Maybe it’s not his. The thought sends a chill oozing down my spine. Someone must have met a horrible end tonight. Maybe a lot of someones. It wouldn’t be the first time he massacred mortals; he did it twice in the Ostran war. Entire clans.
Theo leans into his hands on the credenza in the entryway. Another feeling melts the slush creeping through my veins before it has a chance to solidify. I can’t leave him like this anymore than I could watch that Kisken man starve after he lost at Fate. I sigh, resigned.
“You should sit down,” I say. I take his hand and pull him gently toward the sitting room. When he comes without an argument, tension squeezes my stomach. He would never let me drag him around under normal circumstances. As soon as he half-falls onto the couch, I step back and wipe my hands on my pants. “I’ll get Goran.” He shouldn’t be too hard to wake up. I hope. I only knew the type of moss to use because of an unfortunate incident last year when there was no food. I force what I hope is an encouraging smile. “Hang on.”
He grabs the hem of my shirt, leaving a streak of crimson on the blue fabric. “Let him sleep. I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?” I raise my eyebrows. “Have you seen yourself?”
His hand drops away and he leans into the couch. His head thunks against the strip of wood above the padded back. “It’s just a little blood.”
“A little?” I wave my hand at his body, a frantic movement desperate to expel energy.
He gives a tired smirk and closes his eyes. “It’s fine.”
Clearly he’s lost his mind. Even if it isn’t his blood, there’s no way he doesn’t need help. He can’t even hold himself up.
“Cassia?”
I jump. “What?”
“You’re staring,” he says.
I fold my arms across my chest. Of course I’m staring; he looks like something straight out of a horror movie. “What happened?”
“If I tell you, will you leave me in peace?” he asks, garbled.
Leave him here to suffer by himself? “Yes.”
“Volkana planned to drop a new, incredibly destructive bomb on Asgya. I disabled it.” His shoulders roll forward and he rubs at his chest. “Tried to disable it. I’m not exactly an expert on antimatter.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You blew yourself up to save Asgya?”
“I didn’t blow up, the mountain did.” The corner of his lip twitches. “I happened to be on it at the time.”
“I didn’t know antimatter was a thing.” I rub my thumb against the smudge on my shirt. He stopped a bomb. It’s his job, I suppose, but until this moment I didn’t realize what that entailed. I didn’t know he would have to put himself in such danger to do it.
“It wasn’t.” A small groan chokes the end of his sigh. “It is now.”
I inhale, my lips cracking to speak, but I’m not sure what to say to that. He saved countless Asgyans from death. A mountain exploded and I assume a few Volks lost their lives, but if they planned to use the same bomb on their enemy, I can’t bring myself to pity them too much.
As long as Oren is still alive…
A metallic taste coats my tongue, and I realize I’m biting the inside of my cheek. I know war means death and destruction, but there has to be a line somewhere. Apparently Theo understands that too.
“Don’t move,” I say.
Before he can argue, I take off for the kitchen where dust-covered mixing bowls are crammed on the top shelf. I hop onto the counter and straddle the oven burners to reach them. Somewhere in my head, I’m screaming at myself to stop helping him when I can’t decide if I hate him. Look how things turned out when I helped the Kiskens after they exiled me. It’s a lesson I should know well by now: don’t stick your neck out for anyone that wants to chop it off. Unfortunately, I don’t know how to take good advice.
I rinse the largest of the bowls in the sink and fill it with warm water. On the way back to the sitting room, I stop in the bathroom and stuff a stack of folded washcloths under my arm.
Besides, this is something.
Kiskens wash their friends and family all the time. Not that Theo and I are either of those things, but we should be. We need to be for Oren’s sake. I take a deep breath outside the sitting room and hold it. This is all I can do. If I can remember why, maybe I can manage the how. Exhaling, I step around the doorframe.
Theo is in the same place I left him, his chest rising and falling in a long, labored rhythm. I pad across the room and let the cloths drop to the floor. The bowl clinks against the wooden table we used for our game of Fate, and his eyes fly open. His piercing blue irises hold me in place. Something shimmers there—suspicion, fear, pain—that tugs at a cord deep inside me.
