Nyx reached up to take it, then hesitated, looking at one of the shades on the beach. She was a child, hardly older than three, and she was staring nervously at the water. Nyx approached her, and she squinted up at him.
“Hello.” Nyx was used to children being afraid of him, wary of his scars and grim expression, but the ghost girl didn’t seem to mind. “Do you need help into the boat?”
“I don’t like water,” the girl whispered, holding up her arms. Nyx knew that gesture well enough from Kelta and Andor, so he picked her up. She should have been weightless, but she felt real enough, and he held her to his hip as he approached the boat.
He set her inside and was about to get in when he heard another ghost clear their throat.
There was a small crowd of children standing at the shore now, all looking similarly determined. Nyx sighed, and Azaiah chuckled.
He spent the next few minutes carrying kids one by one into the boat, and it wasn’t until he was finally settled in that he saw, with a twinge of frustration, that the spirits could simply drift across the water. He looked at Azaiah, and Azaiah turned away, clearly hiding a smile.
“You could have told me.”
“I’d never,” Azaiah said, and the boat started floating serenely toward the other shore.
Nyx half expected another round of carrying kids off the boat, but it wasn’t needed. The spirits faded as the boat ground to shore, one by one, gentle as a sigh.
“Do you always do this?” Nyx asked, climbing down first so he could help Azaiah out of the boat. Azaiah gave him a bemused look as Nyx lifted him down. “Ferry them across.”
“I have some who help me,” Azaiah said. “One who will take the mantle when you and I pass beyond the river ourselves. He has his own boat, on the river in Arktos. They’re all the same river,” he added, when Nyx raised his brows, “but they’re… complex. I should take you to meet my successor, when we have time.”
“But you won’t need him to succeed you yet.” Nyx felt a sudden spike of fear—he couldn’t bond with Azaiah only for it to be over so soon.
“No.” Azaiah took his hand, leading him onto the shore. “Not yet. Look, here is the place I live in moments of peace.”
He gestured to a small wooden house a few paces from the water. It looked barely big enough for one, with a simple wooden frame and a sloping roof, but it was a damn sight better than the Palace of the Moon. As they approached, Nyx smelled flowers and leaned down to push aside some dirt by the mat. Small green sprigs sprouted there, possibly imperial tulips, which were extinct in the living world.
“Those are new,” Azaiah said. “The house reshapes itself over time. It is changing to fit you.”
Nyx had to take a moment to gather himself before he could nod. He felt so strongly now, as if his emotions as a living man had been only a trickle compared to a river. His breath shuddered, and Azaiah kissed him softly.
“You don’t have to hide, beloved.” Azaiah urged him inside. “Come.”
The entrance seemed normal enough, as simple and unadorned as the structure of the house, but as they went farther in, Nyx noticed subtle changes. The rooms seemed bigger, the windows wider, and warm light emanated from what looked like a miniature sun on a desk. Nyx approached it and heard a faint roar, heat radiating from the globe in waves.
There was a fountain against one wall, the water running down grooves set in a wide square in the floor. The square framed a large mattress sunk into the floor, and when Nyx bent to touch the water, it felt as cool as that of the river.
“Is this…”
“The river, yes. It flows through the house.” Azaiah took off his cloak, hanging it on a hook on the wall. His scythe was gone—not needed, Nyx thought, on this side of the river—and he looked beautiful in the firelight. Nyx could stare at him for hours, days, weeks. Now that he was here, standing before him, Nyx craved him like air.
“Azaiah.” Nyx stepped over the grooves in the floor, onto the mattress, and sank to his knees. He could feel his dominance deep inside him, present but no longer insistent as it had been when he was a mortal man. He felt more like the water of the river now, pulled by a current, filling the space he needed.
“Oh, my soldier.” Azaiah approached him, smiling, and stroked Nyx’s hair. “I’ve missed you so. Would you like to take me, here in our home? I would like to take pleasure in you, let you take it of me. It will feel stronger, I think, now that we are bound.”
He trailed his fingers down to Nyx’s chest, where the mark of the flower was stark against his skin, and Nyx trembled. It felt as if every touch were new, every breath deeper, his need insistent, burning.
“I want you.” Nyx struggled to put it into words. “All of you. I want you to… I want to feel you, everywhere, I— I’m no good at this.”
“I understand.” Azaiah kissed him, threading his fingers through Nyx’s hair. He pushed him back on the mattress, and Nyx could hear the water rushing around them as Azaiah kissed him again, hungrier now. Nyx moaned into his mouth and pushed up Azaiah’s tunic, exposing pale skin. He was cold, still, but Nyx felt hot as a flame, and his own heat seemed to warm the spots he touched.
“I want you to consume me,” Nyx said, then gasped when Azaiah settled over him, grinding against his hard cock. He cursed and fumbled to unlace his trousers, and Azaiah smiled as he pressed kisses to Nyx’s throat.
Together, they made short work of their clothes, leaving nothing between them but the ribbon around Azaiah’s neck. Azaiah kissed his way down Nyx’s body, and when he pressed his mouth to Nyx’s cock, Nyx reached out to slide his fingers through Azaiah’s hair. It was so soft—his throat, his hair, the touch of his hands on Nyx’s hips—but even that light touch made him feel wild, a tight knot of desire building in his belly. He groaned, clutching at Azaiah, and when Azaiah’s nails dug into his skin and left only spikes of pleasure, Nyx realized that he, too, could no longer feel pain.
Azaiah worked him to a peak, and just as Nyx’s toes curled and he felt on the verge of begging, Azaiah pulled away. Nyx gasped, grabbing at the mattress, and Azaiah smiled at his wounded look.
“Not so soon, my soldier.” Azaiah moved over him, smoothing back his hair. “You asked for all of me. And I will give you all of me, and it will be exquisite.”
