Five birds, all plucked and ready. Lukios had been very fast. He beamed at her as she walked into the kitchen with her find, already gutted and ready for the fire.

“Well, look at that. Looks like our luck’s turned, hasn’t it, Ba’an? We could probably eat for another two days.”

This was true—if they ate sparingly.

“Yes. You are lucky. I wondered if I should test your guess about pork.”

He laughed. “You’re welcome to eat me any time.” Predictably, he leered. Ba’an rolled her eyes and put the fish to grill on a hot rock in the fire pit. Ah yes, it smelled very…

Her belly growled. Lukios chuckled, and she heard him chopping the meat to put in the cauldron with the balu’tra flour. Ba’an arranged the fish so it would not burn then turned to watch him work.

He was wearing his tunic and chiton, but she could still see the hard lines of his body when he moved. When the muscles in his shoulders bunched the fabric went with it, and his bare arms were all corded muscle. He moved well: gracefully, without any wasted movement. He was likely strong enough to snap her flimsy knives in half, but he was considerate and used them gently.

He had gotten sweaty and dusty from catching birds and plucking them, but it did not lessen his appeal.

Oh yes, Lukios was likely very popular wherever he went. She thought he was used to having his way with women—and he would have his way again. She ought to feel annoyed, but she did not.

He had stopped chopping. “Ba’an?” He turned his head to look at her. “Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” He lifted an eyebrow. “I think your fish is burning.”

Oh. Oh.

He was correct. The side had burned, because she had forgotten to turn it.

“I will eat this side.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s fine,” he said, “you can have the whole fish.”

Ah. Of course.

“Well, why not?” Lukios watched her with his usual bright expression as he put a spoonful of bird soup in his mouth.

“I do not wish to interfere with your reunions, Lukios.”

He made a noise of exasperation, then swallowed before speaking. “Why would you be interfering? I’m inviting you to meet them.” He shook his head. “No, it’s way too dangerous. You should just stay with me. If my friends aren’t still there, we can go to an inn. There used to be a nice one in the government district. I think it was called the Unicorn, or something like that.” He shook his head again before continuing. “You can’t possibly want to camp by the road. You’d be outside the walls! Anyone could catch you sleeping.”

“I always do, Lukios.” Though not right by the road. When Ba’an needed to stay in Kyros for more than a day, she sheltered in the desert, then returned to the city at dawn.

“Ba’an. You should at least let me introduce you. They’ll never believe I was saved by K’Avaari unless they see you for themselves.”

“I am not K’Avaari.”

“Well, they don’t know that.”

She tilted her head to look into her bowl. Hm. Why not? It would not hurt, and they could spend more time together before she returned. “Very well. I will stay with you…in the city. Until I am finished with my business. Then I will return here.”

“Well, let me know if you change your mind about that.” He continued smiling. “I’ll visit you once the wood for the shelves come in.” He glanced around. “I’ll bring a few other things too.”

She made a noncommittal sound. Promises were easy to make, and easier to break.

“If you wish.”

“I do. More soup?”

“Yes.” She handed him her bowl and their fingers brushed as he took it. Ba’an watched him and he glanced at her with another smile.

“Something on my face?”

“No.”

“So you just like it, then?” His grin was cheeky.

“Yes.” His hand faltered and soup dripped off the side of the bowl. His ears went ever-so-slightly pink.

“…You sure you’re okay Ba’an?” He let out a little laugh. “It’s not like you to admit I’m so handsome.”

“I never said you are not.” Now he looked truly at a loss for words, though it only lasted a moment before he regained himself.

“Ha! I knew it. Feel free to look at me whenever you want. Want me to take off my tunic?”

She took the bowl from him and began eating again. Without looking at him, she said, “If you wish.”

He did not respond. Ba’an looked up to see him staring at her, brows drawn together. Very mildly, she said, “Your soup is getting cold.” Then she looked at her food and continued eating. Ah, yes. She had been very hungry. The eggs had been delicious and the soup was, too. Hunger made everything delightful.

