Page 10 of A Reign of Storm and Madness

The swarm of darkness that had taken me into oblivious sleep before is creeping back in. I’m so damned tired. Not just in body, but in mind and soul too. Like all the energy I’d maintained, the effort I’d gone to in order to remain awake and aware as that whip had cut into my back over and over again, each lash slicing through flesh and muscle and leaving me bleeding out in front of the entire academy, has washed away. I’ve used it up. There’s nothing left.

“You need more rest,” Theos says quietly. “Lie down.” His hand falls away from my face and my eyelids droop. I’m not even sure if he’s using his persuasion on me or if it’s just my own weakness that actually has me following his command. All I know is that I cannot resist it for much longer.

Theos shifts from the bed, standing and helping me as he reaches down, and instead of letting me just collapse back against the paper-thin pillow at the old, rusted iron headboard of the cot, he gently settles me down, holding my neck and head up with his palm when I can’t anymore.

I don’t trust him. I can’t trust him, I remind myself. Yet, he treats me as if I’m fragile and he is terrified to break me. Fresh tears burn in the back of my eyes. When was the last time someone was this kind to me? He must be using his persuasion. I tell myself that, even when his voice, as he speaks, holds little to no actual Divine power.

“Close your eyes, Kiera.” I fight it, fight against the urge to do as he says. Maybe it’s because it’s more natural to be ornery and bristly than it is to accept the truth of his words. I do need more rest. Sleep will heal me, it always does. I’m not sure if I can sleep with him in the room though. I don’t want to find out if I’m just as truly broken deep down as I suspect. If even with this invisible truce between us I’m still so damned bitter and cold that I can’t accept a modicum of tenderness because I just can’t trust it or myself anymore.

“You should go,” I say, even as I lie back down on the mattress that sags in most places. The outline of the dagger beneath practically digs into my side. “I doubt they want you to be here to take care of me after…” I let my words trail off. There’s no sparkle or gleam in his eyes that belies whether or not he understands what I mean, but I know he does. As much as I hate to admit it—even in silence to myself—he and I are similar. Both trapped here with nowhere else to go and no idea how to fix the hollow aching damage we both hold in our chests.

I sigh again, breath misting in front of my face. Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold. I can’t remember what I am anymore. “Just … go,” I finally tell him. “I’ll be fine.” Hopefully, I’m not lying.

But Theos doesn’t go. He doesn’t say a word as he shuffles me back, further against the wall without pushing me so far that my ripped-apart back touches it, until there’s a sliver of space on the edge of the sodden mattress. Space for him, I realize a moment later as he toes off his shoes and then bends, reaching behind him to fist the fabric of his tunic in one hand and pull it up and over his head, dropping it to the dirty floor without seemingly a second thought.

I put my hand up against his naked chest as he climbs into the bed alongside me, pushing back as I gape up at him. All thoughts of sleep are driven back, not far, but just enough. “What are you doing?”

Those iridescent golden eyes of his land on me. Instead of answering, though, Theos’ gaze travels down my face to my throat and then further. He pauses over the loose tunic I don’t remember changing into, but I somehow must have because how else would it have appeared on me? I look down, following his gaze to find that my nipples are peaked against the fabric. Their outlines clearly visible without my bindings.

“I’m in no mood to—” I begin only to be cut off as he growls at me.

“I am not here to fuck you, Dea.” The deep offended noise he makes in the back of his throat is anything but sarcastic. “You are hurt and we’ve been forbidden to request a healer for you. I am doing the only thing I know that will help.”

“What?” I blurt out the question, stunned by his response. They were forbidden from requesting a healer? Had they already tried?

Theos shuffles down and doesn’t say another word as he reaches for the scratchy woolen blanket that’d been discarded at the end of the bed. Gripping it with a disapproving scowl gracing his lips, he yanks it up and over the both of us. It’s the only cover aside from our clothes to shield me from the new cold air that’s swept into the room. Is that cold air, though, or my own body? At times I feel so damned hot and then shivering with cold. It’s unnatural.

“I don’t want you here,” I try again, shoving lightly against his chest. As much as I can with my back throbbing in pain. My bones fucking ache. My head is pounding with an incessant low beat that won’t go away. “Leave.” The word escapes me, practically a plea for him to return to the warm comfort of his own chambers.

