There was a long beat of uncomfortable silence.
“And what is Ezra meant to do about mana fever?” Cain asked, the cold rage in his voice replaced by restrained frustration.
“Onsen water.” Noah sighed heavily, resting his forehead against his fingers. “He said some was going to be brought in.”
“Onsen water?” There was no trace of recognition in Cain’s voice.
“Wow, you’re an asshole,” Noah muttered to himself, ignoring the deity’s immediate protest.
As he’d suspected, it didn’t sound like anything had been procured for or bestowed upon his husband’s orders.
“For supporting mana recovery,” he explained. “Ezra said you’d sent for some.” Noah’s eyes shot open as he was abruptly lifted from the bed. “What are you doing?”
“Do you never quiet?” Cain muttered, bundling the bedsheets up in his arms along with the shaman. “I’m keeping my promise, my hands aren’t on you. I’m taking you to the baths.”
He must have seen the unspoken ‘why?’ on Noah’s face.
“They have trace elements from the mana springs,” he added, elaborating no further.
“Say that first.” Noah drooped against the thick fur collar of Cain’s outer robes, his compliance born more from exhaustion than resignation.
He couldn’t help but think that his mana shouldn’t have been this impacted. Even when he’d depleted it in the Spirit Realm before, it had never taken this long to recover.
He had always been a veritable wellspring of mana… so if even he was suffering like this, it was difficult to imagine how the yokai and gods—beings who were almost solely reliant on mana—weren’t. If something about this territory dampened mana regeneration… Noah’s head hurt just thinking about it.
“How are you still fine?” he asked Cain. “I really thought you were going to bleed out.”
Cain’s expression remained unflinching, but the deity’s arms tightened almost imperceptibly around him.
“Stop talking and rest,” he murmured, pressing one thumb to Noah’s forehead.
His voice was so quiet that Noah didn’t notice the trace of power imbued in the words until it was too late. Before the shaman could get out a word of protest, his body went limp in the deity’s arms.
“Asshole,” he muttered, before his lips and consciousness were sealed by the command.
“Your Grace?” Ezra asked as Cain brushed past him in the halls with a bundle of blankets in his arms. “Is everything okay?”
“Mana-fever,” Cain said brusquely, leaving his steward to puzzle out the non-answer.
In all truth, it would have been easier for him to have left the human behind and summoned Ezra to deal with this. But there was an uncomfortable pang in his chest–one that felt unsettlingly like guilt.
If he hadn’t lost control when he’d first scented the human’s mana… no, if the human hadn’t been in his chambers in the first place, none of this would have happened.
“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath.
Even in the Spirit Realm, the Astraeus Clan had always been known for their resplendent beauty and unmatched purity of mana. As intermediaries of the Spirit and Mortal Realms, the descendants of the Astraeus Clan were highly sought after as consorts and trinkets of the powerful kami. The concept of pining after and coveting their bloodline was as absurd as it was distasteful.
It left a bad taste in his mouth to be lumped in with the gods and yokai who worshiped it. The Astraeus name was synonymous with power. And arrogance.
Even if he hated everything they stood for, he would have been a fool to turn such an offering away. He knew that, but it didn’t stop him from being disgusted with himself.
He’d never wanted anything to do with humans and yet he’d caved in the face of temptation. Everything about this one set him on edge—it had since he’d first seen him in the moonlight. In that instant, he’d known that every rumor he’d ever heard about the Astraeus Clan had been true.
The human had looked beautiful under the moonlight, even in slumber. Painfully so.
His features were as delicate and striking as any yokai’s. His pale, unmarked skin was illuminated with the dancing, iridescent light gleaming off the gossamer gown he wore. His azure hair—a shade that Cain had always thought would look ridiculous—looked like the most natural thing in the world on him. What else would suit a mortal who looked like that?
But it was the richness of his mana that had Cain under his spell.
It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. All mana carried a unique signature—it was a mixture of its owner’s emotions and experiences, an imprint of their soul. And his had felt… incomprehensibly warm.
It was the most comforting embrace coupled with the most overwhelming grief. A mixture of hurt and comfort that made his chest ache with an echo of emotions he’d never experienced firsthand. It was indisputably human—and he’d wanted it for himself.
More than anything.
Cain had been drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.
If he was dying, if he was truly to draw his last breath, he didn’t want to die without grasping that feeling for himself, at least once. He knew, intuitively, that the human was safety and salvation—
And he’d been right.
The human was like life itself. The pain of his wounds was nothing. The blood loss and darkness closing in on him lifted with every brush of the human’s lips against his.
The human was the most sinfully indulgent thing he’d ever tasted—as if before he’d had him, Cain had been starving his whole life. And he had lost himself in it.
He resented the human for it.
He resented himself for it.
And he especially resented the fact that some foolish part of him had hoped that this human would be different from the others. That he wouldn’t have the selfishness Cain had come to associate with humanity. That, despite being an Astraeus, he would not have the arrogance of one.
Stupid. That had been a stupid, simple thought.
“Weak,” Cain whispered, clutching the limp body in his arms tighter to his chest.
He’d been right to avoid the human afterwards, to put as much distance between them as possible. But he hadn’t meant for this to be the outcome—
“Master Echethier?” a concerned voice asked as he stormed into the central baths.
Ashbluff was home to few, but the central baths were a feature that each of them relied on. Located on the lowermost level of the castle, it was a series of tiled bathing areas surrounding the central pool that was built directly into the ground.
Steps had been carved directly from the rough hewn stone floor to descend into the shallowest end of the granite-tiled depression. The inside was lined with shallow stone benches built into the sides of the pool, where handfuls of yokai frequently gathered to idly chatter while they soaked.
Without stopping to acknowledge any greetings or questions—or to strip down to appropriate attire—Cain strode directly into the water. He slowed when he was waist deep, gradually lowering the body in his arms into the thermal waters.
“Alright, Astraeus, come on,” he muttered, gently supporting the shaman’s weight as he waded deeper.
He pointedly ignored the curious sets of eyes watching their every move as he waded further into the pool, stopping when the water level reached the shaman’s shoulders. Some of the tension left his shoulders as he watched some color creep back into the human’s face and his face began to show signs of stirring.
“That’s right,” Cain murmured. “That was barely a command. You aren’t so weak you can’t shake that off.”
“Something…” a nearby yokai mumbled. “Something smells really good.”
Cain’s ears piqued up, his amber eyes flashing a dangerous shade of gold as his grip on the human tightened.
“Amazing.” Another yokai agreed enthusiastically. “What is that?”
Cain bristled, bundling the dripping wet blankets protectively around the shaman in his arms.
“Leave,” he ordered, his voice booming across the tiled room. “Every last one of you, get out.”
The air was so thick with heat and humidity that Noah could feel every errant strand of hair getting plastered to his forehead. He was half-submerged in what felt like a hot tub, warm and pleasantly weightless in a way that made it difficult for him to care about or pay attention to much of anything. Even the loud, almost-familiar voice that he could hear yelling even from underwater.
The steam was so dense that he could only make out the faint outline of the man holding him, but the way he was being held felt familiar. It was a strong, protective embrace—one that he’d only ever associated with one other person.
His mind felt pleasantly fuzzy.
Ah.
This had to be a dream then.
He didn’t care. Even if it was just a fever dream, he wanted to hear that person’s voice. To see his face again, just one last time.
“Tama..."
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