She heard Lukios’ spoon clink against the bowl again, but she did not glance up.

The mood had shifted. Good.

The silence drew tighter, and she felt him look at her again and again as he ate. She did not glance at him. If there was one thing Ba’an had learned of men, it was that they enjoyed hunting, and did not enjoy being hunted. So it was best to let him come to her…with some encouragement.

She tilted her head very slightly to the side so he would have a very good view of her neck and shoulders. Ba’an had often been told she had a very graceful neck and fetching silhouette, and she knew it was true because now Lukios had stopped eating. She could feel his eyes on her, but she only finished her soup.

She put the last drops of her soup on her spoon and ate it—but kept the head of it in her mouth. Turning it so the handle dangled downwards, she sucked on it idly, as though she were only thinking—which she was. Lukios swallowed audibly.

Ha. Men.

Ba’an blinked and looked up at him, and he quickly turned his eyes back to his bowl. He was as subtle as every other man she had known, meaning—not at all. K’Avaari or Dolkoi’ri, a man was a man.

“We must clean and close up the not-vuti again before sleeping. I will be gone one month. I do not wish to find rodents in my bed when I return.”

He made a noise of agreement. “Oh, right. That’d be…right. No one wants rats in their…bed.” He cleared his throat. “We’ve done most of the work already. We’ll just have to clean up the kitchen and tie the tarps again.” He put his bowl down. It was empty. “You want another or are you done?”

“I am finished.” She handed him her bowl and he took it; this time she did not allow his fingers to touch and she felt him pause. Ba’an did not wait. She simply stood and straightened her shift. His eyes followed her fingers but when she turned her head to look at him, he had already averted his eyes. His ears were faintly pink still. It did not take much effort to guess at the direction of his thoughts.

They cleaned the kitchen. They would have to do it one more time in the morning once they had breakfast, but it would be quick once the utensils and counters were cleaned. Ba’an handed him the last bowl as he scrubbed them in the large pot of water that sat beside the counter, and gently touched the small of his back.

He froze. She felt his muscles tense instantly, and he seemed to have stopped breathing altogether.

“I will go take a bath. Do not come into the bir-vuti until I return.”

He seemed to loosen, giving her his usual smile. “Sure. Wouldn’t want to get turned into a stag or anything.” He winked.

Ba’an only lifted an eyebrow. “A stag? If you should be so lucky.” Of course Ba’an could not turn anyone into anything other than a flock of birds, and that was only if they were moving together.

He laughed. “Pig, right?”

“Hm. No. Perhaps a fish. Or a snail.”

“Oh, what. That’s worse!”

“Yes. That is the idea.” No wallowing in…mud, for one thing.

“Scary! Okay, I won’t peep. Not even once. Promise.”

“Good.” She fetched her towel and wandered into the bir-vuti. The water was cold, so she never tarried for long; she was done by the time he was, and she could hear him wandering back and forth in the not-vuti, likely bored already.

Well, he could wait his turn.

Once she was finished, she walked into the side tunnel that held her little chest of memories. She opened it, staring into the contents for a long, long time. Then she took Thu’rin’s sumanu’ta from her neck. It lay quietly in her hand, without a word of rebuke—well, of course not. It was only a necklace.

Thu’rin was gone. Gone. Forever.

“Ba’aaaan!” Lukios called, “Did you drown? Say something or I’ll go in there and fish you out!”

“I am well, Lukios,” she replied. “Fish, Lukios. Snails.”

She heard him laugh. “Okay, okay. I’ll wait. Don’t take much longer, Ba’an, you’ll freeze.”

She looked back down at the necklace in her hand.

