Sabir had to physically hold her down as the sandstorm engulfed them. She almost blasted him off so she could run back to find Lyre, but the sand was a solid, screaming wall and she couldn’t see beyond a few feet. She’d never find him.

“This is your fault!” she yelled at Sabir, struggling against his constricting arms. “You shouldn’t have left him behind!”

“I couldn’t carry you both,” he snapped, more upset than she’d expected. He pulled her deeper into the crystal shelter as dust eddied around them. “Stop talking before you get sand in your mouth.”

She hunched her shoulders, holding back her furious, panicked criticisms. Even with the cloth tied over her face, her mouth felt gritty and her throat hurt. The sand boiled past their shelter in a mixture of dust, sharp orange particles, and larger bits of rock. What would that abrasive barrage do to Lyre, caught in the open with no shelter to break the wind and block the sand?

Would it shred his skin? Would it blind him? Would he suffocate, choking on sand?

Tremors ran through her and her eyes watered, though whether from fright or the grit in them, she wasn’t sure. For what felt like hours, the sandstorm raged without relief. Finally, the whistling scream of flying sand died, leaving only the whooshing wind and clouds of roiling dust.

Releasing her, Sabir sidled cautiously to the edge of their shelter. “You can wait here while I look for—”

“No,” she snapped. “I’m coming with you to find Lyre.”

His eyes narrowed, then he shrugged. “You’ll just needlessly exhaust yourself. Stay close. Visibility is poor.”

Before venturing out, they both took a long drink from their waterskins, then Sabir led her back into the dune valley. The loose sand, heaped and piled in strange new ripples, sucked at her feet. Sabir moved quickly, forcing her to jog every few steps to keep up. A thick haze hung in the air, dimming the sunlight, and the wind wasn’t as painfully hot as before.

“He should be around here, based on how fast he was moving.” Sabir stopped to scan the sandy gorge. “If he fell and got buried, we might have trouble finding him.”

Fell. Buried. Those words triggered a fresh wave of panic. She lurched forward, blinking her asper into focus. His aura. Where was his aura? Had he fallen? Was he buried? Had he suffocated? She couldn’t see the faintest glimmer of golden light in the endless sea of orange.

“Lyre?” she shouted, turning in a circle. “Lyre, where are y—”

She faced the way they’d come and a shimmer leaked through a heap of sand. With a frantic gasp, she sprinted to the spot and thrust her hands out. Her fingers slammed into something hard only a few inches under the sand and pain shot through her joints.

“Ow!” she gasped, stumbling back a step.

Sabir appeared beside her. “What the hell?”

He brushed the sand aside to reveal a smooth surface that glowed gold. Runes and interconnecting lines formed an intricate, powerful barrier. She swept her arms across it to expose the top of a dome.

Sitting inside it, his chin propped on one hand and eyes closed, was Lyre.

“Lyre!” she cried.

His eyes popped open. At the sight of her and Sabir leaning over the top of his barrier, he sat up and reached for the glowing gemstone in front of him. He touched the gem, golden light flashed, and the barrier dissolved. All the sand piled against its sides collapsed into the gap where he sat.

“Shit,” he yelped as he was swamped. “Damn it.”

With a bemused expression, Sabir held out his hand. Lyre grabbed it, and Sabir pulled him out. Lyre brushed himself off, sand flying everywhere, and pulled his backpack off to shake it clean.

“Glad you made it,” Sabir said, a note of caution in his voice. “That’s one hell of a barrier. I’ve never seen anything like that.”

“Good thing I had it,” Lyre commented evasively, cool as could be considering he’d just weathered a brutal sandstorm alone and exposed in an Overworld desert. “Glad you two showed up. I couldn’t tell if the storm had ended.”

“Looked like you were taking a nap in there.”

Lyre shrugged. “It was boring. Nothing else to do.”

Sabir shook his head. “You’re tougher than you look, incubus.”

“Thanks … I think.”

Clio said nothing, her hands clenched into fists and her expression as blank as she could make it. Her heart pounded from residual fear, and relief rolled through her, so strong it made her knees weak. She’d been so afraid he was dead.

