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He leant against the railing, steaming mug now clasped in his hand while the pure darkness of his eyes reflected the eerie mist until they appeared almost opaque. Like the eyes of a corpse.

I went to find somewhere to fall asleep, probably back up in the crow’s nest where I’d be above them all.

Alone.

But something stopped me.

Perhaps it was how at peace Lyra felt last night with my hand in hers tucked up against her monster’s side. Or to show myself how much I had evolved since being tortured in the Hells. But I found myself turning back around to the other man that held a piece of Lyra’s heart and grabbing the cup from his ink-stained hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Rythos growled, and shadows rushed towards him as if answered his anger.

I breathed in the bitter scent of what smelled remarkably like old-fashioned coffee beans with something that burnt the back of my throat.

I took a deep drink, quirking an eyebrow when the sweetness of Lyra’s blood coated my tongue beneath the bitter bite of coffee and rum. “Fuck, that's good.”

“Give it back now, or I will pry it out of your hands.” Rythos’ shadows thickened.

I took another sip purely because irritating him made something inside me feel alive.

“Don't you think it tastes better this way?” I rolled the cup lazily between my palms. “Two men want the same cup, they can either spend all fucking day fighting over who gets to drink from it…” I held it back out to him with a grin. “Or they can share it and avoid smashing the thing they both wanted in the first place.”

Rythos’ gaze dropped to the cup in my hand.

For once, he didn't immediately threaten me or answer with a growl.

His shadows still writhed around his boots, but they slowed as his jaw worked, whatever insult sitting on his tongue apparently losing the battle against something I hoped would be consideration.

Then his eyes snapped to mine, the whites disappearing to black like ink spilled on a page that webbed out over his skin.

His stare could have buried lesser men, but not a god.

“I do not like to share,” Rythos snapped before releasing a slow breath. “But,” he said slowly, reaching for the cup. His hand wrapped around it and for a moment, and we both held it between us.

“I do not want to see it broken.” Rythos took the cup from my hand and drank from the exact place my mouth had been, his dark eyes never leaving mine. The corner of my mouth twitched, then betrayed me entirely as a grin split across my face.

Well, fuck.

“Do not mistake compromise for something else, god,” he said as he lowered the cup.

“And if the cup chooses both of us?” I challenged.

His jaw flexed and he looked away from me, towards the stairs leading below deck where Lyra still slept peacefully.

The silence stretched long enough that I thought he would ignore me completely.

I waited for the possessive growl, the threat, perhaps even a shadow through my fucking throat, but nothing came. And strangely, neither did the smart-arse remark sitting on my tongue.

“Then she has us both.”

I tilted my chin, the closest thing to gratitude either of us would probably tolerate, before turning towards the main deck.

“Then she has us both,” I repeated, as I walked down the stairs to the main deck with a nervousness crawling through my stomach like a thousand spiders.

Rythos and I had both wanted the same woman and destroyed ourselves for her, when neither of us had ever stopped to consider what she wanted.

This time, my vicious little wife wouldn’t have to choose.

Chapter Forty-One