“I will return for you in a month,” she told it quietly, then she kissed it before wrapping it in a strip of cloth so it would not tangle. She placed it gently inside the chest, nestled between her hairpin and the green vision stone. She tucked the chest out of sight, rearranging the dangling roots from the roof of the narrow cave so it was completely hidden.

She walked back to the not-vuti. Lukios was at the wall, walking his hand along the side to measure its width. He had already done this once, but perhaps he had wanted to be very sure before going to Kyros and ordering wood.

“I am finished. You may bathe now.”

“Oh good! I thought you might’ve turned yourself into a fish. Or you’d been caught by a naiad. Or—” Lukios turned and stopped talking abruptly. His eyes were fixed on her bare throat, and slowly, very slowly, his gaze travelled up until he met her eyes.

The fire popped and crackled. Lukios was silent, but his stare burned.

“Lukios,” she said, very mildly, “you smell of dead rock birds.”

He briefly closed he eyes and when he opened them again he was more himself. He gave her a small smile. “Right. Well, that’s what happens when you spend all afternoon with a bunch of dead birds.” He took his own towel and began walking to the cave. “I’ll be…right back.”

He brushed past her and she suppressed a shiver. Her hair was still wet, laying dripping over her shoulders. Her shift had soaked at the top, and it clung to her skin. The desert air had cooled as the sky darkened, and now it was colder than it had been, even with the fire.

Ba’an unrolled her towel. She would sit by the fire and dry her hair—

Lukios’ had stopped walking, and she could feel he had stopped only a little way inside the bir-vuti. Strange. He was only standing there. Was something wrong?

Frowning, Ba’an turned toward the entrance of the bir-vuti. Perhaps she ought to go and…

No. He was coming back. She could hear his footsteps on the stone, a fast, clipped walk and suddenly he was there, in front of her, and before she could speak, before she could ask him, “What is it?” he had seized her around the waist and pulled her to him so she was pressed flush against him. He was warm, and she could feel his heart beating where his chest was pressed against hers, hard and steady as a drum.

“Lukios?” She stared up at him, wide-eyed, but Lukios only put his hand behind her head to keep her steady.

“Ba’an,” he said, urgently, “tell me you’re not playing. Right now. You’re not playing with me.” She blinked. What? Playing? Playing what? What game would she be playing?

She did not understand the question. Ba’an desired him, and he desired her. There was no game to play here. It was very clear.

She frowned. “We are not children, Lukios.”

He let out a relived little laugh. “Right. We’re not kids. We’re not—” He laughed again, then dipped his head down to kiss her.

She was being consumed. His mouth was ravenous, as were his hands, and he pulled her tightly against him as he pressed his tongue into her mouth and ravaged her. He sucked her breath from her lungs as his hands clutched at her, one hand roving her back and buttocks and the other keeping her head steady as he clasped her to him. Ba’an clung to him, taking fistfuls of his tunic in her hands as the world seemed to dim and narrow; there was only the smell of him, the taste of him on her tongue and the pounding of her own blood in her ears. She was dizzy, breathless—oh yes, she needed to breathe—

He pulled back, panting, and she gasped for breath. He dipped his head down and kissed her mouth again and again, then lower, suckling the skin on her throat with a hungry, open mouth as he muttered between breaths, “Don’t go anywhere, Ba’an. I’ll be right back. Right back. Don’t you go anywhere.”

She was dazed. “This is the desert,” she managed, “where would I go?” There was only sand in every direction.

He laughed breathlessly, then kissed her on the mouth one more time. He pressed his forehead against hers. “Don’t fly off, Ba’an. Don’t you disappear on me. Just—stay here. Right here. Right here. Understand? I’ll be back once I don’t smell like dead rock birds.”

He released her slowly then stepped back. Ba’an stared at him, still dazed, and he took another step back. “Right here. Don’t—don’t disappear on me.”

She blinked at him slowly. Oh. He was waiting for her to say something. “I—will be here.” Lamely, she added, “Drying my hair.”

