Hunt left as soon as the arrow was complete.

With only a brief thank you, she was gone, leaving him almost dazed by her swift departure. He sunk into one of the chairs and tilted his head toward the ceiling. Crafting such a perfect and powerful weapon had truly drained him; it appeared his well of power only seemed infinite.

The momentary exhaustion passed, however, and Creation was on his feet again. With Hunt off to deliver the arrow to her chosen champion, he had time to indulge his curiosity surrounding the other two doors of his godly quarters.

“Let’s see what the mortals think I need . . .” he mumbled, opening the door directly across from the workshop. It led to yet another staircase that wound up and around a different landing. The room was circular, but empty. He couldn’t help but wonder what the mortals ultimately intended to do with it.

Creation started back down the steps and tried the final door at the end of the first hall. This one was painted white and he didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t the lavish bedroom that waited on the other side.

Tapestries hung on the walls and a fireplace in its center that Creation went to on instinct. With a dip of his wrist and twitch of his fingers, a fire flickered into existence, instantly replacing the blues and purples of late evening along his walls with orange and yellow. He looked at the way the firelight played on the walls, the four-poster bed, and the lush rugs underneath his feet. Creation walked over to the window, gazing below at the hedges that surrounded the temple—palace, more like, as it was truly fit for a king.

Or a Prince of Gods, he supposed.

A sudden thrumming across the ether of his magic cut his exploration short.

Creation sensed Destruction the moment she set foot within the kingdom of Aristonia. Turning, he began walking hastily, a pace that quickened to a near sprint as her presence grew. Though, as he approached the main temple doors, he made it a point to slow his stride, catch his breath and steady his mind.

He had no way of knowing why she was here, just like he had no way of truly knowing why she’d left at the beach. After the way it had felt to finally hold her in his arms, to finally connect with her on the level his magic had been designed to crave, she had run.

Perhaps she was only here to do him the kindness of a final goodbye.

Creation’s heart ached at the thought. But even as the possibility loomed just on the other side, he knew he was beyond denying himself her presence, even if it was the last time she were ever to allow it.

So, focusing on the silent pull of her magic, Creation opened the door and laid eyes on her for what felt like the first time in centuries.

“I was starting to think you’d keep me out here in the cold forever,” Destruction said without preamble. She stood with her back against the stone curve of the archway, arms crossed over her chest in a perfect imitation of indifference—easily offset by the slight tilt of a smirk at the corner of her lips. Whether it be the spike in his magic from their last interaction—their kiss—or something more intangible, Creation couldn’t fathom, but the longer he was in her proximity, the less he was inclined to believe that this feeling coursing through him was anything less than real, true, and entirely his.

“It took a moment to convince myself you would truly come,” Creation admitted in return. The words you have no reason to went unspoken, but Destruction’s smirk falling and her darting away said it was heard regardless. Despite himself, Creation felt guilty; she was given no choice in this connection forcing them together.

Yet, she was still here, without explanation, and it was easy to succumb to his own hopeful imaginings of the reason for her appearance.

So, before she could shatter that hope, Creation remembered what Hunt had said about the temples and spoke hastily. “Please, come in. You are always welcome here.”

“I don’t know about always,” was what her mouth said, but her feet said a different story as she strolled into his temple as if already owning the place.

Destruction gave a low whistle. “Barely a demigod for a few years in mortal time and they’ve already gone out of their way to see this repurposed for you.” Creation was too busy watching her every movement to ask—or even care—what it had been repurposed from. “Then again, I guess that’s what happens when you’re the favorite of a king.”

“I am certain your temples are twice the size.”

“I’m Destruction; mortals aren’t too fond of that.” She shook her head. “I don’t have temples. I have a small chalet I’ve made my own and that’s about it.”

He resisted the urge to ask where. “They will be fond of you when they see—” us together, Creation stopped himself short, hastily recovering “—how much good your powers can do.”

Destruction gave a small smile that was almost . . . sad? He wasn't used to seeing her vulnerability and wasn’t sure if she was used to showing it.

“They’ll always see me as part of Chaos, with the way she hunts for me. She’s done me no favors by making sure even the mortals know that I’m ‘hers.’”

Hunt. Chaos. The two words brought him back to the present. “Come this way,” Creation ushered her toward the stairs, asking as they walked. “Is that why you’ve come? Because Chaos is hunting you?” Or is it because you wished to see me? was the question he dared not ask.

Destruction merely hummed, offering no further response. Creation didn’t pry; he was too afraid of the answer.

He opened the white door at the end of the hall, inviting her in to the comfortable room he’d begun to think of as his own. Just like the temple doors before, she entered as if she owned the place. But as far as he was concerned, she did. There was no chamber or quarter he would ever bar her from entering.

