Awful Intentions: Friends-to-Lovers Romance (The Celestial Bodies Series Book 2)

by Elena Monroe

  He stopped abruptly, while handing me the phone. “I'm hung over, but let me drag myself around for you. It’s for you.”

  Jasper was a lot like Kate. They both had this way of making things light by not giving in to the darkness around them. I respected them for it.

  I walked around the sales floor, spinning a basketball on the top of my finger, when I realized how sore my ribs were. Finally Jasper’s rustling stopped, and he spoke: “I don't have much. Last five years maybe. Dude is a ghost to socials.”

  “He's not a saint, Jasper. Find something.”

  “Did you have your coffee? Did you know coffee was originally chewed?”

  I blinked in astonishment and part regret that I didn't hang up quicker, and I pressed the red button to end the call on the handheld.

  I didn't need a segment of “Random Facts with Jasper” this morning.

  Caellum coughed, trying to pull my attention to the group of guys who walked in. This was his kingdom, and I was forced to bow to the rules here.

  “If you guys need me, I'll be over here.” It was the best he was getting with my bruised ribs and broken heart.

  ??

  Work was pointless.

  I was still on Bolton's side. We were royalty, and we were slaving for literal pennies. We were scraping by with nothing from our world, except our powers.

  Those were still off limits to use publicly.

  Bolton didn't need to know I picked fights regularly and used every ounce of my strength.

  My powers were combustible. If I was ignored too long, and I would erupt all over the wrong people.

  I suspected we all had secrets in this world.

  Caellum with his private notebooks and hiding in the library on the weekends.

  Bolton with obsessing over a way out.

  Arianna with running away.

  Luna with battling a new her.

  Kate was the only one loving being this normal, and that screamed issues—ones I wasn't touching.

  I was exhausted, and my ribs were more sore after moving around than when I woke up with them the next morning. Pushing the door open to the building with my shoulder, I stomped up the stairs.

  Every time I walked by her door, I stopped, listening for Dorian’s baritone from the wrong side of her door.

  I couldn’t actually trust Arianna to be the buffer, clit block.

  Or be the thing that came between Luna and her new crush.

  The nicer, cleaner, undamaged version of me.

  She was playing the long game so well that I couldn’t tell when the smirks she’d throw my way were rubbing her winning in or actual hate.

  Luna wasn’t all innocent. She wasn’t all fucking white light and teddy bears. She was actually a wolf in sheep’s clothing, pretending to be a lamb.

  Hence my nickname for her: Little Lamb.

  I was half listening for a man’s voice leaning against the door frame when the door pulled open and interrupted my Luna time, even if it was just in my head.

  Her face washed in sudden anger.

  I backed up, trying to pretend I was just hugging her side of the wall awkwardly instead of stalking her.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Nyx?”

  Words always failed me, but this time in particular, the failure was loud and embarrassing when nothing came out of my open mouth.

  “You are an emotional terrorist. I don’t negotiate with terrorists…” Her voice barked at me like I was her cat who just sprayed all over his territory and now her shit was all wet.

  Looking past her, I didn’t see Dorian or any real evidence he was hiding in their studio apartment.

  I got what information I wanted; pushing off the door, I walked away without a word breathed between us from my lips. She didn’t negotiate, and I wasn’t offering to even entertain the idea.

  She was playing the long game, and I was twiddling my thumbs, waiting for her to chicken out of taking her games too far. She took the ritual too far, and now I know three less people than I did a few months ago.

  Those kinds of nightmares kept a girl in check.

  Now she was forcing me to play along, and I didn’t play fair…

  Kicking my door closed behind me, I texted Cotton Candy. I didn’t plan on learning or remembering her name, so as far as I was concerned, that would be how I referred to her.

  Me: What are you doing tonight?

  Cotton Candy: You?

  She added a fucking winking face, like I wouldn’t understand an innuendo as obvious as that.

