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Not when tomorrow may never even come.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I jerk awake, my heart pounding against my ribs like a war drum. The air in our bedchamber feels different. Wrong. Heavier and charged with invisible pressure that prickles my skin.

Next to me, Lark’s breathing remains soft and steady, her face half buried in the pillow and her dark hair spilling across the sheets. I slide from the bed without disturbing the mattress, a skill honed through years of military training. Despite my toes sinking into the thick rug, a chill racks my body.

The cold isn’t what raises the hairs on my arms.

There’s something else here. Or someone.

Spying.

Or maybe recent events overstimulated my imagination.

Moonlight streams through the window, casting our bedchamber in silvery shadow. I glide silently toward the basin by the window while straining to hear any sound out of place. Lark shifts in her sleep, murmuring something indistinct.

Water gleams in the basin, still and dark as a midnight lake. I lean forward, cupping my hands to splash my face, hoping to wash away the lingering sense of dread. Before I can touch it, the water rises to meet my fingers.

I freeze, noting how the liquid defies gravity to form a perfect sphere that hovers above the basin.

Not my doing.

“Your magic grows stronger by the day, Knox.”

The voice emerges from behind me, fluid and deep, like water rushing over polished stones.

I spin, reaching for my magic as I confront the threat head-on.

The space between me and the bed ripples and gradually takes shape.

Not quite a man. His edges blur, his form shifting like sunlight through waves.

Rivlan.

The elemental God of Water. What the blazes is he doing here?

Muscles tensing, I study him as he studies me. Seconds pass before I recall that I’m completely naked.

Not ideal to meet a god with my dick out, but oh well. “You’ve been watching me.”

Rivlan’s form solidifies slightly, though the bedposts still show through the translucent blue of his torso. “I have.”

“Why?” I keep my voice neutral, but my pulse quickens.

Close personal attention from a god isn’t exactly typical. Close, personal attention from a god during a divine war? The reason can’t be good.

“Why do you think?” His question trickles through the air.

“Oh, I don’t know.” My voice hardens. “Perhaps because of your godly war?”

The atmosphere grows thicker, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

Rivlan materializes more fully. His features sharpen, revealing eyes like deep ocean currents and skin that appears to flow across his body rather than remain still.

All the statues of him seem to be accurate. He possesses the chiseled, perfect features of a priceless sculpture. High cheekbones. Strong chin. Dark, well-shaped eyebrows the same color as his hair.

“Ah, yes. The Guardian.” Amusement flickers across his liquid features. “Of course he would open up to you. Well, he simply preempted my telling you.”