Chapter 24

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I have been scandalized.

Yawning after ending yet another successful stream, I head to my room, expecting anything but Alexios to make good on his joke from earlier.

As my eyes adjust to the dimness of my bedside lamp illuminating my husband, my mouth drops open. Fully masculine, Alexios lies sprawled atop my comforter.

His gaze lifts off his phone, and he smiles—seductively. "Evening, angel. Ready for bed?"

" What are you wearing?" I blurt, aghast.

"Bunny costume."

Blinking, I thrust my fingers back into my hair and scan him. "I… Yes, I can see that."

He lounges , snugly, fluffily , in a black bunny onesie. "Then why did you ask?"

I do not know.

Perhaps I feared I was hallucinating.

Making a pitstop to peek in at my little baby, I murmur, "Is this what you consider male lingerie ?"

"Lingerie is a generically female term used to refer to underwear or nightclothes. If these are my nightclothes, and I am male, then this is male lingerie ."

I don't know why I think we're missing a few key definition details, but after a three-hour stream, I'm not sure I'm ready to debate this topic. Humming, I dip to touch a kiss to Ash's gray forehead, then I take myself to the bathroom, remove my stream makeup, and brush my teeth.

Alexios in his bunny costume still hits me between the brows when I step out in a set of my usual pajamas.

"Why are your ears lop?" I ask, cautiously skirting Ash's crib to reach my side of the bed.

"Do you prefer erect?"

My stomach somersaults. "N-no." I grab my blankets and shove them aside. "I was just wondering why you went with the other kind ."

He smiles, texting innocently. "Because. They're adorable."

He is not wrong.

I bury myself in bed, watching him.

He doesn't look up from his phone as he crosses his ankles. From what I can tell of his feet, they're padded paws.

Never in a million years would I think I'd wind up in the same bed as a man dressed like a rabbit…

His gaze catches on me. "Are you not going to play your dating sim games tonight?" Setting his phone on the nightstand behind him, he snuggles down atop the comforter, hooks an arm beneath his head, and lets his lips curve upward. "Is it because you'd prefer to engage in flirty dialogue with me instead?"

"You couldn't handle it."

"Couldn't I?"

My eyes narrow. "We both know if I start flirting with you, you'll be excusing yourself to have a crisis in your room for ten to twenty minutes, sweetheart."

"My bedroom is no longer safe." His lip protrudes in a pout. "The fungus took over. I'm condemned to have any future crises here. I'll just pull my floppy ears over my face and hide until my heart rate resumes adequate function."

"Xios."

His teeth bare in a smile. "Yes, angel?"

"Do you have a little cottontail?"

A dark brow arches. "Are you asking to see my—" He swears.

"A yes or no will do, truly."

"Yes."

Okay, now I do want to see it. Why in the world would he go all out like this? There is no reason for him to craft his magic clothes so intensely. These details are wholly uncalled for. They're reminding me of the hours I have spent working on insignificant cosplay details just because I'll know whether or not they were accurate .

I fold my arms. "Sometimes, you really do seem like my soulmate. Other times, I remember you're a full-grown man in a bunny suit who will have a breakdown if I ask you to take it off."

"It's too cold to take it off, unless you're inviting me under the blankets with you."

"My AC is set at a modest seventy-two."

"One degree lower, and it's a Honduran winter."

Fair enough.

I…think.

"Fine." I lift my chin. "You're my husband. If you're comfortable getting into bed naked with someone who isn't your wife, go right ahead."

He scoffs. "I wouldn't be naked . I'm wearing underwear beneath my bunny costume."

Before I can retort, he rolls out of bed, removes his cuff links which I didn't see on his sleeves before, and…

Well.

Um.

It's not exactly like he's stripping , is it?

Not when his outfit simply phases out of existence, leaving behind a pair of black boxers, which , for the record, I am not looking at . While I'm busy not looking at all his toned muscle and pale skin, he pulls the blankets down and climbs into bed…with…me.

My heart skips to an odd rhythm.

"Do you want the light off?" he whispers.

"No. Not…yet."

For several long moments, we look at each other, a foot of bed space between us, my heart tripping about in my chest as unfamiliar sensations take over. It's extremely plausible that I'm too tired for all this…

"This isn't fair," I say.

"What isn't?"

"I don't know what I'm feeling, and I don't know what you're feeling, but you're privy to both."

"Ah." He presses his lips together and sinks deeper into bed, getting cozy. "You're okay. You're not afraid, or overly nervous. You feel safe." He smiles. "With me. Even like this."

"Ew."

He breathes a laugh.

"What about you? What are you feeling?"