“What are you doing?” he grumbles. “It’s late. Go to bed.”
The spell breaks at the sound of his voice and I huff, shaking the first cloth out. I dip it into the water. “If you don’t clean your wounds, they could get infected.” I glance at his ripped sleeve. “Some of this is yours, right?”
“All of it is mine,” he says coolly.
“I’m surprised you have any left,” I mumble to hide my surprise. I wring the water out and bring the cloth to his forehead. He jerks away. “It’s just water.”
“It’s just blood,” he counters.
I sit back on my heels. “Are you going to let me help you or not?”
His mouth opens and I can almost feel the word not hover between us. Then he shuts it and leans forward with a small, pained grunt. I put the cloth against his forehead and swipe around his temple. He winces but stays still, his gaze focused on his lap. I focus my own on the path I’m tracing across his face and nothing else. Not the flexing muscles beneath his ruined jacket or the vein pulsating rapidly in his neck.
At least, I try.
It’s more work than I expect. Each line smudges dirt and blood against his tan skin. Lines of water race from the cloth, ending in red droplets at his jaw line. They drip down onto the torn knees of his pants. It takes three cloths before his face is finally clean.
The angles aren’t as harsh as I thought before. Beneath the scowl he constantly wears, is a touch of tenderness. I can see it now despite his clenched jaw and furrowed brows. The soft sweep of lashes as he keeps his gaze down. The gentle curve of his lips. Palpitations flutter in my chest, my head fuzzy with nerves. Stop it. It doesn’t matter if he’s attractive. I’ve accepted my mission and have to follow through without getting lost along the way.
“Hand,” I say as clinically as possible. He clutches them tightly between his knees. “Hand,” I say again, firmly.
He purses his lips before prying his hands apart. They come to rest on his knee caps. The fingers shake against the shredded denim, but I can’t tell if it’s from pain or if he’s as nervous as I am. Probably the pain. His breathing hitches as I begin at the wrist.
“I can stop,” I offer.
“It doesn’t hurt.” His reply is immediate, but the sound is little more than a breath.
A flush rises in my cheeks, and I keep working until there’s no exposed skin left to clean. My fingers slide up the ripped fabric of his sleeve, and I bite my lip as I glance inside. My head swims in relief that there’s no trauma. Blood is one thing, but carnage is an entirely different animal. I threw up all over the frog they made us dissect in biology class, which really added an extra oomph to my last year of school. Throwing up all over Theo would be even worse.
“Umm.” I drop my hand and his gaze drifts up to mine. “Can you…”
He blinks, hesitation etched into every facial angle, then shrugs out of the jacket. His teeth clack together and his breathing quickens, but I pretend not to notice. The T-shirt underneath clings to each muscle and the gash in the fabric shows a hint of his unmarred stomach.
This is a bad idea. All of it. Horrible. But it’s too late now, so I school my expression into indifference and stick a clean cloth in the bowl. After a steadying breath, I turn back to his arm. There’s no way I’m asking him to remove any mo
re clothing. After this is done, I’m getting out of here.
I start at the cuff of his T-shirt and slide down to his elbow. This time I actually manage to stay focused on the work as my stomach flops, but the work itself is distracting. His muscles are even harder than they look. My arm slows. His gaze is heavy, watchful.
“So.” I hesitate. “You have super healing abilities, huh?”
“I’m a god,” he says. His words brush hot along my cheek.
“Right.” I chance a look up at him. “I forgot.”
His breath rushes out in a surprised laugh. “Did you?”
My cheeks blaze. This is dangerous. But what did I expect? I would have an easy time getting close to him? This game comes with a hefty price. If I’m not careful, if I don’t concentrate on the wrongs he’s done, I might lose even if I win. “Well, I hope you didn’t like this couch much,” I blurt as pink water dribbles onto the cushion.
“Peroxide,” he says.