He burst out laughing. It was unexpectedly happy—joyful, even. “Okay. You do that. I’ll be right back. Right back.”

He left. Ba’an blinked at the fire, then at the towel laying on the rug. She picked it up, staring at it for a moment too long before shaking it out. Then she began drying her hair, still dazed.

Her mouth ached. No, not just her mouth. Her whole body ached, and she felt how hollow she was, how empty; desire crawled in her, making her restless, making her thighs and knees weak even as the rest of her ached and ached to be filled. There was only one cure for this fever, and she would have to…wait.

So she waited, patiently working the towel over her long hair with trembling fingers. She waited, even as she shivered. She felt each breath of air that passed over her skin and her shift seemed to chafe now, too coarse for delicate skin.

She listened. Lukios was in the bir-vuti, his soul bright and hot, hotter than the dying fire. She put more logs in, poking it until the flames roared, but the spots where he had touched her still felt cold.

Patience. He would return and warm her soon. Very soon.

Her shift was bothering her. It was too stifling, and it rubbed her in all the wrong places. Ba’an folded her towel and set it aside, then unlaced the front of her shift. She slipped it off her shoulders and let it fall, pooling at her feet, then stepped out. She folded it and set it on top of her chest of drawers, looking at her bed.

It was too small. Lukios alone was too big to fit; it would not hold them both, not unless…

Ah. He was finished now. He was coming back.

Ba’an closed her eyes and listened very intently. She could not hear his footsteps, but she could feel him approaching swiftly, his soul humming so loudly that her mind was filled with it already; it was a familiar song now, the notes foreign but welcome, soothing as a warm spot on a soft rug by the fire.

Lukios slowed to a stop. He was at the mouth of the bir-vuti, looking at her. His stare licked across her like fire and her skin rose in gooseflesh as the familiar heat of desire pooled low in her belly.

When he walked forward, she could hear his steps on the stone. She smiled. He was being considerate again. Perhaps she ought to tell him she could hear his soul—though not today. Not now.

Lukios stopped right behind her. Ba’an could feel his heat, soaking into her the same way it did when she stood on hot sand. His breath stirred the small strands of her hair and shivered over her skin. Slowly, very gently, he swept her damp hair to the side. The strands were long, coming nearly to the small of her back, and he pulled it over her right shoulder, leaving her left bare.

Ba’an closed her eyes and shuddered as he kissed the juncture of her throat and shoulder. It was a very tender kiss, but she felt it; the sensation was like an arrow of fire, lancing through her, all the way through her, right between her legs.

Yes, perhaps the Dolkoi’ri were right about some things.

“Ba’an,” he said softly, and he kissed her again. She turned her face toward him and he pressed his mouth to hers—but it felt shy.

How could he be shy now?

“Lukios,” she murmured, “you have lied to me.”

He looked at her, eyes wide. “Wha—what? I—what? When did I--?”

“You said you would be ‘right back.’ You were not. I am cold.”

His expression broke into a smile and he began to shake with silent laughter. “You’re right,” he said, kissing her shoulder. He reached out and pulled her against him, and she was pleased to feel his bare flesh against hers. He put his hand on her lower belly and slid it up slowly to cup her breast. His thumb gently circled her nipple until it stiffened. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m a very bad man. I’ll make it up to you. As long as you like.” His other hand rested on her opposite hip, caressing the skin laying over the bone with restrained eagerness. Was he worried she would break?

She half-turned so they could kiss again, and he released her breast and put both arms around her instead, one hand snaking up to hold her head steady. She raised her right hand, letting her finger rest lightly along his jaw, and brought the other to his chest, feeling the hard, fast thumping of his heart beneath his ribs. Her gift still dangled on its leather cord around his neck, and she smiled, pleased at the sight of it. The spearhead was cool where it touched her wrist.

