Page 8 of Sweet Obsession

5

Icarus

I wake to waves of agonizing pain. My entire chest is a blazing firestorm. Even before I open my eyes, the events of the last however long come rushing back. My father’s death. Ariadne sailing off into the horizon. The one-eyed man torturing me.

And…Poseidon himself attempting to patch me up.

It’s that last that has me opening my eyes to take in my new situation. I’m back on the bed, but it feels different. The mattress has changed; I’m nearly certain of it. It doesn’t make any sense. I could have sworn I was somewhere with a hard surface, cool against my naked skin, but maybe I imagined it.

Poseidon is nowhere to be seen, but the room isn’t empty. There’s a small, wizened white woman with a cloud of colorless hair standing next to the bed. Her face is a map of a life well lived, showing the years in every line and wrinkle. It’s the kind of aging I’ve been trained to avoid at all costs. All I have is my beauty. The moment time whisks that away, I’ll truly be as worthless as my father always said.

I guess he’ll never say that to me again, being as how he’s dead.

The dark thought makes me laugh, but I immediately regret itwhen the motion sends fresh pain surging through me. “Ow.”

“Stop that. You’re going to undo all my hard work.” The doctor—because who else could she be?—taps my shoulder in a no-nonsense way. “You’ll live, if that’s what you’re wondering. I’ve stitched you up. Your bandages will need to be changed regularly, but I’ll discuss all that with Poseidon. Your job is to lie there and rest your pretty head. It’s the best way to heal.”

I want nothing more than to touch the bandages I can now feel wrapped around my torso, but I have a feeling she won’t let me do it while she’s in the room. I paste my best angelic expression on my face and smile at her. “I’ll be a model patient.”

She purses her lips. “You’re going to be as big a pain in the ass as the rest of them. I can already tell. Oh well. You’re Poseidon’s pain in the ass now. See that I’m not called back here because of your ridiculousness.” Without another word, she whisks from the room. I like her. Her brusqueness is refreshing. It’struth. Rare enough in both Olympus and Aeaea to be worth more than gold.

But no matter what I told the doctor, I have no intention of lying here on my back and waiting for my body to heal. I have plenty of experience in negotiating my way through ongoing pain. Of ensuring no one will notice the hitch in my step or the way I tense when I pull bruised muscles in the wrong way.

I’m in the process of trying to sit up when Poseidon steps back into the room and closes the door softly behind him. “What are you doing?” His deep voice stops me short. He really is too good-looking. It’s the kind of attractiveness that grows on you the more time you spend in his presence. He was handsome enough in a generic sort of way when I’d seen him previously, but now there’s somethingthat draws me to him even though he’s the worst possible choice of a bed partner.

Maybe that’s why I’m attracted to him—because heisthe worst choice I could possibly make. My captor. One of the Thirteen. A leader of this doomed city and, by all accounts, one of the few honorable ones. I’m sure that means his skeletons are buried deeper than most. No one in Olympus has hands free of blood.

He wasn’t even supposed to be Poseidon. His uncle held the position and had three children who should have inherited it after his retirement or death. And yet this man now stands before me, possessing one of the legendary legacy titles. I wonder if he’s responsible for their deaths?

“I asked you a question.”

He did, didn’t he? “I’m sitting up. I would think that’s obvious.”

“I heard your orders. Be still, heal.”

“Ironic that you’re telling me I should heal when it’syourman responsible for this.” I finally manage to struggle my way up into a sitting position, propped against the headboard with pillows under my elbows. It’s not entirely comfortable, but admitting as much feels like conceding defeat. “Or do you just want me in tip-top shape so that you can torture me yourself next time?”

“No one is going to torture you,” he snaps. His face flushes with color until the redness blends in with his freckles. “Not again.”

I shouldn’t find his blush charming. We’re talking about torture, after all. But itischarming and I’m only human. “So you killed your man?”

He blinks slowly. “What are you talking about?”

“Eye patch. The one with the big knife. He blames me for hissister’s death. Once you’re that wrapped up in grief, logic holds no sway. If he’s still alive, he’ll come for me again.”

“His name is Polyphemus. And yes, he’s grieving currently. A lot of my people are. We’re a tight-knit group and so the loss of even a single person, let alone several, hits deep. Not that you would understand. Your own father’s dead and you’re making jokes.”

Minos is dead, isn’t he? Every time that thought rolls through my brain, I wait for the emotional backlash sure to follow in its wake. My father is the specter that overshadows everything in my life. The one person I couldn’t convince to love me. There was no manipulation that worked on him. There was no living up to his impossible standards. Even suffering silently through his abuse wasn’t enough for him. I was never good enough. Never strong enough. Never smart enough. Neverenough.

And yet I loved him. Pathetic. I should be rejoicing now that he’s gone, now that I can finally be my own person. But I don’t feel anything at all. Not joy, not relief, not even grief. Just a yawning emptiness that feels like it might swallow the entire world whole.

“You wanted him dead, and yet you’re not celebrating,” I finally say. “Let’s not throw stones from glass houses.”

He frowns, his amber eyes flicking over my face as if he’s trying to read my thoughts. He’s welcome to them. At least right now. Finally, he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Only a couple of the cuts on your chest actually needed stitches. You should be healed in a relatively short time as long as you don’t aggravate the wounds. So you’ll stay in this room and avoid doing anything to aggravate the wounds while I deal with the mess your family made.”

Right. The mess. Circe. I seem to remember saying something incredibly dramatic before I passed out a second time in the tub, but I had almost forgotten that particular sword hanging over all of our necks. Circe deals with failure as well as my late father did. She’s hardly going to spare me out of the goodness of her heart. Which means I have to get out of this city before she invades properly.

I don’t know how I’m going to do that, but hopefully I have at least a couple days to figure it out.

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