Page 44 of Marked by the Demigod

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The next morning, she wakes up with that surreal feeling of being both in an unfamiliar bed and with her head pillowed on Iakov's bicep, her phone beeping on her desk.

Iakov's fast asleep, his mouth pinched shut. Aimes carefully extracts herself and pulls out from underneath the quilts.

The cold air bites into her skin, and she quickly shuts off her phone alarm. She has to figure out something to eat before her first class cause her stomach's growling something fierce and get dressed and be professional and --

She sprays her hair with dry shampoo, throwing on her second day slacks and blouse, her mouth dry at the sight of Iakov fast asleep in the tiny room. Her eyes keep straying to him as she ties her hair back into the librarian-friendly bun.

Quickly, impulsively, she snaps a pic with her phone, thumbing it onto silent first, before shoving it in her pocket with her room key.

"Jake? Iakov?" she says, voice as gentle as she can make it. He stirs, face pinching shut for a few seconds, before his eyes pop open, sudden and alert.

He sits up, still magnificently shirtless in the cold air, and eyes her. "Where are you going?" He stretches, and the sunlight hits his skin and takes her breath away.

"I have to get something to eat before I teach all day." She grabs her purse, her hands shaking for some god knows reason, and throws him a shaky smile. "Still have to do work."

He watches as she assembles her teaching briefcase, his eyes lidded. "So that's what you do, you're not a librarian, you teach them?" His voice is low, his accent thicker, as if sleep takes away the smooth edges.

"Pretty much." It’s like this is some test that she didn't know about but is somehow absolutely dire and she is failing and --

He stands, wearing just his boxers, and crosses to her, hooking his hands on the waistband of her slacks. "You have to go? Right now?"

She blinks rapidly, her eyes somehow betraying her. "Yeah, pretty much."

He hitches up her shirt, just a little, his thumb rubbing circles at the bare sliver of skin he exposes. "I guarantee, I can make your day far more entertaining than this convention."

She didn't doubt it one bit, but she extracts his hand away from her pants before he takes them off of her. "Give me your phone number, I'll text you when I'm done?"

He leans back, evaluating, his dark sleek hair a mess over his eyes, the fair hair on his chest illuminated in the early morning sunbeams. Aimes gets the sudden feeling that she asked something far more personal than she thought she did.

After a too long moment, he abruptly turns away, gathering his shirt. "I doubt I'll be in town this evening." And somehow, even with the thick Russian accent, he drawls it out.

Wrong footed, Aimes resumes packing her work briefcase. "It'd be nice, you know, to be able to send a quick text."

He hmmmmmms, but otherwise doesn't respond.

"Did you know… did you know someone punched me?" He quirks an eyebrow at her, and she plows on. "For having this...thing. A random guy in a bar. Came up and tried to deck me."

He nods, face unmoving. "Yes," he says, simple.

Feeling like somehow everything she’s saying is going wrong but not knowing how quite to fix it, she waits a few seconds to see if he’ll say anything else. "Well, it would've been nice to be able to contact you."

He seems to mull that over, as if giving it somewhat serious consideration. "You weren't in any danger from the dryad."

"I got punched."

Iakov shrugs, as if that’s nothing and not a freaking weird occasion for her. "He wouldn't be able to kill you, he wasn't that powerful."

"So you knew he did that?" Aimes voice catches in her throat.

He shrugs again, face twisted up into a profoundly uncomfortable expression. "I stopped by. The bartender had him in a headlock, they gave you some napkins, you were fine." He shrugs his shirt on, his long fingers buttoning it up. "If I thought you were in any real danger, I would've taken you away, but as it were..." he spreads his hands, as if that explains everything, and it stings.

There's a moment of silence, as Aimes grips her briefcase, her hands shaking far more than reasonable. It's like she's been dismissed and it's far more important than it should be. It's the magical marriage thing, she's certain of it, but it hurts. It hurts bad.

"So I should just wait for the next time you decide to show up?" Her voice cracks, in the middle, and his eyebrows flash up. "Just live like normal, until you decide to pop in and say hello?"

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