father nor Nektas created. Mortals were the first to feel, from the moment they took their first breath—and until their last. And that was something that just occurred in them naturally. But Primals were meant to be beyond such…mortal needs and wants.”
I slowly sat back down. “Why?”
“Because emotions can sway one’s decisions, no matter how unbiased anyone believes they are. If they can feel, they can be coerced by emotion.” He met my eyes.
“Then a Primal fell in love, and it troubled the Fates. They worried that love, held within a Primal’s heart, could become a weapon. They intervened, hoping to dissuade other Primals from doing the same by making what they loved the ultimate weapon to be used against them.”
“By becoming their weakness,” I whispered. “I never knew why love could weaken Primals.” I shook my head. “How are the Arae that powerful to create something like that?”
“Because they are the essence—the eather—that created the very first Primals,” he explained. “My father once told me that they didn’t even have mortal form for the longest time. They were simply in everything, everywhere.”
I blinked slowly, unable to even understand how Holland, who was very much flesh and blood, could be something that existed in the wind and the rain. “Well, what the Arae did doesn’t seem to have been all that effective.”
Nyktos chuckled. “No, it wasn’t. One Primal falling was like a domino effect. Other Primals fell in love and, eventually, even some of the Arae began to feel emotion,” he told me, and I thought of Holland and the goddess Penellaphe. “But falling in love meant the Primals also began to experience other emotions. Pleasure. Displeasure. Want. Jealousy. Envy. Hatred. And what the Arae feared became a reality because they knew that what had once only belonged to the mortals couldn’t exist within the kind of power a Primal held. Emotions began to guide the Primals’ actions, and that once-unbiased balance of power became as unpredictable as it was absolute and bled into the mortal realm. The very natures of the Primals changed. Now, goodness does not exist in Primals—not the kind weighed upon a mortal’s death.”
He set his glass aside. “From the moment a Primal is born or is Ascended, the new nature of the Primal essence starts to change us. And the older we grow, and the more powerful that essence becomes, the harder it is to remember what the source of those emotions was and to be anything other than the very mortal flesh that contains power,” he said. “And that essence—the Primal essence that allows us to influence mortals to flourish or decay, love or hate, create life and cause death—is never just good or bad. It’s only absolute. Unpredictable. Raw.” His eyes lifted from his glass to me. “You’ve carried those embers from birth, Sera, and they are a part of you. Because of them, you are neither good nor bad, not by the mortal standards you understand.”
I drew in a shaky breath. “Are you saying that how I…I feel is because of those embers?”
“Yes,” he told me. “But you are still mortal, Sera, and that part of you is good.”
“It—”
“It is,” Nyktos cut in. “You wouldn’t feel the sourness of shame if it wasn’t. Or the bitterness of agony when you spoke of killing. You wouldn’t even care if you were deserving. You would just take. You wouldn’t be brave. You would only be strong.”
“I—” I choked on my words. Could there be truth in what he said? I blinked back sudden dampness as I focused on the empty plate in front of me. I did feel shame and agony—even confusion over the coldness of my actions. I squeezed my eyes shut and took several moments before I trusted myself to speak. “But you are good by mortal standards.”
“Only because I try to be.”
“That’s all mortals do—well, most of them anyway,” I said, opening my eyes. “They try to be good, and you try harder than most mortals do.”
“Maybe,” he murmured.
As I sat there, letting his words sink in, I thought of something. “Why didn’t the Arae make the Primals do what you did? Have the kardia removed?”
“The Arae believe in free will. And, yes, being that they are Fates, that is as ironic as it could possibly be,” he said. “But they should’ve done it.”
If they had, it would have saved a lot of lives and stopped a lot of heartache, but… “Do you really think they should have?”
“Depends on the day. Right now, no.” He leaned forward. “You’re finished with your supper?”
I nodded.
“Will you join me in my chambers, then?”
My heart immediately sped up at what awaited in the next several minutes. Something did. I knew this because it felt as if something shifted between us. That there had been a change. There had to be because I didn’t argue with him or myself. I rose and went into the bathing chamber to take care of my personal needs and brush my teeth. I was inexplicably nervous as I walked out and saw him waiting by the adjoining door, the bottle of wine from supper in his hand.
My heart started tripping all over the place for some silly reason as he closed the door behind me and followed me into his chamber. It was only then that I remembered I wore nothing but the tiny piece of undergarment under the robe.
Oh, dear.
Nyktos offered me the bottle of wine as he eased past. I shook my head, deciding that I’d had more than enough. I sat on the edge of the bed, fingers fiddling with the tiny buttons on the robe as he excused himself and disappeared into the bathing chamber. All I managed to do while he was gone was scoot back a foot or so and tuck my legs under the hem of the robe. Then Nyktos returned.
Shirtless. The buttons of his leathers undone.
Neither of those two things helped with the nervousness I felt as I watched him walk toward me, the hair against his cheek and the bronze flesh of his neck and upper chest damp.
He sat before me. “May I?”
Stomach joining the flipping and flopping of my heart, I nodded.
Like the night before, he tucked the braid between his thumb and pointer finger and slowly, almost methodically, ran his fingers down it. I bit the inside of my lip as the back of his hand grazed the swell of my breast. I could barely feel his touch through the thicker robe, but a shiver still skated through me.
Nyktos unwound the hair band, slipping it onto his wrist. Then he set about undoing the braid and didn’t speak until he’d finished. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, thick lashes lowering as he drew the length of my hair over my shoulder. “About the demands you made.”
“I wouldn’t say they were demands.” I watched him draw his fingers through my hair.
“What would you call them?”
“Gentle requests.”
Nyktos laughed roughly. “Which part was gentle, Sera? The kicking me, or the holding your dagger to my throat?”
“The part where I didn’t hurt you.”
One side of his lips curved up. “There was one demand you didn’t make.”
“Which one was that?”
He spun one of my curls around his finger. “The offer you made in my office.”
My heart immediately began its rapid beating.
“That wasn’t part of your demands.”
“But it was.” I took a breath.
“Really?” He unwound the curl, letting it lay against my chest. “I’m positive I wouldn’t have forgotten you bringing that up.”
I dragged my teeth over my lower lip as he picked up another piece of hair. “The offer was a part of my request to be of help.”
Lashes lifted, and quicksilver eyes locked onto mine.
“In whatever way I’m needed,” I reminded him, my blood warming.
His lips parted, revealing a hint of his fangs. “That’s good to know.” His voice was rougher, harder. “So, that offer you made? Pleasure for the sake of pleasure? It still stands?”