"At odds with the fabric. It's rare I let something I haven't crafted myself touch me like this without the barrier of my clothing. You have nice sheets at least."

That is far more tame a response than I expected. But I'm not complaining. "Is that all?"

"What do you expect me to say?" His eyes meet mine, and his simmer with undefinable things. " Lust? "

I swallow, hard.

The heat mellows. "Sorry. Was that too far?"

"Is it true?"

His stretching silence answers before he wets his lips and looks elsewhere. "I like you, snowflake. Of course I'm feeling all sorts of overwhelming things right now, like this. That doesn't mean I'll do a single thing you don't want me to. I've promised. Physically, I can't disregard consent if I'm to touch you."

"No such laws protect you from me."

He chuckles. "You have my heart in your palm, angel. You'd be hard-pressed to find something I don't consent to."

"Force feeding you mushrooms."

"I stand immaculately and swiftly corrected."

A laugh escapes me. "I thought you'd learned not to underestimate me."

"As did I." He presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth. "I might be shutting down. You smell…very good. And…" Red plunges through his cheeks. "…your heartbeat is frantic. I want to hold you. I doubt either of us could handle the sensation. This form holds onto more information than when I'm a bat. It's harder to regulate so much more space."

"Sounds annoying. So. I probably shouldn't touch you, right?"

His eyes widen. His voice cracks. " Please do. "

I flush. "Desperate much?"

"Insatiably."

My eyes close as I free a sigh. "Roll over."

"Roll over?"

"I'm going to play with your hair. Unless you don't want me to?"

He rolls over, putting his long, trailing braid toward me. Along with his broad, bare back.

I focus on the braid. Scooting closer, I undo the tie, watch its magic dissolve between my fingers.

He shudders as I comb the strands out. They are a straight, silken mess of ink, pouring like water in my hands, leaving me to wonder what kind of conditioner he uses. Because, dang .

"I've never seen your hair down before," I murmur. "It's pretty."

"I hate it," he whispers. "It's so unnecessarily everywhere. All the time."

"Why don't you get it cut?"

"Cutting it wouldn't be a permanent solution. I'd have to keep getting it cut. And I hate how it feels when I cut it… I envy Pollux and Meda. Their shifting abilities allow them to choose every detail of their form. I do not have that luxury."

My wayfaring fingertips diverge from their objective of playing with the pretty dark hair in favor of tracing the line of Alexios's wing bones, then the bumps of his spine. Several minutes pass before I realize his breaths have hardened and he's shaking.

I close my fingers off him. "Sorry… Existing seems pretty…painful for you."

Dismantled, he casts a trembling look over his shoulder. "Don't worry. This…is not painful."

Breath catches in my throat.

Framed by wisps of dark strands, he looks drawn straight from one of my games. Artistically sculpted with enticement in mind. I have never seen someone so beautiful.

My touch finds his skin once more, planting firm against his back.

Achingly slow, he rolls to face me. His fingertips skim up my arm, to my wrist, and solidify my palm against his hammering heart.

His throat bobs. "Zahra…" The low, strained tone of his voice makes it seem like he's prepping to say something profound, and I'm not sure whether I'll be able to handle that right now, so I avert my eyes and don't respond.

Lifting his free hand, he curls a finger beneath my chin, forces my gaze back to him, and repeats, " Zahra ."

"What?" I murmur, wishing I had ignored him when I entered the room in favor of picking up my phone and playing my games, wishing I had at least asked him to turn off the light.

He smiles, and every muscle in me eases. Secretive, he leans forward, touches a kiss to my nose, and says, "I love you."

My heart knots.

He loves me. And he can't lie. Even though he can't take anything from me because of oaths he's made. Even though my head is constantly battling a narrative that claims I'm not good enough for a God made of love, and, therefore, will never be good enough for anyone.

"You have to stop saying that." I wet my lips. "I don't know what I'll do once I let myself understand the weight of those words. I think they might crush me."

"Love isn't meant to be a burden, snowflake, but if it feels like one, the best thing you can do is give it back."

"What a quaint way of requesting I return your affections."

His chin dips, so he's peering at me past his dark lashes. "Has it come any closer to convincing you?"

Yes. No. Maybe.

I shift the topic. "Will you get any sleep if I hug you?"

"My senses are already on the brink of collapse. What difference might a hug make?" Sweeping the comforter up, he welcomes me into his embrace—like a prince from one of my crazy games.

One of my crazy games where love never fails, and no one gets hurt.

"Come," he whispers into my reverie, gray eyes sparking with lightning and mischief. "Drive me mad."

After asking him to put the bunny onesie back on and turn out the light, I let myself do just that.