Sabir scanned her face as though checking to see if she would burst into tears or throw herself into Lyre’s arms. “Let’s get moving then. Navigating in the dust will be tricky, but I have a good sense of direction.”

He started out again, glancing back frequently to make sure she and Lyre were following. She didn’t move, letting Sabir draw ahead, and Lyre waited beside her.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, guessing exactly what she needed to hear. “Absolutely fine.”

She nodded, on the verge of tears, and pressed her lips together so he wouldn’t see them tremble.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” He put his hand on the small of her back to guide her forward—and hot tingles rushed up her spine.

She jumped in surprise. He smiled conspiratorially and winked at her. She stared for a moment, then laughed softly and hurried to catch up with Sabir, Lyre following right behind her.

A little jolt of aphrodesia to calm her nerves and reassure her he was fine. Later, she would tell him off for using his seduction magic on her again, but for now, she would hold on to that feeling of warmth and pleasure for as long as she could.

Miles of desert lay behind them, and they still had a long way to go.

* * *

Clio lost count of the hours, and with the haze left by the sandstorm, she couldn’t see the mountain range to judge their progress. Eventually, rough orange crags and jutting formations of blue crystal overtook the endless sand dunes, and the occasional clump of grass, cluster of shrubs, or lonely tree appeared. By the time the suns hung low on the horizon, struggling to burn through the dusty haze, the desert dunes were far behind them and the rocky foothills had taken over.

Despite the reduced visibility, Sabir led them unerringly. He never tired, his stride unfaltering while Clio’s and Lyre’s strength flagged more with each hour.

“We’ll make camp in the next ravine,” he told them as they climbed a rocky hill dotted with dry grass and a few bushes with bluish leaves. “I’d intended to get farther into the mountains before nightfall, but the storm slowed us down. We’ll make up the time tomorrow.”

Clio cringed at the thought of another day of travel like this one. She’d run out of water a few miles ago and was now sharing the last of Sabir’s waterskin with Lyre. Her legs throbbed mercilessly, and she wholeheartedly agreed with Sabir’s no-stopping policy—if she stopped, she’d never start again.

They crested the hill, and just beyond it, the hillside fell steeply into a ravine. Short trees grew in scattered clusters of four or five, and winding through the center was a narrow creek, its surface reflecting the planet’s glowing light, now brighter than the last streaks of sunlight in the west.

She dredged up the last of her energy as they half slid, half trotted down the slope. She wanted to throw herself into the water and wash off the dust and sweat of their journey, but when she got to the bottom, she discovered it wasn’t a creek so much as a shallow stream only a few inches deep, trickling merrily over smooth pebbles and bits of crystal. Far too shallow to bathe in.

Sabir hustled her and Lyre to a thicket of trees. Clio sank down in a patch of soft sand, too tired to drink the fresh water only a few feet away.

“We’ll camp here.” Sabir pulled off his pack and propped it against a tree. “This spot is sheltered enough for a fire. Once the suns go down, it’ll get cold.”

“How cold is cold?” Lyre asked as he shed his backpack and crouched beside the stream. He dunked his empty waterskin into the shallow flow.

“Cold enough that you’ll want a fire and a blanket.”

“Fun,” Lyre muttered.

“There isn’t much firewood here,” the daemon continued, gesturing at the nearest spindly tree, its upper branches decorated with six-inch thorns. “I’ll collect some from nearby, then make something to eat.”

“Do you need any help?” Clio offered, even though the thought of standing again made her want to curl into a ball and cry.

“No.” He pulled off his white robe and shook out the sand. “The next wooded area is a bit of a hike. I can get there and back faster on my own.”

“Thanks, Sabir,” she murmured tiredly.

“Just rest for now. Drink. Wash up. I’ll be back in an hour.” With a glance at the sky—gauging the time by the partially eclipsed planet above—Sabir hopped over the stream, no sign of weariness in his movements, and swiftly climbed the opposite side of the gully. He vanished over the crest.

“I didn’t think much of him at first,” Lyre said as he capped his waterskin and filled hers, “but that guy is hardcore.”

