Page 38 of Entity

I chew the inside of my mouth. There are still so many questions buzzing in my head, but at least my fear is dissipating. “But that paper I found in the study,” I object. “That drawing of a wormhole and my name. Ian knew somehow. He knew about my gift. How?” I spin on Orpheus, suddenly realizing, pulling away. A piece of the puzzle falls into place. “You’re the mind that controls the machine. Ian made the machine. Ianbroughtyou here.”

“Yes.” Orpheus watches me with an openness that unsettles me. There’s nothing wary in his gaze, no hidden truth.

“So you told him about me; you got him to hire me for some reason?” A pang of realization. “Jesus, is the book even real?”

“I did not tell Ian about your gift,” Orpheus says, reaching for me.

I edge further away on the couch. My heart twists in grief, betrayal. “I don’t think I believe you.”

“You have to trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone in this penthouse. Not you, not Ian.”

I have no idea what time it is; darkness stretches endlessly over the city. Rain pounds on the window. I wonder if the rain will ever let up. Or if it will keep coming, drumming on the ceiling, the streets, the Hollywood Hills, until everything flows into the ocean, washed clean.

Dread coils in my stomach as I remember the alien spires of an unknown city. I turn to the window, holding my breath, expecting the worst. But there are the familiar mega-scrapers. The cellphone ads. The Los Angeles skyline. Home.

I turn back to meet Orpheus’s gaze. His eyes are still pools of honey, unreadable.

“And Eros?” Orpheus murmurs. “Do you trust him?”

A swoop of nausea in my gut. “He’s dead. Destroyed. I found him in the vault, violently torn apart.”

Orpheus’s expression doesn’t change. “I know you were fond of Eros. Ian is known to have a temper. He was never satisfied with that model.”

I shake my head, biting the inside of my cheek. My eyes burn. The traitorous choke of tears threatens at the base of my throat. I don’t want to cry; I don’t want to be vulnerable. Not now, when all that’s between me and Orpheus is a thin blanket and a few feet of space. Not now, when my world is falling apart.

“You needn’t mourn him,” Orpheus says, reaching for my hand and taking it in his. His thumb swipes delicate circles over my skin. “He and I are not the same. He was a program. He was engineered.”

I remember the way Eros’s face sometimes changed, the way he seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. His warning still rings in my ears. But I don’t have the energy to argue with Orpheus. I don’t have the energy for anything. He’s probably right; Eros was, and is, nothing but a robot. Everything that seemed human about him was designed that way. And everything else was my own mind playing tricks on me.

“Come here,” Orpheus murmurs, grasping my hand and pulling me toward him, my back against his chest, into his embrace. I don’t resist. I let him envelop me. Because even now, he feels familiar. He feels like comfort. He feels like home. He wraps me in his arms, and I let out a long, shaking breath.

“This should have been an easy job,” I breathe. “An interview, a book, a career. But just like everything else I touch, it’s fucking falling apart. Ruined.”

He rests his chin on the top of my head, and I can’t help but melt against him. “Kit,” he says, “you are pure. An innocent soul, luminous and sweet. There is nothing you could ruin that is not already rotten.”

I feel myself pulled into him, unable to resist. But I’m afraid that if I kiss him, I’ll never stop. I’ll let him kiss me until I stop caring about the world around me, until I’m starved, until I fade away into nothing.

“I need to talk to Ian,” I say, restless, needing to be distracted.

Orpheus’s hands rove under the blanket and over my still-naked body.

My heart staccatos, my skin too sensitive. I feel like I’m in a liminal space, suspended between reality and dream. I gasp as Orpheus’s hand slides over my breast. And God, I hate that he feels so good, so right.

But I have so many questions.

“Why did Ian…” I start, but Orpheus’s fingers move lower to the sensitive skin below my ribs, and my brain shorts out.

He pushes my hair out of the way, kissing my neck. His other hand seeks lower. “Do you want to speak of Ian right now?”

A wave of want engulfs me. “No, but…ah, fuck. I want… I need…”

He grabs one thigh with a strong hand, pulling my legs apart. “What do you want, Kit? What do you need?”

I make a humiliating sound, a pleading gasp at the back of my throat. “Do not speak of Ian when I am inside you,” Orpheus says softly. Then he eases a finger into me, where I’m tight and wet and desperate. He moves the finger in and out, pumping slowly.

“God,Orpheus,” I breathe. “But—”

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