Page 100 of Children of Fallen Gods

Max.Max.

I couldn’t move. I wanted to run to him and yank him into an embrace, but all I could do was stare. I didn’t realize until my cheeks started to ache that my face had split into a grin.

He wore a black military jacket that looked a bit worse for wear, the silver accents revealing the stains that the black fabric hid. He’d loosened several buttons so that the double-breasted coat hung down on one side, making him look especially disheveled — not that the mess of his hair and the shadows beneath his eyes didn’t do that already.

“Took you long enough to get back,” Nura said.Twip, as her blade retracted back up her sleeve.

Max shrugged. His eyes didn’t move from mine, a smile twitching at the left side of his mouth.

“Hello, you.”

“Hello, you.” I could barely get the words out, breathless from more than exertion.

Nura rolled her eyes.

Far in the back of my mind, I felt Reshaye stir. I reached into that web, found it where it perched. It was weak, as it so often was, these days — still exhausted from our fight days ago. Carefully, I coaxed it back into the shadows. Draped a blanket of darkness over it, the same way I shielded my thoughts from other Wielders.

I wanted privacy.

I crossed the room to join Max at the door. I slid my hand into his — for a moment, the solidness of his touch overwhelmed me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. “Let’s go,” I murmured.

“We’re not done,” Nura said.

I didn’t bother looking back. “We are, actually.” Max gave me a little, sidelong smile. I returned it and shrugged.

What would she do? They needed me. And there was nothing that could pull me from this.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Tisaanah

We didn’t even make it to my room. The minute we found ourselves in an empty hallway, we were on each other, my back against the wall, Max’s mouth against mine, kisses desperate and searching. He tasted like soot and smelled like smoke and lilacs, that familiar scent that hit me like the heady seduction of wine.

Oh gods, I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.

My mouth was too busy doing much more important things to form those words, but they pulsed through me with every heartbeat. It was almost embarrassing, to feel so incomplete without another person. I’d spent my whole life learning how to gracefully swallow loss. And yet, these weeks away from him had withered me.

We didn’t stop until we made it to my room, sacrificing seconds for a kiss here, a touch there. When we finally found ourselves at my door, I shoved the key into the lock and threw it open, the two of us staggering inside in an ungraceful tangle of limbs. The door closed. It was silent, save for the wonderful sound ofus —beautiful, ragged cadence of Max’s demanding breaths, the rustle of our fingers pulling at clothing, the slide of flesh against flesh.

“I missed you,” I choked out, between kisses.

“Me too.” Two words that vibrated against the skin of my neck, lifting a groan to my throat. “You have no idea.”

Gods.

I pushed against him until he met the wall. My mouth found his again, hands reaching for the already half undone buttons of his jacket. I wanted to touch him everywhere, reacquaint myself with all of his planes and angles, drown in the hot warmth of his skin.

I buried my face against his throat. Licked and kissed and nibbled, tasting salt and the faintest hint of iron, as my hands worked first at the final jacket buttons, then those of the plain cotton shirt beneath. He let out a groan, his grip around me tightening as my hand flattened against his abdomen, relishing the way his muscles twitched at my touch.

I pulled away just enough to look at him, even though he strained to keep me close.

Purple bruises bloomed like overripe petals over his skin, some as large as my fist. A red, angry cut that looked to be a few days old, dark with clotted blood, arced over one pectoral.

My lips parted, but before I could say anything, Max’s mouth was on mine again.

“It’s fine,” he muttered, between kisses. “I’m fine.” And his hands were at my clothes, yanking my sweat-soaked sleeveless tunic over my head. Then the camisole below it. His touch, warm and demanding and tender all at once, drowned out all coherent thought. All worry. Anything but the all-consuming need to have as much of him against me, touching me,insideme, as I possibly could.

We staggered to the bed. I fell back first, and he started to follow when he paused.

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