by Laura Kaye
“Please. I don’t understand.”
He shook his head. “It is not for you to understand,” he managed.
“Why not? What does that even mean?”
He debated, fought the urge to face her. But her voice already tugged at him to share himself, and he felt certain he’d never hold out against the mix of her voice and eyes. “Just what I said.” He twisted the knob and pulled.
She grabbed his shirt. “Don’t go, please? Just…can you just wait a minute?”
Her plea, her aura, their connection—it all let her sneak through his defenses, or what there were of them anyway, and that pissed him off.
He whirled on her and stepped right into her space. “What do you want from me?”
Staring up at him, her lip trembled, but she didn’t back down or move away. “Answers.”
Oh, was that all? He scoffed and shook his head. “How I healed you.”
“Yes.”
He clenched and unclenched his fists. “What is it you want to hear, woman?”
“Ella.”
“What?”
“I know you know my name. It’s Ella.”
He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Some of the fight drained out of him. He was tired and feeling it now that she was cured, now that his purpose here had been fulfilled.
“Are you okay?
His eyes flashed open. Her sincere question glanced right off his chest, set his heart to beating harder, faster against his sternum. It was the second time she’d asked him that. That made it twice as much as anyone else. In a quiet voice, he said, “That’s the question you really want answered?”
She nodded once. “To start.”
He couldn’t resist the urge to smile, just a little. An hour ago, she’d been hurt, weakened. Now she stood up to him, proved his equal.
No, not his equal. His better. It wasn’t even a question.
“I will be okay.”
She tilted her head. “Does that mean you’re not okay now?”
Dangerous hope ballooned within his heart. He narrowed his gaze. Warning bells went off in his gut. It was like she was made for him with how much she appealed to him. Her comforting energy aside, he could easily become addicted to her caring concern, but could he trust she really meant it? His eyes raked over her face, her body. That soft yellow glow remained, proved her guileless nature.
The thought she worried for him dispelled the last of his urge to resist her kindness. Zeph’s shoulders went slack. “I am tired,” he said simply.
“From what you did, up there?” She thumbed over her shoulder with the hand not holding the blankets closed in front of her.
He forced himself to ignore how easily her lovely body could be revealed and met her concerned stare. “Yes, from that.”
Ella looked at him a long moment. An obvious thought process played out across her face. She inhaled a deep breath. “Are you going to hurt me?”
Meeting her eyes, he shook his head. “No.”
“Do you have somewhere to go?”
Zeph frowned. “I don’t understand—”
“Friends? Family?”
His mouth dropped open. “I…not really, no.” While he greatly admired his older brother Boreas, he hated the thought he might be ashamed of him, of all that had happened to him. So Zeph tended to stay away rather than risk seeing disappointment in his eyes. And you could barely get to his youngest brother Chrysander through the throngs of admirers. The attention was totally deserved, though, because Chrys was fun and carefree. The sun personified. But all that feel-good was hard to be around sometimes. As for Eurus, the third-born, Zeph wasn’t sure he’d ever felt close to him, and certainly not since they’d come into the full power of their godhoods. And how many eons ago was that?
“Me neither. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t mind a little company. So”—she shrugged—“you could stay, rest here, for a while. If you wanted. And, well, maybe later, we could talk.” She shrugged again and the deep red comforter shifted with the movement, hung around her like a robe. The morning sun gleamed off the golden highlights in her light brown hair, which fell in soft waves around her face and over her shoulders.
Zephyros went still on the outside as he processed her invitation, but on the inside, his heart thundered within his chest, his brain erupted in a cacophony of disparate thoughts. She…wanted him to stay? After all he’d done?
“Why”—the words stuck in his throat and he had to swallow the lump formed there—“why would you want me to stay? After everything?”
Ella twisted her lips and studied him. “I just…when I look into your eyes, I see something there that reminds me of myself.” A slow blush pinked her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “Sounds stupid. But…”
Competing urges made every one of Zeph’s muscles go rigid. He wanted to hold her gently for her kindness. To tear that blanket away and kiss her until she yielded to his darkest desires. To flee. This woman seemed to know exactly what to say to get to him. Red flags flapped in his mind. If it wasn’t for that beautiful yellow glow around her, he would’ve bet this kind of too-good-to-be-true setup had his brother written all over it. Eurus just loved to play with Zeph’s too-damn-open emotions. Sadistic bastard. And that was no exaggeration. Well, maybe the bastard part. They did share a father, after all.
Ella shuffled and took a step back, away. It was the first time since their doorside conversation began that she’d shown dis-comfort. Zeph frowned and scanned her face, saw the uneasiness there. Realization hit him. He’d been caught up in his own thoughts and hadn’t responded. Good gods, he was a misfit. “No,” he rushed, “not stupid. Kind.” It was all he could manage. Emotion gripped his throat.
A shy smile curved her lips, all pink and soft now. She grasped his hand. “Come on. You rest. Then I’ll make us some food later.” She led him across the living room and up the stairs. He tugged her to the side as they passed the pile of broken glass, not wanting her to get hurt. Just inside her bedroom, she paused and dropped his hand. “Wait here for a minute.”