  Me: Come over in an hour.

  Luna was getting more than she asked for, more than a smirk in return. She was going to get the same jealousy thrown back at her, except I knew she would fold under its tension.

  I was the only one who avoided Dorian’s lame ass trivia night at his condo, which had been happening regularly since I took myself out of Luna's life.

  Everyone else welcomed the normalcy with open arms.

  Of course not Caellum and Bolton, they were both too busy plotting a way home to care about Luna’s new boyfriend.

  I was just too busy for that shit. I’m the strong silent type chalked up to an asshole.

  Communication was overrated when no one said how they really felt.

  The shower was already fogging up my whole bathroom, and I had just turned the handle to hot as Hades. It was one of the only things in this world that reminded me of home.

  Anything too hot or too torturous.

  Standing in front of the mirror, stripped down to my boxer briefs, I stared at the bruises covering my ribs, wondering how he was able to actually hurt me.

  Football with Caellum and I on opposite sides of the field didn't even leave war wounds like these. The recreational fights I picked in my off time…? Nothing hurt me.

  So how did Dorian manage to leave a mark on me?

  I brushed over the purple and yellow with my fingertips carefully, but I still winced, sucking in a deep breath and holding it, until I was done with my examination.

  Pushing my underwear down, I stepped out of them and stepped into the steam behind the curtain. Inhaling, I choked on the steam, letting it course through my lungs painfully, welcoming.

  No one was going to hurt me without a better reason. Steam would have to do. It was the only torture on hand.

  Cotton Candy welcomed herself right into my apartment at the end of the hallway and was perched on my bed waiting for me when I came out of the bathroom with a towel hung low on my hips, barely held together.

  Good thing I wasn’t shy… I wasn’t ashamed of who I was or the darkness I grew up with.

  I only had select memories of my life before here, but it was enough to paint a picture of why I am the way I am as they slowly filtered in.

  My dad, Hades, was villainized, and not in the endearing, “he’ll change his way” kind either.

  Zeus made sure the welcome we once had was revoked, and we were labeled bad to balance his good.

  Hades wasn’t the equivalent of the Devil, but the Catholic stories certainly took from my life, spinning it into nightmares. The fire, the torture, the sinister intentions… all were made to scare people into being good.

  If Hades was bad and I was his spawn, then was I walking, talking evil?

  Was I the little voice influencing you to do all the things we tell ourselves isn’t acceptable?

  Those were answers I wasn’t ever going to get, because our gods were dead.

  All I had was who I was: a Scorpio in the circle.

  “Looking good…” Her tone wasn’t lost on me. She was practically drooling as I crossed the room to grab some clothes.

  My hair was still dripping on my chest, and my Aussie accent was still hoarse from the steam that had tried to suffocate me. “We’re going to a game night.”

  “Really? You don’t seem like the social type… no offense.”

  I pulled the towel off and tossed it in her direction, letting it fall on her and obstructing her vision. “I’
m not. This is more business.”

  She perked up excitedly. “Who are we making mad?”

  Girl was dumb as rocks, and I didn’t care enough to even learn her name, but she could read a room instantly. That was all I needed. She followed along and didn’t complain.

  I stepped into the same pair of pants I always wore and never washed—black skinnies that hung so low on my waist that every time I lifted my arms the band of my underwear peeked out along with my Scorpio mark.

  I quickly texted the boys: You guys better be at Dorian’s tonight.

  I kept it simple and to the point. I wasn’t trying to have alarms go off, more than the ones I knew would go off when it came to me being social.

  I was going to need as many distractions as possible if I was going to snoop around for answers.

  Nyx

  D orian’s house sat on a hill in the suburbs, an old colonial fit with white pillars and a picket fence. It was inviting, even if I wasn’t actually invited.

  He wanted people to be impressed.

  Tough shit, I wasn’t.

  Cotton Candy clung onto my arm like I was a fucking handbag, but I let her, because it was a perfect distraction.