I scrub at his skin, my strokes rushed and uneven. “As long as you don’t try stuffing it in my room like you did with all—”
He tugs on the end of the washcloth, pulling it from my hand. “Why are you doing this?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
The cloth lands on the table with a wet slap, pink water draining off the corner and onto the patterned rug. He gently tugs my chin up. The grim on his fingers is slick against my skin. “Yes.” Once our eyes meet, there’s no looking away. “You do.”
I swallow hard. No, I really don’t. I know why I should be doing this, but with the book, the bomb, and the pain on his face…It doesn’t make sense. None of this does. It feels as if my thoughts are caught in a tornado, flinging everything a snarled mess.
Theo shifts on the couch, inching closer to the edge. His breathing changes again, different from before in a way that makes my stomach clench. When his hand falls from my chin, I suck in a breath.
I shouldn’t miss the contact, but I do. I want him to touch me again. I want to touch him again too, but my excuses are gone along with the mess. My reason to be here at all has disappeared. Still, I find myself not moving, pinned by an invisible hand.
The room grows hotter until, finally, I can’t stand it anymore. I push off the floor and Theo follows me to his feet. His palms sear my cheeks as he takes hold and backs me into the wall. My stomach somersaults, my heart threatening to beat from my chest. Then his lips crush against mine, demanding. Mine move in response, slow at first, but it doesn’t take long to match his intensity. He tastes cool, metallic. I grip the fabric near his hips and urge him closer. It’s still not close enough.
I can’t breathe. I don’t want to breathe.
Theo lurches away, stopping halfway across the room where he sways on his feet. I drag in a breath and use the wall for balance. My head roars. I can’t decide if I want him to kiss me again or if I want to slap him for kissing me at all.
Again, a small voice whispers in anarchy.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Theo rasps.
No. He definitely shouldn’t have done that, but, more importantly, I shouldn’t have liked it. “It’s okay,” I say in an uneven voice.
“Cassia,” he says, part regret, part warning.
“Theodric, you’re back.” Goran rubs his cheek in the doorway, fighting a yawn. “How did it go?”
Theo turns his rigid back to me. “I died,” he snaps, and storms from the room.
Died?
Goran takes in the red towels on the table and the discarded jacket before raising a questioning eyebrow in my direction. I shrug. I don’t know what else to do, and I don’t trust myself to speak yet.
“Theodric?” Goran calls, rushing after him.
I press fingertips against my throbbing lips. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare like him like that. He’s lying to me. I can’t trust him. And if I can’t trust him, I can’t have feelings for him.
But it’s good he kissed me; it’s part of the plan.
Stick to the plan.
“What’s taking him so long?” I ask, more to myself than Goran. “Why isn’t he here yet?”
I’ve been waiting for Ebris for hours now. He’ll have a long list to scream at me about this time, but I have to give him this one—I failed. The blast likely took out an entire portion of the mountain range and the Volk capital. I can’t be sure without the report from Ubrar, but the lack of one is telling; either the site of the ruined temple is buried or my new spy is dead. Likely both. At least Volkana won’t be playing with antimatter again in the near future.
But, as if that weren’t enough of a disaster for one night, I kissed Cassia. An idiotic, impulsive kiss. Somewhere between the shock of death wearing off and the adrenaline still surging through me, I lost control. The worst part is, I didn’t hate it. Her touch felt good. It lulled me into a dream-like state, almost as if I were floating. The tightness in my chest tethered me at first. It held me back until it didn’t anymore. When she stood to leave, my anxiety morphed to desperation. The thought of being away from her sent panic racing through my body. I wanted to feel her warm fingers trail over me, dragging the ache from my muscles, until exhaustion pulled me under. I wanted—needed—to be close. Closer.
The same feeling grips me now. Embracing my spirit, crushing it. I rest my head in my hands and groan.
“Chin up,” Goran says from across the room. “At least you saved Asgya. That has to count for something.”
