Page 15 of Until the End of Ever
Maybe she’d introduce us. Maybe she’d suggest I ask Kleos to dance, just like my mother had three years back when I first noticed her.
But there was no one behind her.
“You don’t have to be shy, boy,” Zenya had purred, smirking as she leaned in. “Look all you’d like. You can eventouch.”
Call me thick, but it wasn’t until she grabbed my hand and pressed it against her overinflated tits that it hit me. The smell I’d caught wasEau de Cougar.Her admiration wasn’t going to end at a distance: the insane sixty-something chick actually was making a move on me.
I did what any boy in my shoes would—well, if they had been blessed with my ability. I sucked her energy, harder, faster than I’d ever allowed myself to, making her gasp, and then pressing her free hand to her painted lips, struggling not to scream.
It wouldn’t do to make a sound and be noticed.
When she finally had the sense to let go, it was my turn to grin. “Why, thank you. I definitely enjoyed that.”
We both knew I wasn’t talking about palming her tit.
I walked away, chuckling.
At the time, the incident slightly disgusted me, and amused me a great deal. Every instance when I’d caught her looking at me since, I’d enjoyed the fear, and when she couldn’t hide it, at the lust I still saw in her eyes.
I couldn’t tell if she was scared of feeling my power again, or that I might tell the world what a cheating, lecherous bitch she was behind all the outer sophistication.
It took a few years for me to realize I wasn’t just amused by the incident, and fond of the blackmail material. I was also thoroughly disgusted. Yes, I’d been nineteen when she struck. Yes, Zenya looked like a high school senior dressed to impress on her college interview. Hell, between the two of us, I had likely seemed the older at the time. But I remembered when the looks had started, and I wanted to throw up.
Eight years after, there still was no hiding the rage in her ice-cold glare. As usual, I smiled nastily. She dragged her glare away from me, focusing it on her daughter.
It was interesting, seeing the two women like this. A fair few of my memories placed Kleos a few stepsbehindher mother at revels, wrapped in the pretty pink dresses that made her look like a teenager, while Zenya was always draped in alluring yet elegant gowns that did little to hide her curves. They were rarely on equal footing.
Seeing them three feet apart, staring at each other, both dressed in their choice of casual attire for a Monday morning changed the dynamic. Instead of an obedient, meek, youthful, and silent daughter and her worldly, powerful matriarch, they were Kleos and Zenya.
The younger woman wore dark jeans and a relaxed black sweater under a shawl, her red hair let loose, save for three tight braids. Her mother was all in white, in a severe, tight-fitting three-piece suit. With her golden hair tied in an elaborate bun, she exuded both power and poise. Zenya also wore five rings, several bracelets, and a heavy gold necklace.
It was no hardship to guess why Zenya wouldn’t encourage this. I wasn’t in the least bit biased when I said Kleos was the more imposing of the two.
Kleos sighed deeply, sounding positively exhausted. “It’s five, Mother. I’mworking.”
“With a Nachtigall and aRegis?” Zenya all but spat, her entire face contorting as she spewed the two names like they were curses.
“Yes.” Kleos raised her chin proudly, spine straight, shoulders back.
This was the kind of posturing one did when dealing with an adversary.
Shifting ocean blue met Zenya’s ice. It was startling just how different their eyes were. In actual truth, I couldn’t find a single common point between the two women, other than the fact that both objectively were startlingly stunning.
“Lucian’s consulting on Gideon’s case. Aunt Hilda assigned me to it. I’m quite sure you can verify that if you so wish. If you don’t mind—I’m on the clock for another hour.”
I was baffled. Kleos was a damnadult, yet she justified herself like a kid caught out after curfew. Kleos herself had told me her mother was controlling. I’d underestimated to what extent.
“I do mind. I trust yourwork,” Zenya retorted, disdainful to such extreme anyone would assume Kleos had been a stripper rather than an apprentice in the Guard, “allows you to take a few instants of personal leave?”
Kleos’s jaw ticked. “What can I do for you, Mother?”
“You haven’t scheduled your next date. It was approved two weeks ago—that’s improper and rude. I took the liberty of making the arrangements. You will be at the Velour Lounge tonight at seven thirty. Understood?”
I was speechless.
My family might be chaotic, nosy, and loud, but I couldn’t imagine this level of tension between any of us. Andyes, my mother loved to shove her nose in my nonexistent love life, but that was of born of curiosity; she wouldn’t hold me accountable for my choice of activity or company. We respected each other’s independence and agency.
Mother had demanded to know the name of the woman who could touch me without being affected by my power when Ronan spilled the beans. Had I told her about Kleos, I had no doubt that she would have strategically engineered a meeting, and dropped a million hints to make it clear she approved. I’d seen her do asmuch to anyone and anything with tits I’d interacted with in the last half decade.