  Bolton looked like a mirrored version, with just more space between his body and Ariana’s, offering up more personal space than I currently had.

  He shot me a questioning facial expression that I knew really was questioning my plus one. With her in ear shot, all I could do was shrug, making him chuckle.

  It wasn’t funny; none of this was.

  It was a fucking nightmare, wrapped in a daydream, calling itself humanity.

  Walking up to the door, I let Arianna hold the old door knocker with no sign of an updated ringer. The door swung open not even a minute later, with Luna at his side, welcoming us into his “humble home”—his words, not mine.

  He didn’t even flinch when he greeted us and I was in the crowd.

  He didn't even look twice; ignoring me all together seemed to be the strategy he landed on.

  Bolton and I were the last to arrive and the least excited to be there. Everyone else was soaking up his hospitality in the parlor room, waiting on us.

  Caellum appeared next to me, leaning against the door frame, while I watched Cotton Candy meet the girls officially. I let her be as distracting as I counted on.

  “Why did you really come?”

  Bolton sauntered over like he, in fact, was king, even here. Arianna must have fucked him sane again, because he was back to his old self: relentless, bossy, arrogant.

  “Yeah, why did you come, Nyx? Rub her in Luna’s face?” Bolton joined in immediately, with no regard for the truth. He was the only one who really knew how deep my feelings ran for Luna.

  “Something about him is off…” I answered, staring directly at Dorian, comfortably playing house as the perfect couple with Luna.

  The delicate bracelet hanging from her dainty wrist was obvious, while Dorian made small talk, as he held her body to his side. She was wearing the birthday gift I got her. Sparkling crescent moon charms hugged the full moon, and they danced together in the light.

  Balance.

  Even partials become whole in time.

  Bolton followed my gaze. “You mean beside him being with the girl you love?”

  Letting my body move around the framing, I stood on the other side, waiting for him to be just as out of sight as I was when I lifted my shirt to show him the bruises.

  Caellum rolled his eyes, like I was a broken record stuck singing the same tune.

  I was… and I wasn’t going to stop until I knew exactly what Dorian’s motives were.

  “Gods. You’re fighting again?”

  Shaking my head, I let him lean in, examining the marks closer. “How long ago? Why didn't it heal yet?”

  “Good question. Why don't you ask Dorian? Dude has tricks up his sleeves.”

  Bolton snapped upright again with a scowl that told me he was Team Luna in all this.

  “Back up… You think Dorian did this to you? Why would he fight you? He has a girl.”

  My eyebrows dipped, and my lips felt tense against his judgment. He was calling me jealous and delusional without having to say it.

  “Forget it, your highness. Present problems.” I let my shirt fall back down, and I headed down the hallway, finding a set of stairs. This was out of the way, and I could blame being lost easily.

  Roaming the second floor, I poked my head into empty bedrooms with empty beds.

  Why did he even need this much space just to be alone?

  Finally finding a room with bookshelves and a desk, I made the assumption this was where all the planning must happen. Carefully leaving the door cracked, I stepped lightly to the shelves, brushing my gaze over the nameless spines of a dozen books.

  Curiosity at an all-time high, I plucked one off the shelf and let the spine crack in my hands, opening up to handwritten words covering the pages in a stained ink.

  I knew the handwriting somehow.

  Flipping the pages, I found the start of the entry to see the ink shaping a familiar name: Henry Jon, 1625 .

  I nearly dropped the book, just before I tucked it under my arm and checked the other books on the shelf for his handwriting.

  The books were his journals, the complete collection—not just the one Bolton bent the rules to find.

  Again, I was right, and no one was around to see it.

  I rolled up the journal as best as I could to fit it in my back pocket and continued searching, when I heard the loud, distinct, creeks in the hallway. I froze, making sure I stayed quiet and bargained with our dead gods to distract whoever it was.

