“Look down.”

Kavya at least listened that much. She inhaled quietly but sharply. The instep of her slipper was mere inches from landing squarely on a broken bottle’s sharp edges.

“We’re not the Garnis with their senses and reflexes,” he said, “but the Pendray aren’t too shabby when it comes to the physical world.”

“And all without telepathy.”

“None. Just . . . looking. Keep your eyes open, goddess. We’re going to need it for both our sakes.”

She glanced down at where he still held her around the waist. “Think I can walk now?”

“Remains to be seen.”

Relinquishing her small, warm body was harder than he would’ve liked, and it was certainly harder than he would admit to her. She was like holding fire. Not for the first time, he was glad she couldn’t parse his thoughts.

“Do you still want me?” she asked.

Now Tallis was the one to stumble. He let go so as not to drag her down with him. That meant he landed alone on his ass, smearing his coat in the gooey pavement grime left by the end of the rainy season. “That was mean.”

She laughed again and headed down the slope without his assistance, although she watched her steps with more attention.

Tallis pushed himself up. He pulled the tail of his coat around and grimaced at the slash in the leather. But he couldn’t bring himself to raise a temper. There were so many other reasons to let his temper off its chain. Right then, Kavya wasn’t one of them.

“Yes,” he called. “I still want you.” He caught up with her in a minute. “Besides, I bet your impression of the Pendray homeland is little better than my misconceptions.”

“Let me see . . .” She posed her head as if in deep thought. “Highland people wearing skins and living in grass huts. Sacrificial lambs. Faces painted blue before battle where the field of combat is overrun with berserkers spinning like helicopter blades. Oh, and some live by the sea. Boats that withstand the worst storms. Myths of gods that say only the bravest make it to . . . where is it?”

“Valhalla? Depends on who deified us.” He cocked one brow. “Withstand the worst storms? That sounded almost appreciative.”

He took her hand, just because he wanted to. Let her fight him off.

She didn’t.

“Assume the worst if you want,” he said. “I’d rather you keep that note of admiration. It does a poor dumb Pendray’s soul good.”

—

Taking the shuttle to the airport should’ve been a simple affair. Short. Bumpy. Full of people. It was anything but simple with Tallis crammed beside her on a seat upholstered with ripped, stiff leather. Springs stuck into Kavya’s back. She tried to arrange tufts of stuffing to cover the worst of the metal, but it didn’t help. She sat very straight and tried to focus on the scenery that passed through a mud-splattered window.

She’d been born near here. These foothills had once been her home. An innocent home, despite the tension that warped her parents—the parents of triplets. She wondered how it must’ve been for them, counting down the days until their children’s gifts manifested. For years, Kavya had lived in blissful oblivion. The sensible thing for Indranan parents to do would be to separate their children at birth, and some did. Most lived in hope that history wouldn’t repeat itself. For their clan, however, history meant making the same mistakes, no matter the generation.

She, Pashkah, and Baile had been raised together. Played together. Loved one another. Baile had been the princess, always dressing up in their mother’s saris and insisting on flashy decorations in her long, long hair. Pashkah had been rough-and-tumble, with a smile no one but his sisters could resist, even when strange moods had distanced him from everyone. Kavya had been the quiet one . . . especially when she learned of the trials that would await them. No one had told her. She’d learned in that way children learn things their parents aren’t prepared to explain: through rumor and whispers. She’d even warned Baile and Pashkah.

They would never hurt one another. At the age of ten, they’d sworn it. They’d even gone so far as to tell their parents of the oath they’d made, in hopes of relieving the palpable anxiety ballooning in their home.

Two years later, Kavya had found Baile and Pashkah fighting. At first she’d been able to convince herself it was play. Jest. Fun. Their thoughts, however, had been black with rage and burning hot with the need to survive—and to take.

Baile lay dead. Pashkah stood triumphant. Kavya ran.

Now she was leaving again. This time felt different, as if she was being pulled toward a conclusion that would mean ending the last of her old life. One way or another.

“Are you scared of him?” Tallis’s query dragged her free from that downward spiral of thoughts. The topic, however, was still Pashkah.

“I’m not scared of dying, if that’s what you mean. But this is my life, my gift. I won’t give them to him just because he’s a spoiled bully. Two-thirds of a gift from the Dragon isn’t enough for him, but it’s twice as much as he should have.”

“What was her name? The triplet he killed.”

“Baile.”

Maybe her delivery stalled further questions, as had his warning tone when he’d discussed five—then four—siblings of his own.

Or maybe he was looking at the sky.

Tallis had leaned over her lap, supporting his arm against the seam where the window met the metal frame of the bus. Cold air seeped in through that poorly sealed crack. He dipped his face low, as if he were preparing to lay his head in her lap. Kavya lifted her hands. Fingers spread wide and tingling. She forgot to breathe. Although Tallis’s clothes still bore the grit and pungency of the forest, she caught the scent of his freshly cleaned skin. Again her attention was drawn to that strip of skin between his hairline and collar. That’s what she smelled, what made her mouth water. She wanted something as reckless as it was elemental. Just . . . Tallis. She swallowed and banked a heady shiver, unsure whether to push him away or touch the wild mass of silver-tipped hair that had fascinated her from the first.

Yet he hadn’t been seeking refuge in her body, even if she’d been willing to offer it. Instead he peered through the glass, toward the rocky mountaintops and on toward the sky. Gray layered over his features. The shadows were banished as he stared straight up toward the light source, but the light wasn’t clear.

“Tell me, Glinda, Good Witch of the North, what does that sky say to you?”

“Glinda?”

“Never mind. Just look.”

Only, Tallis didn’t shift position. He didn’t retreat to his half of the seat. Neither had he let go of her hand while they’d traversed Kullu’s knotted yarn streets and surrounding forests. Apparently once he pressed into her space, he decided to stay there. She should’ve minded. Instead she stared at the strong, corded tendon that angled down from his arrogant jaw to his throat. A glimpse of collarbone and a touch of masculine hair were visible where his shirt gaped.

Tallis had touched her bare arms, which had been surprising enough. The rush of heat circling like blood through arteries and veins said touching would be very different than being touched. Already she’d learned that kissing was different than being kissed. She wanted that control and to let her curiosity seek what it would—to solve the mysteries of how a man’s skin felt beneath her hands.

Tallis’s skin.

“Kavya,” came his sleek, low voice.

She blinked to focus on his face, which remained brightly lit by the pallor of pale light. Gray over blue intensified the notion that his eyes would match the color of an icy ocean she’d never seen. Her hands were still poised above his head. Being bold and without asking permission—he never had—she lowered one to his temple and petted silken hair back from his face. Briefly he closed those haunting, haunted eyes.