Page 58 of In Death's Hands
“He has a duty and cannot afford to forget about it.” He swallows hard.
I want to push and demand a meeting because that sounds like such a bullshit excuse, but at that moment someone knocks on the door.
“If you’re fucking, please stop. I’m coming in.”
Atys’ voice is unmistakable as the door opens with a bang without us having any time to say anything about the interruption. He comes in, wearing the Hawaiian flag as a dressand a big smile full of sparkling white teeth. “Then again, if you’re fucking, can I join?”
The combination of his ridiculous attire and words has me laughing out loud, and I feel the soft caress of Nathan’s eyes on me. That doesn’t help my mind to stay out of the proverbial gutter as an especially vivid scene forms in my head of my sweaty body writhing between these two strong men.
I swallow hard, painfully aware of the heat in my cheeks as I avoid Atys’ all-too-knowing smirk.
“I see someone is—”
“Did you need something?” I blurt.
His smile turns predatory, but a low grumble from Nathan warns him back to safer topics. “I did.” He sobers somewhat before frowning at me. “Why aren’t you dressed?”
I am so uncomfortable I think my cheeks will be permanently stained red. To Atys’ outright joy, he smartly explained that I need to blend in for their plan to work, and apparently, the less I wear, the more I’ll fit in. To my shock, scowling and grinding his teeth, Nathan agreed. He surprised me, however, when he looked at the red lingerie piece on the bed, colours rising on his own cheeks, before cocking an eyebrow at me in concern. “You don’t have to do this. We’ll find another way,” he said. But with my chance to get answers dangling in front of my eyes, I took all of two seconds to make up my mind and decide that I’d do anything I needed to.
So while Nathan chose to face the wall, grumbling the whole time, Atys had me change into the red, lacy negligee that leavesnothingto the imagination.
He unbound my hair and gave it a shake that left it looking like a bomb had exploded in it. Or, as Atys said when I complained, like I’d had a man’s hand recently tangled up in it. Nathan’s shoulders had tightened further at that comment.
He then proceeded to powder my face and stick fake eyelashes on me, almost taking my eye out when I tried to resist this nonsense. “Who wears makeup in water?” I asked him, to which he only rolled his eyes and replied, “You’re not getting in that kind of water.” I kept my mouth shut after that and let him put me in high-heeled shoes and fasten big hoops in my ears that I think are real, actual gold.
When he clapped his hands in utter glee, proudly telling Nathan I was ready and he could turn around, I had no idea what I looked like. It was only when Nathanchokedupon looking at methat I forced my way to the full-length mirror in a corner of the room and discovered that I had been transformed into… into what aPlayboybimbo would look like if I had any idea what they look like. To my horror, Atys reminded me that it had been my choice, and then finalised what he called his latest masterpiece by applying a thick layer of Bitch Red waterproof lipstick to my lips. I’m not making this up, the thing’sactualname is Bitch Red.
After a last set of stern warnings from Nathan, I am now holding on to his arm for dear life as we walk out onto a sunset-illuminated patio filled with people. And Origins.
I’m not sure if I can describe the difference physically, but I feel it. When looking around, it’s like my eyes automatically land and stay stuck on certain people while skipping others entirely. I’m so focused on the sensation that it takes me a minute to realise that the entire, huge back garden, filled with at least a hundred people, is completely silent.
I take an involuntary step back only to crash into Atys’ chest, and immediately jump forward again. When I look up at Nathan—his jaw so tight I’m worried it’s going to crack under the pressure—he’s glaring at everyone who dares glance our way.
Atys’ sudden laugh makes me jump. I try to remember the role I’m supposed to play and force my shoulders to relax. It’s not an easy task when I notice the women and men all clinging to the gods just like I am my protector. Except the others don’t look like protectors, but more like bored predators searching for their next thrill. And I just so happen to look like one.
Although I wonder why, as I am wearing far more fabric than any of the others. And contrary to all the lusciously tannedand muscled bodies sticking to one another in ways I am trying not to focus on, mine is all pale and thin. I’ve got a few muscles, don’t get me wrong, but I lack the forms a female body tends to have. The forms many of the gods are currently using as handles for various activities.