Suddenly, without warning, he simply lifted her and she squealed in surprise, clutching his shoulders. He laughed against her mouth and carried her across the floor, laying her down on her bed. Ba’an fit in her bed very well, but Lukios did not; he solved this by pulling her legs over his hips as he crawled onto the mattress. Even so, his frame filled the bed completely. There was no room for her to wriggle or escape—which was exactly the point.

He kissed her again, this time open-mouthed and hot with hunger. “Ba’an,” he said again, and the way he said it made her knees weak. He trailed kisses up her jaw until he reached her ear. “Ba’an,” he murmured, “you’re beautiful.” He leaned back. “Let me look at you.”

His eyes had gone dark with desire, and when he looked at her she was filled with the sensation of being consumed. Ba’an felt herself flushing even as her skin prickled. Her legs trembled lightly when he ran his hands over her bottom and down her thighs, his touch hot and eager. He brought her leg up over one shoulder and kissed her calf.

He was already breathing harder than he had been. Ba’an felt little tremors running into her—or was it into him? She could not tell. Lukios nipped and suckled his way up her leg and she squirmed, gasping, hips bucking. She whimpered when he reached her inner thigh, the pulse there throbbing, and he bit down gently, as though he really did want to eat her.

“Lukios,” she mumbled, and she tugged his shoulders, remembering. “Lukios,” she said, “I am not taking suk.” She hadn’t started, and even if she did now it would take weeks. For a moment she thought he had not heard her, but he gave her thigh one last kiss before peering up at her.

“Okay,” he said, and he crawled up to kiss her belly. “Okay.” He kissed her breast, suckling on her nipple and she clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into skin. He kissed his way up her chest, her throat, then settled himself between her legs. He was hard and ready, and when he rocked himself against her the room was filled with the slick, needy sound of her want. She watched him close his eyes and master himself, expression strained.

After a moment he kissed her beneath the ear. “Okay,” he said again, voice hoarse. “How about if I don’t…come inside?”

That would work, most likely. Ba’an was unlikely to get with child either way, though it was unwise to be reckless.

“Yes.” They kissed again, hands eager, pressed skin to skin. He was so warm and fervent, and he smelled so good. Ba’an opened her mouth to him again and again, hands tangled in his hair, until she could not tell if it was his breath or her breath in her lungs, his pulse or hers in her ears. His hands on her had gotten greedier and greedier, and she could feel his hips beginning to buck as she spread her legs wider, pressing herself up against him. The room was filled with the sound of their soft sighs and groans of pleasure, the wet glide of skin on skin.

“Sweetheart,” he mumbled, “breathe.” He clutched her hips and pressed. Ba’an closed her eyes as her mouth fell open into a little ‘o’, gasping as he began pushing into her.

Lukios was a big man, and he was big everywhere. Ba’an did not mind it, but she had not had a man in five years.

“Ah—Lukios—I—!” She clawed at his back, tensing.

He grunted and stopped, panting into her ear. He pulled out and kissed her mouth. “Okay. Wait. Just—let me—”

He moved down. The bed was too small to hold all of him, so he got on his knees on the floor, pulling her toward him. He kissed her ankle, moving up to the inside of her thighs. Ba’an closed her eyes at the sensation of his mouth, his hands, his skin.

He kissed his way up between her legs. He licked her, nipped her with his teeth, suckled her skin as though she were a feast on a table; Ba’an’s lips parted in a silent sigh as his mouth closed over her clit. He didn’t hesitate, and he was eager and hungry. Ba’an clutched the bedsheets, hands fisting as her toes began to curl.

“Yes,” she whimpered, “yes.” She squirmed in his grasp, hips bucking helplessly as he worked his mouth against her thoroughly; he was relentless, and she cried his name as she writhed in the throes of a sweet, inexorable torment.

“Lukios.” She was gasping, back arching. “Lukios!” His hands clenched around her hips, squeezing as he pushed his tongue into her, merciless. There was a pressure building inside her, so intense that it was nearly painful; even so she welcomed it, bucking against him and begging for release with incoherent cries.