“Yeah, he’s a lot tougher than I would have guessed.” She arched an eyebrow at Lyre. “Does that mean you’ll be jealous now if I flirt with him?”

He huffed and handed her the filled waterskin. “Maybe a little. If nothing else, he’s making me look pathetically out of shape.”

“If you’re out of shape, then what does that make me?” She stifled a groan as she sat up and untied her white garment, dislodging a cascade of sand. She folded the fabric, then moved to their pack and retrieved her spare shirt. “I’m going to go rinse off.”

Finding a spot downstream with some privacy, she used the cloth she had tied around her face to scrub off, then changed into her clean top. Washing her hair wouldn’t work without a bucket, so the best she could do was shake the dust out. As clean as she could get and feeling reasonably refreshed, she gave her old shirt a quick wash and returned to their camp.

Lyre was crouched beside the water, his handkerchief dripping wet. His shirt was untucked, the first few buttons undone, and his hair was damp. He must have washed off too. As she approached, he pressed the cloth to the side of his head just at his hairline, then lowered it to look at the fabric as though expecting to see something.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she flipped her washed shirt over a tree branch to dry.

He prodded the side of his head again. “Do I have a scratch here?”

She knelt beside him and found a scrape near his temple. It had already scabbed over but she took his cloth and carefully cleaned it anyway.

“It’s not bad,” she told him. “What happened?”

“Just a rock from the sandstorm. It took me a minute to get my shield up,” he added at her confused look.

She lowered the cloth. A sick feeling twisted deep in her gut, the same nausea she’d felt as she desperately worked to heal him on the riverbank in Brinford after the reaper had stabbed him.

“If you hadn’t had such a powerful shield,” she murmured, twisting the cloth into a knot, “what would have happened to you?”

“I don’t know.” He pulled the cloth from her hands before she mangled it. “But I did have a shield that could hold against the storm, and I made it through just fine. I might even have done better than you and Sabir.”

She smiled wanly, but that sick feeling of what might have happened still churned inside her.

“Clio.” He touched her cheek. “Don’t make that face.”

Her pulse quickened at the warmth of his hand against her skin. “What face?”

He rubbed his thumb across her jaw. “The heartbroken one.”

“I just …” She exhaled unsteadily. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes, you can.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to. I’m right here.”

She gripped his wrist, holding his hand against the side of her face. “Good. Stay right here.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Please don’t call me ‘ma’am.’”

“Yes, Clio.”

A flush rose through her. The way he said her name—the way his deep voice caressed each sound. Suddenly, her heart was pounding loudly in her ears. His eyes held hers and she was drowning in warm amber.

She’d promised herself there could be nothing between them because the power imbalance between an incubus and a woman was too catastrophic to allow trust. But she couldn’t remember the fear.

She leaned toward him. Shadows flitted across his eyes and he shifted out of her reach. She froze, the sting of rejection cutting through her. He slid his hand away from her and stood. Confused and hurt, she dropped her gaze, biting her lower lip.

“Clio,” he groaned. “I really can’t handle that heartbroken look.”

Even more confused, she peeked at him.

He retreated a few steps and sank back down, leaning against a narrow tree trunk and propping his elbow on his knee. “Do you really think I don’t want to kiss you?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I … I didn’t …”

“I’m exhausted, Clio. My self-control is shot. I can’t kiss you right now.” His eyes darkened. “But I can assure you I want to. You have no idea how much I want you.”

His voice deepened, the words purring all the way down her spine.

“That’s why I can’t kiss you,” he added in a more normal tone.

“Oh,” she mumbled weakly. “Is that the only reason? Control?”

“The only reason.”

Nerves, cold and squirming, flashed in her belly. If he doubted his self-restraint, she should too. But once Sabir returned, she would have to go back to keeping her distance from Lyre—and she couldn’t. She couldn’t stand this forced space between them.

Rising to her feet, she stared down at him with her heart in her throat. Was she crazy? Had she lost her mind?

He looked up at her, blinking in puzzlement.

Gulping down her doubts, she stepped behind the tree he was using as a backrest, hooked her hands over his elbows, and pulled them back. With a quick flash of green light, she cast a binding spell between his elbows, trapping him against the tree trunk.

