In the end I looked halfway presentable. Pale and ragged, as one might expect from a woman whose fiancé…or had I called him husband?…was in serious condition. I hoped I’d pass.
I stepped out of the bathroom five minutes from when I’d gone in, wearing determination like a shield.
“Give me one minute,” Apollo said, stepping in as soon as I was out and closing the door behind him.
It was two, but I used the time to find a blazer of his and roll up the sleeves. I was slipping out the door when he emerged. He caught the door before I could close it and slid out behind me.
“We’ll go together,” he said, “in case of trouble.”
I turned and glared, crossing my arms over my chest, which made my wings want to flare, as if I had feathers to ruffle. “I don’t need your help for this.”
“You’re getting it regardless. Don’t worry, I’ll stay out in the waiting room.”
“Fine,” I said, though it wasn’t fine at all. I didn’t want him there, sensing my every emotion through our strange link. If I broke down…well, I didn’t need an audience. It gave me a tiny sense of the vulnerability people felt when I poked around in their lives. No wonder the Rialto Bros. had kicked me out and my family still had no idea what to do with me. I was a freak. Now I had the wings to prove it.
Apollo swooped in and kissed me hard, his hands going to my hips. The suddenness of it made me catch my breath and made a hot spike of desire start in my stomach and finish up somewhere significantly lower. The shock of it brought me back to myself and I heaved him away, ready to slap his face…before I saw the look on it—satisfaction.
“What?” I asked. “What did you do that for?”
“You were feeling sorry for yourself. I figured the kiss would either turn you on or piss you off. Either way, no more pity.”
“Screw you,” I said, giving him my back and starting for the stairs.
“Any time,” he said softly.
I pretended not to hear and continued on my way, only stopping when I got to the front desk to ask about a cab. I’d already put Viggo through enough. “Ms. Karacis?” the desk guy asked.
“Yes.”
“You have a message. I took it myself.”
He grabbed it from an old-fashioned lattice of message boxes behind the counter and handed it to me. It was on hotel stationary, folded in half.
I read it as the hotel clerk tapped away on his keyboard.
Apollo sensed it the second my heart stopped. “Tori?”
“He’s gone,” I said. No inflection, no emotion. Dead.
“Who’s gone?”
“Armani. Nick. He’s gone.”
I had to hold tightly to the counter, my knuckles white.
“Gone where?”
“Home. He wants to be treated and heal at home. Without me. I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”
Apollo opened his arms, and this time I stepped into them willingly.
“Do you still want the cab?” the desk clerk asked.
Apollo shook his head. I could feel it through our hug. Then he guided me back toward the elevators.
“What do you want?” he asked. “A drink? Bed? The comfort of your family?”
“You,” I said. It slipped out before I could think, but I realized I meant it. “I want to be with someone who understands.”
The elevator came and he was so stunned he didn’t move until I did.
“Just hold me?” I asked as the door closed behind us.
“I can’t make any promises,” he said, more truthful than he had to be.
“That’s okay too,” I said, not knowing if it was true. But I wanted him—had always wanted him, from that first second he’d walked into my office. But Armani’d had prior claim on my heart.
But now, without that, I realized I couldn’t make any promises either. If Apollo were to kiss me again, I couldn’t answer for where it would lead.
About the Author
Lucienne Diver does not actually come from circus folk, though you’d never know it to meet her family. She is, however, in no particular order, a wife, mother, book addict, sun-worshipper, mythology enthusiast, beader, travel-junkie, clothes horse and crazy person. In addition to the Latter-Day Olympians series for Samhain, she writes the Vamped series of young adult novels for Flux Books (Vamped, Revamped, Fangtastic and Fangtabulous). Her short stories have been included in the anthologies Strip-Mauled and Fangs for the Mammaries edited by Esther Friesner and in Kicking It edited by Faith Hunter and Kalayna Price (Dec. ’13). Her essay “Abuse” is included in the anthology Dear Bully: Seventy Authors Tell Their Stories. More information can be found on her website at www.luciennediver.com. You can also follow her on Twitter, @luciennediver.
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