Page 64 of Marked by the Demigod

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The next morning,after a heady mimosa breakfast buffet, Trixie leaves for the convention, leaving Aimes with an empty hotel room, a mild buzz, and Iakov's phone number.

AIMES (10:11 AM): You still in town?

She flops over on the bed, the room spinning, but that's not unusual. Room spinning is usually the first thing to start for her with a buzz.

TALL GUY (10:15 AM): I could be.

She lays her head down, her cheeks hurting from her smile. In the mirror above, she's a mess, her curly hair a ball of frizz, but she can't quite get herself to care.

She reaches for her phone again, and Iakov's hand closes over hers, sudden.

She jumps, and he grins at her, suddenly there. "Where's your friend?"

Aimes sits up, slow, and he sits on the bed next to her. "Work. She's here for work. All day today."

He looks at her, really looks at her, his eyes lingering all over her body, slow. "If this is what you wanted my phone number for, that's all you needed to say," he says, his voice dipping.

She shifts closer to him and he to her, as if he can read her mind and her intention, and wouldn't that be amazing.

He rests his lips against her shoulder, against her neck. Not really a kiss, but also not not a kiss. "I shouldn't be seen in Vegas," he mumbles, his voice barely understandable. "You don't understand why I shouldn't be in Vegas, but I shouldn't be in Vegas."

She reaches up and tangles her hand in his smooth hair, and he leans into her grip as she lightly tugs.

He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat. "Are you drunk?" he whispers, the rumble of laughter close.

She shrugs, relishing how warm he felt next to her. "Mimosa breakfast. It is Vegas." She pulls back, looks at him.

He's watching her, avid, yet there's a fission of tension in his eyes, as if he's anticipating a fight or for her to be a trap or or or...or something. Like he has to, no matter what, grasp onto his control with both his hands and never let it go.

Her heart breaks, just a little, for this strange man in front of her.

She shifts, sliding onto his lap so she straddles him, and his eyes immediately flash down to her chest, then back up.

"When I..." he starts, his voice falling from his mouth like honey. "When I started this, I didn't think. I didn't think you'd be like this."

She flicks the top button of his shirt undone, and he twitches. "I really don't know what you mean." The next button gives her trouble, but she tugs his shirt open anyway. "You pick up a girl in a bar and didn't think that she might like sex?"

His lips smile, but his eyes don't, not really. "Didn't think that you'd want to again." And it feels dark, like a confession. "Most people don't, not when they learn. Learn me."

She finishes with his shirt, and slides her hand down the smooth pane of his back. His muscles tense as she does it, as if he's waiting for a strike and...her hand comes across a small bump, and he doesn't hide his wince well enough.

"What happened?"

He doesn't answer. She climbs off his lap, twisting him around.

A large, angry red welt mars his smooth skin, the skin almost broken. "Jesus." She breathes out. "What the hell?" It's recent, no more than a few hours old.

"Someone saw me and tracked me to a safehouse, it's not...it's not that big of a deal." His lips purse.

She runs her fingers over it, light, and he winces again. "I thought you could, I dunno, self heal?"

He all but rolls his eyes. "Yes, but it's not that quick." His voice gains back the self-confidence, and with it, the annoyance. "I wouldn't have come if it was a big deal." Now, his fingers twist at the hem of her shirt. "I would've just not responded."

And that sounded like him. "Who did this?"

"An over enthusiastic shapeshifter who thought he could get an easy one out on me," he leans in close, as if to kiss her again. "It's really not a big deal."

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