I cannot sleep with another near like this. I haven’t slept like this in years, not since my dad—no I won’t let myself think of him. Not here, not now that I’ve become this damaged thing that has to kill to survive. He’d be fucking ashamed of me. He’d be so fucking sad at what I’ve become.

Those tears again prick at my eyes and I slam them closed, blocking out Theos’ unflinching face and the quiet thoughts that flit through my mind. I hope he can’t see them, can’t read how cracked open I am right now. Once my eyes are closed, I find I can’t reopen them. My body won’t let me. The exhaustion has finally won over. It has sunk its claws deep into me and it’s dragging me down, down, down into the darkest of depths.

“Fine then,” I hear myself whisper, the sound barely a crackle of noise in the deafening silence of the room. His silence. Because, even throughout my demands and pushes and begging for him to leave, he still hasn’t. It’s as if he’s waiting for me to tire myself out.

Gods, how I wish I had some brimstone of my own if only to keep him and his selfishness at bay. One night, I’d told myself. I’d told him. It had only been one night. Yet, as I feel Theos’ body inch ever closer in this pathetic excuse for a bed, the heat of him spilling over me, relegating the sharp, jarring shivers that overtake me into less violent trembles, I wonder if I’d suspected it would be more than that. If I’d secretly hoped that someone, even another Mortal God, could understand what it’s like to live in a world that’s constantly trying to rip you in half. Born of two wholly different entities and belonging, yet, to neither side.

The silence stretches on for so long that I swear I’ve fallen asleep to the hot and hard feel of his front against mine, of his muscles offering their warmth. But when he speaks, I know I haven’t quite slipped beyond that cliff yet.

“I know Ruen did this,” Theos says, his voice hoarse. It’s barely a whisper in the deadened air above us, as if he doesn’t want to admit this. “He was wrong, Kiera. He was wrong to do it and I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He’s not the one who should be sorry, I think, unable to voice the words as that oblivion clings to me, slowly but steadily tugging me further and further into the dark.

I want to open my mouth and tell him to shut up. That if he’s going to be here, then he might as well let me sleep in peace. I don’t want him here. I’ve never wanted anyone here with me in these moments. When I’m battered and broken and beaten. Even Regis had been turned away time and time again when I’d come back from jobs bleeding and swollen and so damned soiled that I hadn’t wanted anyone around me, not even myself. I’d wanted to rip my own body away, dump it in an ocean, and just fly. Let go and roar over the clouds, soaring higher and higher until no one and nothing could ever touch or taint me ever again. Not the piss and shit of the dead. Not the actions I’d done. Not even the blood in my own veins.

Theos doesn’t leave though. In spite of my rigid posture and how I try to hold myself as far from him on the small bed as I can, he merely settles a wide palm on my thigh and shifts closer still. That hand on my thigh makes my mouth go dry. He cups and kneads the muscles there, softly, with far more care than he had when he’d tried to push me down on the bed before—as if he’d forgotten my actual wounds. His fingers move up and down in careful motions, working through the knots as best he can in our current position and I remember what it was like to have his hands on me for a different purpose altogether.

Close. He’s so damned close. I hate it. Loathe it. Can’t bear it, and yet … the prying motions of his fingers digging into my thigh over and over again are the last vestiges of the world that I feel before everything winks out of existence. Before that dark oblivion drives up one final time, wraps its talons around my still fighting body, and yanks me into that cool, dark night.

Chapter 7

Kiera

The sun rises on the seventh day following my punishment, marking the end of my reprieve from Terra duties. Dull muted light illuminates my otherwise dreary room in the north tower, but I’m almost relieved for it to be here.

By the fifth day of my incarceration, I’d felt well enough to stand and walk around my room. I’d taken to jogging in place and stretching the sore muscles of my back and arms and legs—all of which were not accustomed to being ill-used for so long.

Now that the week is up, I wake to find myself clearer headed than I have been since the moment I’d ingested the Belladonna. A poison I’ll likely keep on the back burner for future missions even if I am grateful for Regis’ foresight. More importantly, though, when I open my eyes on my final day, I find that I am blessedly and thankfully alone. There’s no golden-eyed, white-haired Darkhaven in my bed to annoy the shit out of me with his mere presence. My eyes drift to the solid indent and outline of his shape in my thin mattress in memory.

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