  A shadow cut between the crack, and I mumbled a silent “fuck” before I was caught. Caellum pushed the door open. “What are you doing?”

  Standing up from my frozen broken stature, I exhaled and whisper-shouted, “Be quiet!”

  I waited for Caellum to make his way closer when I pointed to the shelf of Henry Jon’s journals, while I continued to go through Dorian’s desk.

  Caellum was the balance between Bolton’s recklessness and my relentless—a sense of reason.

  He whispered back in my direction, when he realized whose journals they were: “How is he connected to Henry Jon?”

  I popped up, after basically tossing his desk, with nothing to show for it. I shrugged, making my way to the other shelf of books and artifacts, when I noticed the brass knuckles that outlined a cross. I touched them, and a sharp pain melted on my fingertips, like static electricity, but much worse.

  Arianna times one-hundred.

  Caellum must have been in snooping heaven, because he was zoned out, sweeping the room.

  He loved clues and history more than any of us. He was also hellbent on getting back home... After being here this long, I think most of us desired home even more now.

  Stilling myself once I twisted in his direction, I heard footsteps again and pointed towards the door. Leaving the office, I decided to be the sacrificial lamb.

  This time.

  Sneaking out of the door before anyone made it to the top of the landing was some kind of blessing. I closed the door behind me carefully, tugging the doorknob and not letting go until it was securely in place.

  This old fucking house acted as its own security with so many creeks and moans.

  I pretended to be lost when Luna’s red hair bobbed to the top of the stairs.

  “Nyx? What are you doing up here?”

  “Trying to find the damn bathroom…” My voice was level, but I also didn't have a problem lying.

  She looked at me with a head tilt, analyzing if I was lying. “There's a bathroom downstairs. Why are you even here, Nyx?”

  Luna’s voice sounded exhausted of our games, and the knife she was toying with twisted that much further in my chest.

  Even our games were becoming something she loathed, right along with the dark side of her.

  “Being more social…” My lips formed a broad, hard
line.

  “Why are you making this so hard? We can be friends.”

  Leaning against the wall, I had to avert my eyes. Just looking at her made me feel weak for wanting whatever I could get from her.

  “What kind of friends is that, Little Lamb?” I let my hands take her hips and trade positions, leaning her against the wall, while I invaded her space. Leaning down into her ear, I whispered, “The kind of friends who grind their ass into my crotch? The kind of friends who taste each other?”

  Her swollen lips fell open at my words, as my lips brushed her neck. Keeping her distracted, I watch Caellum slip by, not without a popped eyebrow and questionable look as he did.

  “Nyx…” Her fingertips pressed into my abs to create space, while she looked dazed at my words.

  I couldn’t help but wince when I pushed into her further, and her stiff fingers toyed with my sore bruises. She didn’t stop the way I expected her to, but instead, she lifted up my shirt like she had every right to my body.

  “Are you fighting again?”

  Anger evidence.

  My need for new hobbies was clear too.

  “No, I haven't fought...”

  “Then who did this to you?” I watched the unshed tears in her eyes build a wall between us.

  Kissing her neck once, I whispered, “Ask your boyfriend. Guess he can't handle competition.”

  She dipped between us to examine my bruises that weren't feeling any better with time. “I get it that you hate him, but he wouldn't hurt a fly, Nyx.”

  “Whatever you say, Little Lamb. People might get the wrong idea with you on your knees for me...”

  I was enjoying the view. All the memories from Arcadia flooded back, like some bad montage of sneaking around with Luna, fooling around, and being the first to make her come—even before she explored herself.

  One of my better accomplishments.

  She hit my legs before giving up on examining me further. “He's a good guy, Nyx. He makes me happy.”

  With a hand on each side of her, I caged her in. “But does he make you feel weak? Does he make you wetter than I did? Does he love the side of yourself you even hate, Little Lamb?”

  Her eyes welled again, almost on demand, with my cruel words.