“Hey!” he yelped, yanking the binding taut. “What are you doing?”

She circled back around and crouched in front of him. He snapped his elbows against the binding again, scowling at her.

“Damn it, Clio, I said I didn’t trust my control if I kissed you, but I can bloody well handle anything short of that!”

Pretending her hands weren’t trembling, she took her handkerchief and folded it into a strip, then reached for him. He leaned back with a snarl, trying to evade her, but she looped the strip over his eyes and tied it behind his head, blindfolding him.

“What the hell?” he growled, anger and a hint of viciousness coating his tone. “If you think this is funny, it’s—”

He broke off when she pressed her palm against his chest. Kneeling in front of him, she sucked in a deep breath. She was crazy. It was the only explanation.

“Lyre,” she whispered, barely able to summon any volume. “Now can I kiss you?”

His mouth opened, then closed. “What?”

“If you lose control, you can’t hurt me. And you can’t confuse my willpower with your eyes covered, right?”

“I—I guess—probably not? But still, Clio, this is—”

“Lyre. I need to kiss you. Right now.”

He froze, not even breathing. She shifted forward, kneeling between his legs. The blindfold hid his eyes and what they might have revealed about his thoughts, but his shoulders were tense, his heels digging into the sand as he held himself rigid. He didn’t like being immobilized, being vulnerable and powerless, but he wasn’t fighting her. He trusted her.

Closing her eyes, she brought her mouth to his. Their lips melded together and she felt herself spiraling down into something dark and sweet and binding.

She pressed her mouth harder against his, wishing she could channel everything she felt through this connection between them. She didn’t know what she felt, but she wanted him to feel it too—the way her chest had constricted with the fear of losing him, the need to be with him, to touch him, to kiss him. Need that had nothing to do with his magic and everything to do with him.

He leaned up, kissing her harder, and hit the end of the slack in his binding. She sank her fingers into his hair to hold him as she parted her lips. His tongue flirted hungrily with hers and heat shot through her.

She pressed closer to him, pushing him back into the tree. Their mouths moved together, erasing all thoughts from her head. With each touch of their lips, the connection between them fired stronger and hotter. She couldn’t draw back. She couldn’t stop, and her fatigue faded.

She’d only intended to kiss him, but she found her hand sliding down the side of his neck to his shirt collar. She followed it down, her fingers stroking his collarbones, until she found the top button of his shirt. With a twist, it came undone.

Keeping her mouth tight against his, she unbuttoned his shirt with growing urgency. When the last button came undone, she pushed the fabric aside and pressed both hands to his hot skin. He inhaled sharply.

She ran her fingers down his front, exploring the shape of him—the sculpted planes of his chest, the hollow between his collarbones, the shallow dip that ran down the center of his abs. Her hands curled around his powerful shoulders, muscles hardened by countless hours of archery. Tracing her fingers down his arms, she pushed his shirt off his shoulders until the sleeves caught on his elbows.

As his mouth moved against hers, she ran her hands over him again and again, memorizing every inch of skin she could reach. Shoulders, chest, abdomen. She slipped her thumbs under the waist of his pants, tracing the V-shaped dip of his hipbones. A soft growl rumbled from him and he caught her bottom lip in his teeth, a bite both gentle and dominating.

Breathless, she finally pulled back. He rose with her, trying to keep hold of her mouth, until he hit the end of the binding. Palms pressed to his chest, she blinked her asper into focus.

Golden light swirled around him, thick and intoxicating. But not that much. Not that bad. He still had control. Mostly.

And she needed more.

She leaned in again, bringing her mouth almost within his reach. He strained up with another growl, and she brushed her lips lightly across his mouth as she slid her hand down his arm to his elbow.

With a touch of magic, she snapped the binding spell.

He lunged off the tree, his arms closing around her as she fell backward. She landed on the folded robes and he came down on top of her, then his mouth was crushing hers.

She arched into him, unable to breathe as he kissed her deep and hard, his tongue stroking hers and sending liquid heat pulsing through her. She fumbled at the back of his head, pulled the blindfold off, and threw it aside.

