Page 41 of The Shadow Gods

But it was true. With Hector, I was happy.

The longer we kissed, the deeper the sound he made in his throat. The groan turned to a growl, and the hands that had been gentle on my back drifted to my sides, rocking me forward.

“Can I be inside you?” His voice was husky and rough.

Rather than answer, I shifted, reached between us, and placed him right where he wanted to be.

Hard. Ready.

Dropping my head from his lips to his neck, I gave him a hard suck just as I lifted onto my knees, and then slowly, slowly, dropped down.

“Gods.”

Arching my back, I searched for a rhythm that felt natural. Bracing myself on his stomach, all flat and hard and dusted with dark hair, I rocked back and forth and then circled my hips.

“I never...” He gritted his teeth, jaw tight as he held my hips. “I pictured this. I hoped for it. But I never let myself believe.”

I got it.

Squeezing my muscles around him, he growled. “Keep that up, and it's going to be over sooner than I want.”

I eased back, teasing, and he smiled before grabbing me harder and rolling his hips to meet mine. He was going deep, and it was perfect.

My release built so quickly and intensely, it knocked me sideways. He left one hand on my hip and lifted the other to my breast, squeezing, rolling, pinching.

That was it. I was done.

My body imploded, and Hector followed. With a deep grunt, he pumped into me, filling me with warmth and making my own release go on and on.

Breathing hard, I fell onto his chest. He didn't roll away or move to clean up. Hector wrapped me in his arms, pressing sweet kisses to the top of my head and anywhere else he could reach.

Wetness seeped from between my legs, and I realized we hadn't thought about protection. He seemed to notice it at the same time I did, but he still didn't move. “We can't have a baby.” Something about his voice made me lift my head to study him.

His gaze was fixed on the ceiling, though his hands still stroked my body. He was with me, but not.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

He flicked a gaze toward me and then away. His blue eyes seemed lighter and clearer and sad. “I would have wanted that. Someday.”

I nearly choked. “You want a baby with me?”

One side of his mouth lifted. I propped my chin on my fist to study him. With that half smile, the dimple on one cheek deepened. “I loved being a father.” His eyes met mine, and this time, he didn't look away. “I didn't have enough time, but there was nothing like it.”

My parents didn't like being parents. I got the feeling my mother thought I would be a fun accessory—something to pair with outfits or pose in photos. Her disappointment that I turned out to be a being with thoughts and feelings so different from hers, and my father's disappointment that I was nothing like my mother, were infinite.

“What was your son like?” I asked hesitantly. I didn't want to hurt him, but I also wondered. If his son was such a source of joy, then it was a shame not to talk about him. I pictured the very first shard of the seal I’d found and the pain etched into the obsidian image of him finding the body of Astyanax.

“Like his mother,” he replied.ThatI hadn't been expecting. We never spoke about his wife, Andromache. Unlike Helen, who Paris talked about more and more, Andromache seemed off-limits.

Holding myself still, I asked, “How?” It would be hard to hear about all the best features of his wife and everything he loved about her, but this was his history. It wasn't fair for him to never speak about it because I struggled with confidence.

“Andromache was fearless. She would speak her mind and didn't care what anyone thought about her. Astyanax was the same way. I remember...” His smile and gaze became distant, as if he saw the scene playing out in front of him. “I remember Asytanax telling Helen she wasn't as pretty as his mother. Barely two years on this earth and causing trouble. Andromache tried to shush him, but she was smiling, and so was Helen. She said something like, 'No one is as beautiful as your mother.' Astyanax loved her after that. And another time—” He cut himself off, the light snuffing from his eyes like someone flipped a switch.

“What?” I asked.

“At the end...” He whispered the words so softly, I barely heard them. “Andromache begged me not to fight. She knew something awful would happen. Even though I thought we would win. The tide had seemed to turn, and the gods were on our side. We were never meant to win, but I didn't see that. All I saw was the glory. 'Don't make your son an orphan,' she told me.”

Homer had written the same thing in his epic about the Trojan War. The impassioned speech of Andromache used to be one of my favorite scenes to read to my classes while I projected the shard of the seal on a screen behind me. It seemed so insensitive now, playing to the drama of something that was rooted in pain and loss.

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