The cadence was slow, but a relief and a joy to Kalab. He rose and watched, faint worry swept away by raptly attentive interest. And the sound sped and strengthened until something far more miraculous began â€“ Kalab had never understood the full power of a god and he suspected that he wouldnâ€™t until he was one. Thisâ€¦ this was the goddess whose death the world had mourned â€“ and no one more than him. He hadnâ€™t hoped to get her back so perfectly.<br/><br/>Then she said his name, that little prayer, and his heart almost burst. â€œHere I am, dear heartâ€¦â€ Her touch raced through himâ€¦<br/><br/>He took her; savagely, affectionately, and passionately desperate, regardless of who was watching. He had to. It wasnâ€™t only about the physical need â€“ although he had missed her body fiercely â€“ it was also the bloodlust and the passion and anger finally given an outlet. Belied by the imperturbable faÃ§ade, the fire still burned hot and Kalab poured it all into Nehmahati. She was his and no one would ever be able to say otherwise. And she was the only one that could take it.