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her breath coming in harsh gasps. She’d seen him staring over her shoulder. Before he could distract her, she turned and looked through the doorway, tracking his gaze down the path.
    Beckett had already disappeared into the night, or so it appeared to Elic, whose night vision, though excellent by human standards, wasn’t remotely as keen as Lili’s. Her eyes and brain were structured so as to capture and interpret an unusually wide spectrum of light, not just the narrow range that was visible to humans and most of her fellow Follets. Even Darius, in his feline incarnation, couldn’t see as well as she in the dark. And in daylight, her vision was as sharp and far-reaching as that of an eagle.
    Elic cursed inwardly when he heard her indrawn breath. Her entire body seemed to stiffen.
    Shit.
    She whipped her head back around, her eyes black with fury. “You knew he was there, but you didn’t tell me. You wanted him to see us, to think we were . . . That’s why you . . .” She looked down at their bodies clasped together, then unwrapped her legs from around him and pushed him roughly away.
    “Lili—”
    She cracked her palm across his face, hard, throwing him off balance. His feet skittered on the floor of the pool. The water closed over his head as he flailed and choked, engulfed in a cauldron of lust, female rage—and shock.
    She’d never struck him before, never come close to that kind of anger—not toward Elic, her Beloved, her
Khababu
.
    Choking and sputtering, he found his footing and stood, water sluicing off him as he clawed his hair off his face. She was already out of the pool, facing away from him as she reached for the silken
lubushu
she’d tossed onto an iron chair before bathing—the yellow one, his favorite. She’d worn it tonight, he knew, as a gesture of conciliation after the tension between them earlier.
    “Lili—”
    “You think you’ve staked your claim,” she said unsteadily as she knotted the saronglike garment over her shoulder,“but you deceived me to do it. I should say that claim is now on rather shaky ground.”
    She stalked off into the night.

Four
    L ILI AWOKE THE next morning to the dipping of her mattress and the familiar pressure of a hand, Elic’s hand, stroking her hip through the blanket as she lay curled up facing away from him. They usually slept together in one of their apartments—but not last night.
    “Shalamu,”
he said softly. It was how they always greeted each other, each offering the salutation of the other’s homeland.
Shalamu
was the Akkadian equivalent of “Good day,” “Goodbye,” and “Peace.” Her customary response in the ancient tongue of Elic’s youth was
kveðja
. Lili couldn’t recall when it was that they’d developed this little ritual, but it had become, over time, their own private tradition, a way to connect with each other’s far-distant pasts, to remind each other that they weren’t alone anymore, that they shared a bond of intimacy and love and trust that was unsullied and absolute.
    Until last night.
    Tell me you’re mine . . . Say it.
He’d wanted Beckett to hear her say that, to know that although she might be free with her body, her heart belonged to Elic.
    Lili still smoldered with indignation at his subterfuge. It wasn’t the fact of being seen naked and in the throes of passion that offended her; she often made love in the company of others—but by her own choice, and with her knowledge.
    Elic was waiting for her to respond to his greeting with
kveðja.
“Good morning,” she said softly, tonelessly.
    His hand left her hip.
    Without turning to face him, she said, “How did you get in here, Elic?” She’d locked the door to her apartment on the top floor of the north range upon retiring, something she almost never did.
    “I climbed up to a window.”
    Of course.
“You shouldn’t have done that. Beckett might have seen you.”
    “Why didn’t you go to him last night?”
    She rolled over to face him. He was