“It’s you they want! If you leave, I’ll turn myself in. I’ll tell them you went back to the gods’ realm; they’ll draw their own conclusions from that. Then—”
“Then they’ll kill you,” he said. That startled me silent. “Of course they will, Oree. Scapegoats restore order, don’t they? People are upset about what happened to Role; mortals don’t like to think that their gods can die. They also want to see her killer brought to justice. The Order will have to give them someone, if not the killer. With me gone, you’d have no protection at all.”
It was true, every word of it; I knew it with instinctive certainty. And I was afraid. But…
“I couldn’t bear it if you died,” I said softly. I could not meet his eyes. It was a variation on the same thing he’d told me months before, and it hurt to say now as much as his words had hurt to hear then. “It’s different, knowing I’ll lose you when I die. That’s… right, natural. The way things have to be. But—” And I could not help it; I imagined his body in that alley, his bluegreen scent fading, his warmth cooling, his blood staining my fingers and nothing, nothing, where the sight of him should be.
No. I would rather die than allow that to happen.
“So be it,” I said. “I’ve killed three men. It was an accident, but they’re still dead. They had dreams, maybe families… You know all about debts owed, Mad. Isn’t it right that I repay? As long as you’re safe.”
He said a word that rang of fury and fear and sour chimes, and it burst against my vision in a splash of cold aquamarine, silencing me. He let go of me then, moving away, and belatedly I realized that I had hurt him in my willingness to give my life. Obligation was his nature; altruism was its antithesis.
“You will not do this to me,” he said, cold in his anger, though I heard the taut fear that lay under it. “You will not throw away your life because you were unlucky enough to be nearby when those fools started their blundering ‘investigation.’ Or because of that selfish bastard who lives with you.” He clenched his fists. “And you will never, ever again offer to die for my sake.”
I sighed. I didn’t want to hurt him, but there was no reason for him to stay in the mortal realm and put up with petty mortal politics. Not even for me. I had to make him see that.
“You said it yourself,” I said. “I’m going to die one day; nothing can prevent that. What does it matter whether that happens now or in fifty years? I—”
“It matters,” he snarled, rounding on me. In two strides, he crossed the room and took me by the shoulders again. This caused a ripple in the surface of his mortal shape. For an instant, he flickered blue and then settled back, sweat sheening his face. His hands trembled. He was making himself sick to make a point. “Don’t you dare say it doesn’t matter!”
I knew what I should have said then, what I should have done. I had encountered this with him before—this fierce, dangerous, all-consuming need that drove him to love me no matter how much pain that caused. He was right; he needed a goddess for a lover, not some fragile mortal girl who would let herself get killed at the drop of a hat. Dumping me had been the smartest thing he’d ever done, even if letting him do it had been the hardest choice I’d ever made.
So I should have pushed him away. Said something terrible, designed to break his heart. That would’ve been the right thing to do, and I should’ve been strong enough to do it.
But I’ve never been as strong as I would like.
Madding kissed me. And gods, was it sweet. I felt him this time, all the coolness and fluid aquamarine of him, the edges and the ambition, everything he’d held back two nights before. I heard the chimes again as he flowed into me and through me, and when he pulled away, I clutched at him, pulling him close again. He rested his forehead on mine, trembling for a long, pent moment; he knew what he should do, too. Then he picked me up and carried me back to the pile of cushions.
We had made love before, many times. It was never perfect—it couldn’t be, me being mortal—but it was always good. Best of all when Mad was needy the way he was now. He lost control at such times, forgot that I was mortal and that he needed to hold back. (By this I don’t mean his strength, though that was part of it. I mean that sometimes he took me places, showed me visions. There are things mortals aren’t meant to see. When he forgot himself, I saw some of them.)
I liked that he lost control, dangerous though it was. I liked knowing I could give him that much pleasure. He was one of the younger godlings, but he had still lived millennia to my decades, and sometimes I worried that I wasn’t enough for him. On nights like this, though, as he wept and groaned and strained against me, and scintillated like diamond when the moment struck, I knew that was a silly fear. Of course I was enough, because he loved me. That was the whole point.