“I wouldn’t start celebrating yet.” I drop my head further and rest my forehead on the desk. My muscles are sore, raw from knitting themselves back together, and I stifle the urge to crawl back into bed. When my brother comes storming in here, I need to be ready. It will be bad enough facing him without making him wait. “Blowing up one country over the next isn’t exactly a victory. I’m supposed to be impartial.”
“You are impartial, but you’re also bound to rules. You know, those things you like to pretend don’t exist.” He shuffles through a few papers. “You couldn’t very well let Volkana wipe Asgya off the map. It’s a hard blow, but Volkana will regroup.”
“You’re unusually optimistic about all this,” I grumble.
He snorts. “And you’re unusually upset about it.”
I’m not upset, I’m tired. This war. The game with my siblings. Cassia. Goran helps as much as he can, but I can only do so much without my full power. If it wouldn’t make me look weak, like I had given in, caved under pressure, I would finish the war by the end of the month and take some time to figure out the next familial thing I need to out maneuver.
A soft knock on the door sends lancing pain through my skull. I wince and rub my sternum as I shove to my feet with a steadying breath. It’s not Ebris. He doesn’t knock, he barges. The men wait for Goran to go to them in the Wall if they need something, which leaves only one person it could be. My muscles tighten. I can’t face Cassia. Not when each place she touched me prickles like a living thing.
Goran stands, his arms rigid at his side. “You can’t ignore her forever.”
“I can,” I say through my teeth.
He gives me a long look before plastering on a bright smile and swings the door open. “Cassia.” He ushers her inside. “To what do we owe this surprise?”
She’s wearing a flared black dress that hits her knees with her hair smoothed into a ponytail. Small wisps flutter around her cheeks. The cheeks I held last night. My breath sticks. I remind myself to breathe and sink back into the chair. Trouble. She’s bad for me in every way, but it’s too late. Sending her to the Netherworld now is impossible. I clench my hands into fists and hide them beneath the desk.
“Um.” Her eyes flick to mine for the briefest of seconds before she points behind her. “Your brother is here. He asked me to see if you’re available.”
Goran and I exchange hard looks.
“He also said to tell you not that brother,” she adds.
I sit up straighter and stare past her into the hallway. “What’s he
doing here?” I half-whisper.
Goran tilts his head and forces his smile wider until it looks like his mouth will split in two. “Be nice,” he says without moving his lips. “You need someone on your side.”
“He’s not on my side,” I hiss.
Goran raises his eyebrows. “He’s not on Ebris’ side, either.”
Leander strolls through the doorway with dark circles under his eyes and a genuine smile on his lips. Always the smile. I can count the times on one hand I’ve seen him without good humor, and even then he has an air of pleasantness about him. It’s infuriating. No one is that happy all the time, especially when you’re stuck in the Netherworld sorting souls.
“Hello, Theodric.” He nods to Goran in acknowledgment. “You don’t look pleased to see me. Is this a bad time?”
Any time is a bad time to deal with death.
I blow out a breath and try to relax my facial muscles into something less agitated. “It’s been awhile.”
“I’ve been busy.” Leander scans the maps along the far wall behind Goran and clasps his hands behind his back.
“I can imagine.” That’s also my fault, but I can’t say I’m sorry. Leander knows it’s the cost of war as well as I do, so there has to be another reason he’s here. “What brings you out of the Netherworld?”
Leander slips into one of the wooden chairs across from me and picks at a knick on the edge of the desk. “I always seem to forget how straight-to-the-point you are.”
“I’m happy to remind you.” I rub my temples, willing away the start of a headache. Another one this morning will put chinks in the wall I built to keep the high priest out.
“Maybe I wanted to see a friendly face,” Leander says.
“So you came here?” I motion to the room full of weaponry and battle tactics. Nothing about my realm says friendly, least of all me. “You might have better luck visiting Astra. Or Drea—she adores you.”
“No one could accuse you of being welcoming,” he says in a flat voice. His smile falters, but the corners remain raised. “But I’m not here for a social call. I know Ebris already told you to stop stirring up the war.”
Fragile Chaos Page 12
