Malvor did not return until evening. He avoided me completely, an unheard-of feat for a god who thrived on attention. Just to make sure he could keep his distance, he told the house. Not even me, the house, not to let me find him until morning. And of course, it obeyed. Doors would not open for me. Hallways shifted like tides, turning me in circles. Every time I thought I'd caught the right path, the house gently, politely, steered me elsewhere. It wasn't cruel. Not forceful. But it denied me.
And Malvor, for once, was the one running.
I woke at my usual, obscenely early hour, stretching before padding to the kitchen. The house hadn't shifted it this time. It was waiting. The coffee pot gleamed like it had been expecting me. Which meant Malvor was still hiding. The house had kept me contained yesterday, like a parent gently corralling a stubborn child. Subtle. Polite. But obvious. It would have been infuriating if it weren't so… Actually, no. It was infuriating. But also hilarious. He was so close to losing it yesterday. I could see the thoughts on his panicked face.
I poured myself a cup, something warmer and creamier this time, not too sweet. Just enough comfort to balance the silence. I took a sip, then set the cup down. "House," I murmured.
A light blinked in response. "Would you take me to a cold room?"
A pause. Then a door clicked open nearby. I smiled faintly. "Thank you."
I stepped through and found winter. Snow blanketed the ground in untouched waves, glittering ice clung to the walls, and the air bit sharp and clean against my skin. In the middle of it all: a roaring fire, a single overstuffed chair draped with blankets, waiting just for me. I laughed under my breath. "Thank you, house."
The fire popped twice, almost pleased. I settled in, sinking into the chair, letting the warmth of the flames fight the cold on my skin while I sipped my drink. It was… nice. Too nice, considering Malvor was off sulking somewhere in his own realm. "He was avoiding me last night, wasn't he?"
Two flickers. I grinned. "Knew it. He's a man-child."
Quick flickers, like the fire was laughing with me. "At least he appreciates you?" I asked.
One flicker. I have learned that is a no. I clicked my tongue. "A shame. A damn shame."
Silence stretched warm and easy. I found myself speaking again, softer. "I assumed whichever god took me would want the same thing everyone else has always wanted. The thing I was trained to give."
The fire flared, as if amused. "But not him." I shook my head, smiling faintly into my cup. "He hasn't even asked for sex."
The flames dimmed, gentler now, as though listening closely. "It's just… different. And the longer I'm here, the more I…" I trailed off, smirking at the absurdity. "The more I enjoy it here."
The warmth deepened. Not just from the fire. From the house itself. "You make it pleasant," I told it quietly. "He makes it… obnoxious. Like an attention-seeking child. Sometimes I want to smack him."
The fire cracked loudly, amused. I laughed. "Maybe he needs it."
When I finally stood, the flames glowed brighter, like they were saying goodbye. "Thank you," I said, and the house felt warm enough to answer back.
But as I stepped into the hallway, stretching, a wicked thought took root. If he could avoid me, then I could pester him. I smirked into my cup. "Take me to Malvor."
A door clicked open. The house obliged. I stepped inside—
And nearly dropped dead on the spot. Malvor was swimming. That was fine. Harmless. Innocent. But he was wearing the world's tiniest speedo. My brain crashed. Who even owned one of those? No one respectable. No one sane. Which meant of course he did. The water gleamed under an artificial sun, light sliding over his skin like he'd choreographed it himself. His dark hair clung in damp, artful strands, his shoulders broad, his chest cut like it had been carved by the universe purely to mock me. And then he stood. Oh my gods. NO!
The speedo was worse standing up. It clung. It accentuated. It left nothing, absolutely nothing, to the imagination. I snapped my eyes anywhere but there, and still his smirk followed me like a curse.
"Ahhh, Annie love dove," he drawled, stretching leisurely, every muscle a personal attack, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Malvor noticed my discomfort immediately. And of course, he preened like a peacock. Chest out. Shoulders back. Abs on full display. He strutted through the water like a man with not a single ounce of shame in his divine body. Because, let's be honest, he was gorgeous. And he knew it. I tried. Gods above, I tried to keep my gaze neutral. But then I looked. I actually looked. I saw the entire overflowing bulge. Gods. I felt my face heat. I just prayed I was not tomato colored.
That was all the invitation he needed. His grin turned feral. And then, in the most exaggerated, obnoxious, theatrical way possible, he adjusted himself. Right in front of me. With eye contact. The noise I made was… undignified. Somewhere between a dying cat and a balloon losing air.
Malvor beamed like he'd just won the cosmos. "Oh, Annie," he purred, wicked amusement curling through every syllable. "Are you okay?"
And then, he sang. "Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?" Complete with dancing. Hip-heavy, water-splashing, speedo-clinging dancing.
I dragged a hand down my face. "You are so obnoxious."
He spun in the water like some demented aquatic ballerina and winked. "And yet," he purred, "you're still watching."
"Swim with me, Annie?" His voice was silk and sin.
"No." Immediate. Deadpan.
"Annie Amore, swiiiim-mmm." He dragged the word into a whine.
I raised a brow. "Amore? Did you finally run out of obnoxious English nicknames?"
He grinned wider, sharp as broken glass. "Oh, Annie hot cheeks, not even close. I could use every language ever spoken. Fifteen fluently, not counting the dead ones."
"Aren't you clever," I muttered, very deliberately not looking anywhere near his hips.
He smacked his lips. "Certified genius, darling. My brain processes faster than yours—"
"Then why," I cut in smoothly, "do I get you so flustered and out of words?"
His mouth actually dropped open. A perfect stunned O. I smirked. Victory. Then, without a flicker of shame, he strode out of the pool. Water cascading, muscles cut by golden light, that ridiculous speedo clinging worse out here than it had in the water. I refused to look. Absolutely refused. I had already made that mistake. His low chuckle told me he knew I was struggling. "I am obviously not the only flustered one, Annie-kins."
"Screw you!" I snapped.
His grin turned lethal. "Oh, please do, Annie. Whenever you want. I'm available."
My mouth shut so fast my teeth clicked. And then… the thought slipped in, uninvited. Had I ever actually wanted that? Sex had always been a job. An expectation. Sometimes enjoyable, but never mine. Never about desire. What would it feel like to want? To truly want? Did I want him? The thought lingered too long. I didn't notice him closing the distance until his shadow fell over me. I looked up.
Gods. He was taller than me by far, towering, radiant, warm. That is rare for me. I am 5'10. Average height for a man. Most men have look me in the eye. His golden-tan eyes caught mine, no smirk, no jest. Just hunger. No. Not just hunger. Something sharper. Possessive. Demanding. It terrified me. He stepped closer. Too close. His heat wrapped around me thick as danger. He smelled like melted sugar, spice, and chaos. My breath caught in my throat.
One hand slid to my waist, deliberate, claiming, his fingers pressing against my hip like he had all the time in the world. The other rose, brushing against my cheek, feather-light, coaxing. I didn't pull away. Didn't breathe. Couldn't.
He leaned in. So slow it burned. His nose brushed mine. His lips hovered, ghosting. My pulse stuttered against my skin, and still I didn't move.
Malvor kissed me.