He tore his mouth away from hers and pushed himself partway up. His eyes, black as night, slid across her face, drinking her in. She panted for air, a tiny thrill of fear running through her, but she didn’t move as his gaze roved over her face then lazily slid down her body, taking in every detail.

His attention caught on her midriff and his hands curled over her hips. He lowered his head again—but not toward her face. He pushed her shirt up and his mouth pressed against her belly just above her jeans. She gasped.

He inched her shirt up, his mouth following, wet and hot. His fingers caressed her bare skin, sliding up her sides as his lips and tongue trailed up her middle. Her shirt bunched up under her breasts, then he pushed it up higher, over the swell of her chest to expose her bra.

Her hands found his hair and sank in, clutching his head as he dragged his teeth across the outside of her bra, teasing the sensitive skin underneath. His fingers slid over the fabric on one side while his mouth taunted her on the other side. All she could do was clutch him and remind herself to breathe as need spiraled deeper, the heat building in her center.

His thumb slipped under the cup of her bra and sharp pleasure shot through her. She arched into his hand with a moaning gasp.

With an answering growl, he pushed her bra up off her breasts, then his hand was cupping one and his mouth was on the other, his tongue teasing. She panted, tiny sounds escaping her as she squirmed under him, pleasure blazing through her and hot need gathering between her legs until she thought she might explode.

He shifted to support his weight with one elbow and his other hand slid down her stomach, over her jeans, then slipped between her legs. He pressed his fingers against her and she gasped wildly at the burst of pleasure.

Without warning, he rolled fully on top of her. She clamped her legs around his hips, pressing their bodies together. She could feel him, his need for her, and the barrier of clothing was unacceptable. He lowered his head, mouth brushing teasingly across hers. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down.

Or she intended to, but either she’d yanked too hard or his muscles were already on the verge of collapse, because his arms gave out and his entire weight came down on her. All the air whooshed out of her lungs.

He swore and pushed off her. Rolling sideways, he flopped onto his back, breathing hard as he held his elbow and stretched his arm across his chest.

She lurched up—and a wave of dizziness rolled over her. She steadied herself, panting for air and wondering if she should blame Lyre’s aphrodesia or the day spent in the blistering desert suns for her lightheadedness.

“Are you okay?” she asked Lyre breathlessly, pulling her shirt back down.

“Muscle cramp,” he muttered as he gingerly rotated his arm and shoulder. “Damn it.”

Desire still seared her, but her exhausted muscles were complaining loudly enough that she couldn’t ignore them anymore. Wincing, she grabbed the nearest waterskin and passed it to him. “Drink. You need to rehydrate.”

He sat up and drained the waterskin in a few gulps. Tossing it toward their pack, he refocused on her—and his black, hungry stare stole her breath. His hand found her cheek and slid into her hair, then he pulled her mouth back to his in a fierce, demanding kiss that made her head spin faster.

But the kiss was brief, and he withdrew, his fingers brushing across her jaw before he leaned back against the tree trunk.

He eyed her with irises that were lightening back to bronze. “Blindfolded and tied up. You’re pretty kinky for a virgin.”

“Lyre!” she gasped, mortified. She stood, intending to retreat out of sight, but he caught her arm and pulled her backward. She landed in his lap with a thump, too tired to control her fall.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her prisoner, and she relaxed into his embrace. Sighing tiredly, she rested her cheek against his shoulder, head tucked under his chin. His shirt was still unbuttoned and she trailed her fingers down his chest.

Heat rolled through her, the fiery need to kiss him again, to touch him, to have him kissing and touching her. But after their hellish trek across the desert, she was too weary to move—and he had to be just as tired because she doubted anything less would have stopped him. Maybe it was a good thing their bodies weren’t as willing as their minds.

She closed her eyes. Playing with fire didn’t sound nearly as dangerous as toying with an incubus. What had she been thinking? Maybe the problem was she hadn’t been thinking.

Or maybe the problem was she trusted him. She trusted he wouldn’t hurt her, but he didn’t trust himself, and if he was right and she was wrong, the next time she played with fire, they might both pay a terrible price.