The streets of Lior were dark. Lust moved through the darkness like a wraith, her footfalls making no sounds on the soft stone streets. She knew he was here, the scarred man who haunted her dreams. She slipped in and out of houses, searching for him in the dead of night.

She remembered. Bits and pieces of memory fragments slid into her mind as she thought of him, days long gone beneath the hot desert sun. She knew there was another man, a man she had loved in another life, but the memories weren’t of him. She supposed she should feel badly for that but found she couldn’t bring herself to.

There. She paused in a doorway, watching the man whom she couldn’t shake from her mind. He sat crosslegged on a low bed of furs, his dusky skin glowing in the dim light of the candles that littered the room. She traced the lines of his bare back with her eyes, drinking in the strength that lay beneath his flesh. Something quickened within her as she watched him.

“I know you’re there.”

He spoke without turning, his back still to her. Lust nodded and moved from the empty doorway.

“I didn’t think you’d be awake,” she said, shrugging. She had only wanted to see him, to watch him, to burn his face into her mind.

“Why have you come?”

“To see you.” The wind came in through the door, the flickering candles making the shadows jump across the walls and the smooth skin of his back.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” Lust shrugged again. “To remember.”

“To remember?” He turned then, his expression hard as stone.

“I remember you,” she said, the words casual. “I want to remember more.”

“Do you.” It wasn’t a question. Lust knelt beside his bed, her head cocked in curiosity.

“I do. Help me remember?”

“How?” In the low light, the white scar across his face was stark and glaring. Lust reached up to touch it, but he pulled away.

“I don’t know.”

“You aren’t here to remember anything,” he accused, eyes narrowing.

“I am.” Lust sighed and leaned forward, folding her arms on the edge of the bed and laying her chin upon them. “I remember you. I want to remember more of you.”

“I’m not the man you should remember.” There was a tightness in his voice, an anger.

“Maybe not.” Lust shrugged, the motion awkward in her position. “But it’s you I want to remember.”

“You should leave.”

“Why?” Lust tilted her head, laying her cheek on her arms. He didn’t fear her, she knew that. But he didn’t answer her. He unfolded his legs and stood, the muscles in his chest and shoulders sliding beneath the tight shroud of his skin. Lust stood as well, reaching out for him.

“You don’t want me to leave,” she said, his skin warm under her gloved hand. His shoulder tensed and he growled out something Lust didn’t catch. She slid her hand down his arm, passing her palm over the intricate markings that lined his skin.

“Go,” he said, standing still as a statue beneath her touch. But she moved against him, pressing her body against his back and twining her fingers about his wrist. He was strong beneath her delicate fingers.

“Tell me that you want me to leave,” Lust whispered. She felt the slick skin of his back against her breasts, above the neckline of her dress. His skin was like fire.

“Leave.” There was a ragged note to his voice. Lust’s hand moved from his wrist to his chest, trapping him within the circle of her arms. She breathed against his ear, feeling him tense and flex against her. Catlike and quick, her tongue traced the shell of his ear.

“Tell me you want me to,” Lust hissed, molding herself against him. Silence. His body fit against her as though made to and Lust took the flesh of his ear between her teeth and tugged. “Tell me that you want me.”

With a groan he turned in her arms, seizing her and crushing his lips against hers in a searing kiss. God above, why couldn’t he have been her lover in her other life? Why couldn’t she remember him? His mouth tasted like wine and sand, salty and earthy. She clung to him, her hands pressed against his chest. This was what she wanted.

“Help me remember,” she whispered between heated, hungry kisses. His hands burned her skin, moving over the bare flesh of her upper back. He kissed her as though he were trying to lay claim to her, bruising her lips. He spoke no words, but tore at her dress, peeling it down her and exposing her pale skin to the candlelight. His hands on her breasts were large and strong, his palms calloused. She moaned as she arched up into him, offering him her throat. He took it gladly, his teeth dragging over her skin like daggers. Her dress fell to the floor, leaving her naked in his arms. His lips traced a path down her neck to her breasts, his hands delving lower, clasping her buttocks and lifting her towards him. She whimpered, his rough lips moving over every inch of her skin. She could feel him pressed against her, feel the hard flesh of his arousal against her hip. She reached for it, pressing her palm against him through the thin cotton of his trousers. She felt him moan against her skin, a low and husky sound. In the low candlelight his skin was bronze and his hair was silver.

He lifted her onto the bed, carrying her as though she weighed nothing. She stretched on the soft furs, naked and unashamed to his gaze. She moved like a cat, her shoulders angled and one leg drawn up in an arch. He looked feral in the low light, his red eyes blazing with passion and anger and hatred. Her holy man, giving himself to sin in his own bed.

“Well?” she asked, licking her lips in a come-hither gesture. His eyes narrowed and she could see him struggling with himself, fighting the temptation she offered. He knew what he was thinking. She was his brother’s wife. She wasn’t human. She was an evil thing. But she was a desirable thing, and she lay waiting for him like the garden of Eden.

She lifted her shoulders and spread her legs, her hair fanned out on the pillows beneath her head. Her own skin was like porcelain. He slid off his one garment, stiff and rigid and without any look of pleasure. She sat up and drew him down onto the bed, pushing him down into the soft furs. She straddled him, her hand reaching between them but he stopped her, grabbing her wrist.

“Take off your gloves,” he said, his voice like gravel. Lust only nodded and drew them off, letting them fall to the floor without a second thought. She reached for him again, closing her bare hand over his hard flesh, guiding him into her. His neck tightened as he threw his head back, his lips pulled back from clenched teeth. Lust leaned forward, her hands on his chest.

“I want to remember,” she whispered, moving over him with practiced pulls of her hips. He lifted his head and she kissed him, feeling him rising up to meet her. His hands found her hips, holding her, his fingers digging into her skin. His teeth pulled at her lips, his tongue battered against hers and she rode him hard and fast, voicing her pleasure into his eager mouth.

She found her own pleasure quickly, her cold body responding to his touch and his kiss. It wasn’t memories that flooded her mind, but possibilities. It wasn’t the dead alchemist she thought of but the man who moved beneath her, gripping her as though she were a lifeline. She wanted him.

She felt him climax, his head buried in her shoulder. He lay back on the furs, growing soft inside of her, and she tucked her hair behind her ears. This was the man she wanted. Could he love her, she wondered. Would he want to?

She slipped off of him and he rolled away from her, offering her his back.

“And do you remember?” he growled, his shoulders set like iron.

“No,” Lust said simply.

“Get out.”

“No cuddling?” Lust teased as she pulled on her dress, damp from their lovemaking. She only laughed at his silence, watching him as he fought with his inner demons on the bed where they had coupled.

“I’ll be back,” Lust called as she left.

“I know,” he said after her.