Zeph watched as she retreated down the hall, blanket dragging behind her, and disappeared into what he knew was the bathroom. The door clicked shut behind her. For a long moment he stood still, debated. His head dropped and he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He groaned. “Gods,” he murmured to himself, “what the hell am I doing?” He should leave. Now.
“Why do you say it that way?”
Zeph’s gaze flew up and found Ella leaning against the doorjamb in a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of sweats rolled at the ankles. She held a ball of blankets in her arms. His head tilted. “Say what?”
“Gods.” She emphasized the ‘s’.
Observant thing, wasn’t she? Consternation made him frown, but her direct gaze challenged him. Dared him to answer. Soon, good humor warmed him, and what a wonderful, long-lost feeling that was. How long since he’d last felt such amusement? He shrugged. Lied. “Habit.”
“If you say so.” She walked around him to the bed, spread the blanket out. “You rest for a while.”
He arched an eyebrow. Now she commanded him?
“Well?” she said, her gaze full of expectation.
Damn it all to Hades, he was tired. Weary and exhausted. Some of it was the healing. Most of it was his isolated life these past centuries, not to mention always keeping one eye trained over his shoulder. Even gods had enemies, after all. Plus, the relief his soul felt in her presence put him at such ease inside he felt he could truly heed the restful call of sleep like never before. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Ella. “Yeah, okay.”
The brilliance of her smile lit up the whole room. He basked in it.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he kicked off his worn boots—a favorite when in human form—and yanked the T-shirt over his head, tossed it to the floor.
A gasp drew his gaze across the room. Ella’s cheeks had gone bright red.
“I’ll uh, sorry, you rest. I’ll go.” Sh
e turned.
He bit back a smile. That he affected her felt all kinds of good. He wondered how her heated skin would feel against his fingers, would taste against his tongue. “Ella?”
Door nearly closed, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah.” The door clicked behind her.
Zephyros collapsed against the pillows, tugged the covers over his legs. He debated removing his jeans, but didn’t have the energy. Heaving a deep breath, he inhaled the scent of Ella that infused the bedding all around him. He went hard between his legs, making him rethink his decision on the jeans. Almost. The soft cotton was so comfortable, he couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.
Deep down in his gut, he knew it was a bad idea to stay, to linger in her presence, to accept her hospitality. To enjoy it as much as he did. But he couldn’t make himself reject it, either. Why couldn’t he have a little peace and companionship? Maybe even a little friendship? At least for a few hours.
So, he’d get some rest, share a meal, and then he’d leave before he got in any deeper.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ella’s head was spinning, but not from the head injury. Because, of course, the odd, beautiful stranger sleeping in her bed had, uh…healed her…with a magic light that shot out of his hands.
Uh huh. That didn’t sound crazy and delusional at all.
She shuffled into the kitchen in a bit of a daze. Her hands didn’t require concentration to make coffee—she could do that in her sleep. Was it possible she had imagined it? Maybe she’d lost consciousness, just as she’d feared she would, when she went careening into the hallway wall. Maybe everything she thought happened afterward was actually a dream, the last of the pain meds working their way out of her system.
She plucked a nearly too-ripe banana out of a bowl on the counter, peeled it, and frowned at the brown spots on the fruit. She braced her elbows on the counter and took a bite.
A dream wouldn’t explain the fact that her shoulder didn’t hurt anymore, that it felt like it had never been hurt in the first place. She leaned to the left and peered into the metal of the toaster’s side. The reflection that came back at her was a bit like what you might see in a funhouse mirror, but it was clear enough to show the bruises were gone, too.
So, not a dream, then.
But…how?
She tossed the empty peel into the garbage and her thoughts turned to the man in her bed. Zeph. Zephyros. An odd name, but it also sounded vaguely familiar, like she should know it from somewhere.
If she’d ever seen him before, though, she had no doubt she would remember him. After all, the guy had to be six-three, six-four. Craig had been six-one and Zeph was definitely taller. The comparison was unwelcome. She didn’t want to compare the two men because, despite the fact she really didn’t know Zephyros—and only an hour before thought he might kill her—there was no comparison. Her stranger was fierce masculinity personified, where Craig was all things metrosexual—a total clotheshorse and a brand snob. He even got manicures. What had she seen in him again?
She twisted her lips and wandered into the living room. She wasn’t being fair to him, or to what they had shared—or, at least, what she thought they’d shared, but she wasn’t in the mood yet to enumerate his good qualities. Maybe she would never be. Not after the lies he had told, the depth of his betrayal. Not after he’d taken her love and her trust, ripped them into tiny shreds, and thrown them in her face.
Which was why she wanted to get to the bottom of who Zephyros was and what he had done. Not that he owed her, necessarily, but that didn’t keep her from wanting the truth. Badly. It didn’t seem so much to ask from people.