When I hear a woman moan loudly after a tall, muscly Origin slightly shifts his hips to get a better look at us, I blush furiously. An uncomfortable feeling blooms beneath my skin and my hands involuntarily tighten around Nathan’s arm. The feel of him has my mind going to unholy places. And I suddenly wonder when I last had that kind of fun myself. It’s a bit disconcerting to find I don’t remember. The thrill of one-time fun always faded quicker than anyone warned me about. A few of them wanted to stick around longer, but anytime they mentioned something more permanent, I heard the screeching noises of a car crash and saw the hands of Death. Literally.
With my luck, I decided long ago that letting people get too close to me was a risk I wasn’t willing to take. Work friends were the only exception I allowed. Everybody has work friends, and though I love them immensely, I figure that if they only consider me a friendly face they see at work, they aren’t in too much danger.
But then again, maybe Death’s assistant would be immune to my fate. I chance a look at him, only to find his eyes already on me. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, and I could swear the same memory of a searing kiss is replaying in his own mind, the heat of his look scorching me in ways previously unknown.
Atys’ thundering voice is like a bullet piercing through my thoughts and scattering them. “Isn’t she lovely?” he asks the too-curious crowd. “And look who brought her!” And then he fakes a silly little bow to Nathan and winks at me before turning back to everyone else. “Let’s show our newest guests what we’re madeof, people!” He claps his hands for effect and saunters off to a far corner, where many bodies seem all too happy to welcome him.
Shock settles into me, mixing with fear. Atys is gone, Nathan is statue-like, and although they are now pretending not to stare, they haven’t let up one bit since we walked into this mess. I take it as an invitation to stare back and regret it immediately.
My gaze falls first on the man buried in the woman who moaned earlier. His gaze is ravenous. I quickly avert my eyes and take in the rest of the garden. Between the various writhing bodies on sunbeds, in the pool or directly against walls or on the grass are people with glasses in their hands having what looked like actual conversations from afar. Some are naked and others are wearing bathing shorts. A couple of men pass close to us, giving us strange looks while talking about some sort of investment portfolio.
The whole scene is so surreal I feel as frozen as Nathan. Although he’s not frozen so much as stuck. I can feel his arm shaking with unspent tension and barely restrained rage. When I turn to look at him, his eyes are still on me, and I see them shutter and close for a second. When his foot takes a step backwards, I know he’s about to usher us out of here faster than it’ll take for me to refuse. Without thinking, I grab his arm and wrap it around my hips. I feel his rushed exhale on my cheek but ignore it as I settle a little more into his embrace, ignoring what his skin on mine does to me.
My heart is like a drum sounding for a coming battle. I force a flirty little smile onto my lips and count my breaths to seem relaxed and at ease in Nathan’s arms. Hard to fake when I’m anything but. Especially when Death’s assistant is as stiff as one of the surfboards I see drying against the side of the house.
“You finally decided to join us.” A feminine voice startles me, and when I look at its source, my eyes have to climb and climb and climb to meet the dark blue eyes perched atop mile-long legs and the hills created by her prominent bosom. She’s got long, silky black hair, a full mouth and a pert nose. I don’t want to say I hate her instantly because, damn it, I’m a feminist and women support women, but there’s a voice inside my head that I struggle to muzzle. That voice is raging at the Barbie-type form this person has on display. She’s wearing the tiniest bikini I’ve ever seen, and I suddenly don’t feel so naked anymore. Can I hate-mire her? Is that okay in feminism? I really hope she’s got an awful personality. At least then my instant dislike of her would be reasonable.
I realise that while I’m blatantly ogling her, she hasn’t spared one glance for me even though she’s standing so close I can smell the ocean brine and the sun on her golden skin. No, her blue eyes are devouring Nathan instead. There’s distrust and hate in them, and if I’m reading it correctly, I’d say there’s also some lust mixed up in it all.
She confirms my suspicion when her hands snake down Nathan’s torso, leaving strange marks on his shirt and a burning fire in my stomach. I look up at my friend, and his face reveals nothing.
