“Goddess.” Space opens around us, cries of amazement filling the air as the tourists suddenly notice the Chosen in their midst. Midnight wings edged in platinum rise around me as his dark eyes take in the crowd in a sweep. I follow his gaze, noting Koa’s faltering flight over the Monument, his trajectory heading toward the Potomac. Before I can ask what’s happening, Shamash pulls me into his arms, lifting off in a powerful movement. Shouts from the crowd follow us into the air, rain rushing off his wings with each downward sweep.

His arms are tight around me, the heat of his bare chest soaking through my wet clothes. I’m stiff with tension as we fly — we’re flying!! — the short distance to the trees at the side of the Monument. I can’t catch my breath, and he won’t meet my eyes. Waves of fear and anger roll off Shamash as he lands softly in the wet grass, clear as day through our connection. It’s not helping to calm me.

He drops his hands from my waist as we touch down but doesn’t step back. Looming over me, he’s just…huge, way bigger than the three Chosen I met last night. I’m not even eye-level with his sternum and his wings, still flared from our landing, stretch what must be twenty feet across.

The oldest accounts say one Nasaru is the Guardian and the other is Judge, the pair of them bonded to the world they guard. But something happened between Inanna and Ashur, and she assigned the task of Judge to Shamash instead. No, I haven’t figured out all the details — yet. Inanna isn’t exactly forthcoming. But the task has left its mark on Shamash.

He bears only a passing resemblance to the lean Chosen from my dreams — from Inanna’s memories. He’s taller, broader. His power is palpable as he stands before us, edged in lightning. Still, he’s deeply familiar as I look at him, Inanna avidly cataloging the changes wrought over the millennia.

Then she’s rising, but not like before. The agonizing power tearing me apart throbs through me and my mind hazes as she pushes my consciousness to the background.

She does something and I can feel a space open around us, the shouts in the distance hushed — Inanna doesn’t want an audience, apparently.

“Who was it?” She’s only halfway paying attention to his answer, focused on the Chosen before us. Our eyes wander over every inch of him as she continues to take him in.

I’m silent in the background as, at the sound of her voice, he drops to his knees, head bowed, wings still arched around me, “He is Ashur’s Chosen, Koa. I will find him.” His fists are tight, his tone frigid, but despite that, his voice is a physical touch, and my breath rushes out at the sound, warmth tightening my core.

“No. They will both be Judged in their time.” Her voice is a naked command and his head jerks at the sound, but he doesn’t raise his eyes to look at her.

At me. Us.

Whatever.

She lays my hand on his shoulder softly, “Rise, Shamash, and greet me.”

The urge to stroke the thick muscle under our hand stretches like smoke curling from a flame, his form so familiar my whole body clenches in recognition.

“Greet you now, Goddess?” His voice is flat, and I wince. He’s pissed. He knows I left to avoid him last night and now this afternoon he’s pulled me from a rainstorm and a near kidnapping.

“Now,” Inanna tells him quietly, the plea in her voice hidden behind a thread of steel and I’m shocked when she seems surprised by his response.

It was a dick move, I groan softly from the background. My dick move, because I’ve been so chickenshit about meeting with him. Inanna pauses at my guilt, but I can’t tell if she thinks I shouldn’t feel guilty, or that it wasn’t shitty of me to leave.

He has a right to be upset, I tell her, It was super shitty of me to run away last night. And now he’s been forced to save us from…whatever that was. My voice echoes through our shared mind, and I’m confused by the negation emanating from Inanna at my words.

I’m confused. Just… I thought Shamash was your lover?

Inanna stills and Shamash freezes as she lifts a hand, shivering when she glides a fingertip across the breadth of his shoulder. He remains frozen as our fingers sweep slowly up his neck and behind one ear before she pushes our hand into his wet hair, sliding like silk against our skin.

“Mine,” Inanna says in my voice. The word falls with the force of a hammer between us as our hand clenches in his hair. Shamash remains kneeling, tensed to rise, but all movement halted as Inanna tugs his head back, moving closer as she whispers in his ear, “You are mine.”

He settles again to his knees, tension chasing along his body under my hand as I stare, uncomfortably fascinated even as heat pools low.

What. The fuck. Is happening?

“Always.” His rough response is whispered, his dark eyes finally meeting mine as Inanna holds his head canted to the side. Inanna’s triumph at the word reverberates through us.

And Shamash’s pleasure.

Wait, what?

Before I can fully comprehend What the fuck, Inanna jerks me from the background of our mind and merges with me. Memories assail me as the present fades, a door opening to a hidden history from ages past. In it, an image of Shamash as he had been long ago, a fierce human warrior standing before her. A human Inanna had Chosen, and then a Chosen she claimed as her own.

I thought Shamash’s connection to Inanna was clear — I knew they’d been lovers — but now Inanna is showing me everything I didn’t know. Their connection started even before the day of his Choosing, deeper and much more complicated than I’d thought, and I’m fascinated as Inanna’s memories of Shamash flash through my mind.

A warlord among humans, Shamash kneels before her, his dark head bowed. I recoil at Inanna’s fierce satisfaction at the memory, her feral greed at the sight of him conquered at her feet, uncomfortable with her savage glee, but she shows me more.

I see Shamash…yielding. Every time.

Kneeling before us now, he overwhelms me even from the ground, his wings curled forward, gleaming primaries resting in the wet grass. On his knees, his dark eyes are nearly level with mine as I stand in the vee of his thighs. His body remains tense, shoulders heavy with muscle pulled taut as Inanna holds his head tilted with the lightest pressure of our hand.

Subdued.

Yes, Inanna’s voice weaves like smoke through my mind. I shudder as heat streams through me. Inanna relaxes our hand — so, so slowly — pulling it away and motioning Shamash to stand with an elegant flip of our wrist. How does she move like that? He stands in a single smooth movement, thick muscles bunching as he rises, powerful thighs encased in dark canvas pants, his feet bare. Inanna pulls back slightly as my eyes lift along Shamash’s body, wandering across the wide expanse of his chest, up to his surprisingly youthful face. But Shamash was Chosen young — not as young as Inti, but probably around my own age now. His mouth is surprisingly lush, the lower lip fuller than the top, glistening with rain. His hair is wet, black as pitch and plastered to his skull from the weather. He runs a hand through it, ruffling the longer strands on top so they fall to the side and my breath catches. He’s beautiful, all long limbs and thick muscles, dark and hot, wet male. I squirm as heat flashes straight to my core at the look in his eyes.