Ella opened the front door and sucked in a deep breath of chilly spring air. She retrieved the “Crab Wrapper”—Annapolis’s affectionate name for its local newspaper—from the covered porch and rolled the rubber band off. She flicked it open, perusing the headlines as she absently walked back inside and kicked the door shut behind her. Coffee brewed, she headed straight to the pot and poured herself a fragrant mug, stirred in a little cream and sugar, then settled at the little two-seater table with coffee and paper in hand. By the time she’d read from cover to cover, sleepiness made her eyelids heavy. After spending nearly four days in bed, though, the last thing she wanted was to be horizontal again.
Though, her bed was a good bit more attractive right now.
She gaped at the thought. Last thing she needed was to get involved with another man. Geez. It had only been three months since she’d discovered Craig’s dirty little secret, otherwise known as her former best friend.
Still, she couldn’t stop her brain from resurrecting the image of Zeph tearing off his shirt as he sat on the edge of her bed. As if the man’s broad shoulders and bulging biceps weren’t impressive enough. As if the ridged muscles of his abdomen didn’t just call out to be traced. She had absolutely never seen with her own eyes, on a real man, that incredible cut of muscle just above his hips. But, yeah, he had it, and then some. Her mind wandered. If she wrapped her arms around him, would he feel soft or hard within her embrace? She shook her head and sighed. She’d never know, but…damn. It sure was fun to think about.
As she cleaned up her mess, she chuckled at herself. The sound stopped her short. When was the last time she’d laughed?
That she couldn’t pinpoint a specific month or season spoke volumes.
Then again, winter couldn’t have been shittier for her. The final rounds of testing in November confirmed what they’d feared—she couldn’t have children. Just before Christmas, Craig announced her infertility was for the best, because he was gay and wanted out. The bombshell revelation hit her hard, and for weeks she grappled with a rage she couldn’t express. After all, a person couldn’t choose his or her sexual orientation. And though she didn’t understand why he hadn’t recognized it about himself before they’d married—it had been three years, for God’s sake—she had no intention of harassing him about it.
But then, she’d found him in bed with Teresa, her best friend. Or so she’d thought. Craig had been forced to admit he’d only said he was gay “to let her down easy,” whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. He was in love with Teresa, who was four months pregnant. And that delightful bit of math meant he’d been sleeping with her while Ella was still trying to conceive.
Ella’s whole life had caved in around her. Dreams of mother-hood gone, her marriage a farce, her friends feeling the need to choose sides, or too uncomfortable to figure out what to say. She didn’t think things could possibly get worse.
And then the phone call that proved just how wrong she was.
Sitting alone in the house she’d once shared with Craig, she received the news that Marcus had been found dead in his bed. His cleaning lady had discovered his body. He’d apparently already been gone a few days when she did. Dead of a stroke at thirty.
That was the moment Ella knew what loss was. Compared to Marcus’s death, losing Craig had been relatively painless.
“Enough,” Ella said out loud. The time for wallowing was over. Marcus wouldn’t want that for her. And she didn’t want it for herself.
Problem was, she had no idea what she did want. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost herself, lost track of what was important, what made her happy. But she had to figure it out. Marcus might not be alive, but she still was. She owed it to the both of them to live—for real, not just go through the motions—and now was the perfect time to begin. Spring was the season of rebirth after all, and she intended to give it an honest effort. Even if she had no freaking idea where to start.
She threaded through the house and paused at the closed door to her bedroom. After hesitating for a moment, she gingerly turned the knob and pushed the door, wincing as it squeaked.
Ella moaned under her breath at the image that appeared on the other side.
Zephyros was sprawled on his stomach across more than half the bed, his massive shoulders and arms curl
ed around a mound of pillows. Even in rest, his thick muscles appeared ready to spring.
She tiptoed closer, holding her breath as the floorboards creaked here and there.
In sleep, the harsh contours of his face relaxed, casting a peacefulness over his features that wasn’t there when he was awake. That he apparently carried around some heavy unnamed burden made her heart squeeze. Sleep provided escape for her, too—when she could manage to quiet her heart and mind enough to actually nod off.
Standing there in the cool stillness of her room, her own exhaustion reared its head and demanded she cave in to the desire to rest. The urge to join Zeph in bed gripped her. Ridiculous. She padded over to a laundry basket near her dresser and chose clean clothes from the folded pile. With one last look at her mysterious guest, she slipped back out into the hall.
A shower would revive her. Plus, it had the added benefit of not landing her in bed with a total stranger. At least she thought that was a good thing.
Plopping her clothes on the bathroom counter, Ella peered in the mirror and confirmed her earlier impression from the toaster. She was healed. Totally and completely. The hair on her arms raised and she shivered. What he’d done…it was a miracle. Truly. What else would you call it?
Ella reached into the shower and adjusted the water. The house was old, and it took forever for the hot water to come up, so she’d need to let the shower run for a while before she could get in. As she waited, one question repeated itself in her mind: How? How had he healed her? How was something like that even possible?
After a few minutes, a thin mist of steam told her the shower was probably warm enough. She grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled.
