I looked from him to the photo and back again. “It’s thirty-two hundred feet, Zylas. I know we did some climbing in Oregon, but this is a sheer cliff. It’s too high.”

“Too high,” he scoffed. “Why only look when you can climb, na?”

Squinting at him, I recognized the stubborn gleam in his eyes. Well, at least I had a twenty-mile walk through a jungle to talk him out of the idea.

I snapped the book closed. “Do you want to go over the map again?”

“I remember the map.” He tugged the book out of my hands. “Do not worry, amavrah. It will be fun.”

“Not if it involves climbing a three-thousand-foot cliff,” I muttered.

He set the book on the tile floor beside the hammock. “You are packed?”

“Yep. We can head out whenever you’re ready.”

He turned his gaze toward the golden horizon and the drifting clouds. “Not yet.”

I settled in beside him, watching shades of gold wash across the horizon. His arm was snug around me, the hammock swaying in a gentle breeze that held the humidity at bay.

Mornings like these were the reason I got up so early. No matter where we were, Zylas wanted to be outside to watch the sunrise—preferably with me beside him.

As the sun cleared the flat tepuis, he turned to me. He nuzzled my throat, and when I tilted my head to give him better access, his teeth grazed across the spot where my neck and shoulder joined.

Slow heat uncoiled inside me, anticipation tingling across my nerves.

He nipped and nuzzled up and down my throat, his other hand sliding over my side and teasing my breasts through my thin shirt. As my breathing quickened from his touches, he rolled off the hammock, sweeping me with him, and carried me back into our room.

Moments later, we were in bed and he was sliding my clothes off.

Sometimes it was like this—slow, leisurely, passionate. He explored every inch of me as though for the first time, his hands and mouth insatiable.

Other times it was completely different. It was like our first—hard, fast, aggressively dominating. He would pin my arms, hold my hips, drive deep inside me over and over until he sent me plunging over the edge.

And often, it was one immediately followed by the other, because it turned out that demons were a bit different from human males. Finishing didn’t mean finishing. He was always ready for more, and I inevitably tired out before he did.

This morning, it was slow and breathtaking and head-spinning. Afterward, we quickly showered, redressed, and added the photography book to my backpack.

Alone, I stopped in the lobby to check out, then crossed the manicured lawn to a path near the riverbank.

Waiting for me with my backpack, Zylas stood in the sun, wearing black cargo pants and a loose long-sleeved shirt in a vibrant scarlet that dimmed the red tones in his skin. He’d given up his armor after our first trip, opting for comfort instead, and the clothes clung to his flawless physique in distracting ways.

A ballcap covered his horns and a pair of sunglasses hid his eyes. His tail was looped around his waist, and the only odd thing about his appearance was his bare feet. He hated shoes.

As I approached, he turned away from the river and grinned, flashing his pointed canines. Laughing, I broke into a run to join him.

The Venezuelan rainforest was dense and wild, with no roads to follow. Leaving the tiny town that was the last of civilization for hundreds of miles, we ventured into the jungle, using the wide river as our guide.

Trees towered around us, draped in vines, and rotting leaf litter and fallen trees covered the forest floor. I exclaimed over leaves the size of my torso, tiny bright flowers that looked like pursed lips, and a moth with giant fuzzy wings that spanned both my hands. Zylas rapped on the back of a very displeased giant armadillo, fascinated by its armored body, and spent over an hour watching an anteater, baffled by its long tongue. Whenever I got tired of walking, he carried me, the jungle heat providing him with endless endurance.

At night, we strung a hammock between the trees and I slept in his arms, a mosquito net draped over us—not that he needed it. Insects couldn’t pierce his tough demon skin.

The next morning, we stalked a jaguar through the trees, climbed into the canopy to join a flock of bewildered toucans, and had a staring contest with a very large snake—though the last one hadn’t been on purpose.

By nightfall, I could hear the distant roar of falling water. We slept again in the hammock, and I dined on the dry food I’d packed. I was a light eater and with only my mouth to feed, we didn’t need much.

Sunrise filtered through the trees as we set out again, navigating by the roar of the falls. The forest was dense, hiding the view ahead—then, between one step and the next, we broke free of the rainforest.

And there it was.

Standing beside Zylas, I stared up at the most majestic sight I’d ever laid eyes upon.

The tepui rose over three thousand feet, its vertical sides a mixture of dull brown and bright sienna rock. Angel Falls spilled off the top, plunging so far that the water drifted away before reaching the bottom, a cloud of fog clinging to the mountain’s base.

My fingers tightened around his. No photo could do this sight justice. No image could convey the size, the scale, the humid heat of the jungle, the roaring water, the buzz of birds and insects, the scent of life and rot, the tang of water caught on the faint breeze.

Words on a page or photos in a book—before Zylas, that was all I’d known. And, naïve as I was, I’d thought that was enough.

I could never have imagined a moment like this. A year ago, the idea that I would spend three days hiking through a jungle to see the world’s tallest waterfall would’ve been preposterous. My timid, nonconfrontational, unambitious self would’ve laughed at the idea, then gone right back to the book she was reading.

I loved reading, loved knowledge, loved books. But books were complements to real life, not a replacement. And without Zylas, I might never have realized that.

Beside me, he stared wide-eyed at the towering mountain and rushing water. Was there anything remotely like this in his world? Were there majestic landscapes he’d never seen?

I faced him, my head tilted back. “Zylas?”

It took him a moment to wrench his stare off the waterfall. “Hnn?”

“Was it worth it?”

His stunned-by-the-beauty-of-nature expression sharpened with new focus, and his eyes skimmed across my face—then he smiled, that soft, pleased smile that made me melt inside.

“In my world, there is darkness and cold and fear. Maybe I will return someday, and I will be Ivaknen and raise sons and tell the payapis that I changed Ahlēavah.”

My gaze dropped to his chest where, beneath his shirt, the Vh’alyir Amulet lay, imbued with instructions for creating a portal to his world.

“But before I return to those cold nights,” he said, “I will spend every sunrise with you. There is nothing better than this. If I never return, it does not matter.”

A strange, tight heat gripped my chest.

“You worry about what I lost?” His wolfish grin flashed. “Amavrah, I am getting everything I want.”

Everything he wanted. A future he wanted. I’d offered him a lifetime with me—and he’d chosen it.

I stretched my arms up and he swept me into him, holding me tight.

“You’re right,” I said, breathless with amazement at the endless tomorrows awaiting us. “I worry too much.”