Creation closed the door behind her, savoring one more blissful moment of pretending that this was real. That nothing else existed but the room they were in and nothing else mattered but their love . . . or him trying to earn her love. But reality weighed heavily and would for as long as Chaos walked the earth.

“Speaking of Chaos . . . Hunt has enlisted a champion to be her marksman against her,” he explained, walking over to the flames still burning in the fireplace. Holding out a hand he created a few logs of wood, depositing them at the base of the fire. “I’ve created an arrow fit to pierce the heart of a demigod. She’s bringing it to that champion now, so soon you will have your freedom.” He paused. “So if that was the knowledge you’ve come here to seek, you now have it . . .”

He didn’t want her to go, never wanted to watch the sight of her back but he also vowed never to force her to stay. He kept his eyes firmly pinned on the hearth, waiting for the sound of her departing footsteps. She’d seen his temple, had a reprieve, and received an update. Surely business.

Instead of fading away, however, her steps grew closer, until she appeared in his periphery.

“It’ll never work,” she said softly, reaching a hand out towards the flames. “If Hunt’s plan is to hinge this all on a single mortal and one shot then, she will fail. I’ve seen what Chaos does to mortals . . . she’s far too strong to fall for something like that. We’ll have to think of our own solution.”

Creation watched her face. She dismissed all his work so easily. From the corner of his eyes he saw her fingers breach the pyre, though no pain marred her face. In a crackle of magic, the fire roared and then died, a single breath between life and death. Creation imagined seeing the darkness bleeding into her skin, sucking the warm yellow glow from her cheeks.

He was so distracted that he almost missed the implication of her words. “We?” Creation’s heart hammered as Destruction captured his gaze. Even in the renewed darkness, she seemed illuminous; in any light, it was impossible for him not to see every detail of her beauty.

For a long moment, Destruction simply scanned his face, searching for something—waiting for something, perhaps. When she spoke, the look never shifted, never wavered to reveal her thoughts or intentions, yet it was impossible not to hear the half-truth lying underneath.

“My freedom depends on the success of all this,” she said, turning to face him fully. “I run all possibilities over in my head and it becomes clearer and clearer to me that you have no chance at defeating Chaos without my help.” Then, as if it physically pained her to say so, she added through gritted teeth, “I understand her better than anyone, demigod and god alike. I have to be involved in whatever end she meets.”

“You are not like—” Creation began to say before he could stop himself, a hand already reaching for her, the tips of his fingers just grazing the bare skin of her upper arm.

Instantly, the smoldering embers within the hearth caught flame, shining a light on the curiosity in Destruction’s eyes. She seemed surprised by his half-formed sentence. Or perhaps at the overwhelming magic rippling between them at such a simple, barely-there touch.

“I am not like . . .?” she whispered once the flames died down and the silence had stretched on long enough. Yet, neither of them made a move to pull away.

“You are not like Chaos,” Creation whispered. He desperately needed her to know that, though where it stemmed from, he was unsure. He simply needed her to believe in her own autonomy, her own personality, her own power as much as she claimed she did.

“How do you know? You have never met her or even seen her, have you?” Destruction raised an eyebrow at him, though her eyes glittered not with annoyance or stubbornness, but with mischief. As well as something Creation couldn’t quite identify so much as feel—like a tingling beneath his skin.

Creation took a selfish moment to raise a hand to Destruction’s cheek, thrilled at her eyes automatically fluttering closed. Just that simple touch alone filled him with an indescribable rightness. He knew she felt it, too.

“I may have been made for you, Destruction,” he willed himself to say after allowing one more moment to bask in the feel of her closeness. “But that doesn’t change what my magic, what my heart recognizes. I don’t need to have met her—I know you. And that’s all that matters.”

“And what do you think you know?” Destruction’s words fell in a breath against his palm, causing a shiver to run down his spine. He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her a little bit closer. She didn’t pull away or tense, didn’t even hesitate, lips shaping a smile she seemed unable to bite back.

“You may have once been the other half to Oblivion,” Creation answered, filling his words with every ounce of honesty he possessed. “But now, you are the other half to my own. Whether you wish to stay by my side or not, the fact that I am your perfect match is a truth I will forever be grateful for. And, I have seen in you a woman all her own, unbeholden to anyone or anything else.” His thumb dragged across her cheekbone.

“If I didn’t know any better,” she smirked, swaying into him further as if pulling him into a silent dance. “What you’re describing almost sounds like love.”

Love.

Of course it was love. Of course this pull, both within their magic and within each other, was nothing other than love. He had never been more certain of anything in the entirety of his existence. But to be made as a counterbalance and to be in love were two different things, and he was suddenly desperate for her to know which path he craved.