He grunted, licking his way back up her slit and sucking her clit.

She came. Her legs shook and her toes curled. She fisted her hands in the bed, a moan caught in her throat as she shook. She felt herself gush, and Lukios took her in, slurping with enthusiasm. He eased off gently, watching her shake; once the tremors died down he kissed her between the legs once, then leaned back, haunches on his heels, looking at her.

Ba’an lay on the bed, still trembling lightly. Her eyes were closed as she tried to breathe, heart pounding with the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Her legs were still splayed open, wet skin shivering in the cool air. Lukios was stroking the outside of her thigh, very gently, though his touch was still full of want.

He must have found the sight pleasing. He kissed the inside of her thigh again, mumbling something in a language she didn’t understand in a low, husky voice. He stood and pulled her to the edge of the bed, wrapping her legs around his hips and leaning over to kiss her mouth. She could taste herself on his tongue. He was still hard, pressing his erection against her slit as he worked his mouth against hers. He pushed into her and she moaned, arching.

He sank into her with a low groan of pleasure. It was easy this time, and her head rolled back as he parted her and entered until his pelvis was pressed tightly against hers. Ba’an gasped against his mouth as he pressed against her; she was still sensitive, and the sensation of being penetrated and pressed was almost too much to take.

Lukios rocked against her until she whimpered. “Good?” She felt him smile against her mouth as he felt her twitch.

It was. It felt so good Ba’an could barely talk. She tried to pull a breath into her lungs but he pulled her against him as he rocked his hips again.

She gripped his shoulders as he began to move in earnest. Lukios dipped his head down and kissed her again, swallowing her moans. Ba’an was dizzy, light-headed now from the deluge of Lukios; they were pressed so close together that she could not tell where she ended and he began, or whether the heartbeat throbbing in her ears was hers or his. She could smell him too—he was everywhere inside her, making the blood roar in her ears as her body began to peak again.

Distantly, she was aware she was making noises, pressing her heels into his back as he thrust into her, panting in her ear and mumbling sweet nothings in that same fluting language she could not place; his voice had gone rough and hoarse, straining against her ears just as his body strained against hers.

It didn’t take long. The press of him between her legs, the feel of him in her and on her pushed her and pushed her until she came again, shaking and trembling as she tightened around him rhythmically. She felt him groan in her ear, thrusting into her harder and faster as he chased his own completion. He pressed his mouth against hers in a hard, bruising kiss, as though he wanted to push all of him into her.

Suddenly, he jerked away, pulling out of her. She felt him come against her belly, the heat of his release almost scalding. He slumped over her, breathing hard. Ba’an murmured soothingly, running her hands over his head and back tenderly.

They lay together in the dark, Ba’an stroking him gently until his breaths quieted. Eventually, he stirred. He turned his face to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be right back.” He stood up and walked away briefly. Ba’an lay back and shut her eyes. She could hear him moving around in the kitchen. Soon he was back, and he wiped her down with a cool, damp cloth. He paused to kiss her once he got to her ribs, and she opened her mouth to let him in, sighing softly.

“Mmm.” He put the bowl and cloth down on the floor and kissed her again. The bed was too narrow for them both, so he climbed on top of her so he could kiss her properly. “Ba’an.” He kissed her nose. “Are you tired now?”

“Mhm.” She was. She was delightfully tired and sore, drifting off in the heat that radiated from his skin.

He kissed her throat. “Ba’an. Are you sleeping?”

“Mhm.”

He laughed softly. “Okay. I’ll let you sleep—this time.” She roused briefly as he lifted her, but he was only settling her on top of him. “Ba’an. You need a new bed. This one’s too small.” His hands roved over her, caressing her back, her bottom. “I’ll make you a new one.”

“Mhm.” Ba’an rested her head against his chest and slept, listening to his heartbeat.