“I had never loved until the moment I saw you, and now will never love anything as much.”

Destruction blinked, mouth slightly agape, before she was letting out a soft, breathy laugh. Any distance that remained between them was gone, their bodies flush together. Heat coiled tight in Creation’s stomach. His heart stuttered.

“You love me,” Destruction whispered, carding her fingers through the short strands of hair at his nape, fingernails dragging against his skin. She hummed as if in thought, her ministrations never stopping. “Close your eyes.”

This time, it was Creation’s turn to look confused. “What?”

“Close your eyes,” Destruction repeated, the smirk from before pulling at the corner of her lips. “I want to try something.”

With his eyes closed, the heat of her hand on his neck, her arms around his shoulders, seemed to intensify. When plush lips pressed first feather light and then more intently against his own, he registered no other sensation at all. The universe narrowed down to the feel of her tongue asking for permission, which he easily granted.

He melted into the kiss, thrilled to soak into each shared breath, each smothered moan. Eventually, when the kiss deepened, the same primal and desperate feeling from on the beach began to rise within him. Creation’s grip on Destruction’s waist tightened as he forced their pelvises flush.

Destruction gasped. Heat boiled low in his belly at the sight of her. He dove back in for another fierce kiss, lowering his arms to her upper thighs so he could pick her up, get her as close as possible. Destruction wrapped her legs around his waist and moaned at the shift in friction. Creation was almost stunned to find himself suddenly lowering her to the bed, his legs on autopilot.

For a moment, she simply rolled her hips against his growing hardness, a motion that had his eyes drifting back in pleasure. But he wanted more. Truly, he wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted. All he knew was that he needed to be as close to her as she would allow him to be, and his body seemed to have no problem pointing him in the right direction.

Instead of dipping back in for another kiss, as much as he wanted to—he wanted so much, too much, more than he’d ever wanted before—Creation lowered his lips to just below the hollow of her ear. She shuddered, a breathy sound leaving her parted lips. He gently nipped at her pulse point before kissing away the small mark, humming contently when one of her hands tangled in his hair.

“I want you,” Creation said, his voice alien and rough to his own ears. Destruction nodded, letting her legs drop and pulling on his hair to get him eye to eye.

“I want you, too,” she breathed.

Creation buried his face in the crook of her neck, groaning at the desire that coursed through him. It took everything he had to pull away just enough to shed his clothing. Destruction watched him disrobe, eyes traveling his half-naked body with shameless appreciation, before joining him. She kept his gaze as she removed each layer of clothing. They stood naked before each other in mere moments.

Destruction backed into the center of the bed, and Creation wordlessly followed, arms caged on either side of her head.

Mesmerized, they admired each other for a long breath, their magic mingling between them. When they finally recovered that minute distance, Creation lowered himself in for a kiss that pressed them skin to skin—electrifying.

The heat of her skin, her nails raking down the taut line of his back seared him. His hands traveled from her shoulder, hip, and back, cupping the swell of her breasts. He pinched each nipple between finger and thumb. Destruction’s back arched off the bed, her head falling back in pleasure, a pleasure that Creation felt like a second skin.

“Creation,” Destruction moaned. Her hand disappeared from his back to reach between them, wrapping her fingers around his length and guiding him towards her. “Creation, please.”

With her consent written so plainly on her face, in her words, Creation slowly thrust forward.

He was met instantly with tightness and heat, though the wetness between her legs had him gliding easily to the hilt, the two of them connected as deeply as they could be. Creation kept himself still, allowing Destruction to adjust, and listened to their panting breaths until she started rolling her hips, pulling him in deeper.

Creation groaned, leaning into the thrust and shuddering. Destruction gasped, voice cracking in pleasure as his name escaped her lips over and over again until he smothered that voice with a rough and passionate kiss.

Her ankles locked at the small of his back as Creation picked up speed, chasing the sensation that his magic, his heart, his very essence seemed to be searching for. Destruction met him thrust for thrust, the kiss deteriorating into nothing but shared gasps and the wet brush of lips.

Around them, the fire flickered and blazed and the plants strewn about in corners died in mass before being reborn even more lush than before. But Creation paid little mind to anything but the woman writhing beneath him, the most beautiful woman and demigod. The love of his life—this one, the next one, and all others.

“Yes, my love, yes,” Creation moaned, his love for her growing alongside the heat at his core until he feared it would kill him with its intensity. But there was surely no greater death.

Whether it was his words or the pace of their coupling reaching its peak, Destruction cried out, back arching against the onslaught of her release. Her tightening around him was all he needed to follow her over the edge. He held her in his wave of ecstasy, allowing it to drown them both.