Page 64 of For the Love of the Gods

In a rare show of self-restraint, Dominic turned away from me again, and spent the next hour making as much noise as physically possible around his room. It was like he didn’t even want me to fall asleep.

Sharpening a sword—because he is the type of psychopath to keep the materials to do so in his bedroom—took him about ten minutes. He lit the fireplace, throwing wood around like it personally offended him. Then it sounded like he reorganized the tray of alcohol perched next to his stone fireplace. Next came the bookshelf, then some pacing, then back to the bookshelf, then some more pacing.

He stopped when he stood at the foot of the couch, wrapped a hand around both my ankles, and moved them out of the way so that he could sit down.

“Do you mind?” I asked putting my feet back up on the couch, this time with his thick thighs resting under my calves.

Dominic lifted a knee and kicked them off the couch again.

“I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?” he asked, glasses on and eyes focused on a book like he wasn’t disturbing my peace.

“Yes,” I said, placing my feet back and resting the urge to slam my heel into his crotch. I shimmied back under the blanket.

“Whatever. You’re the one with the stick up your ass.” My voice was muffled from the blanket and Dominic’s jaw did its ticking thing again.

“You were the one who put it there,” he responded coolly.

I lifted my chin out from under the blanket. I wanted my voice clear as I said, “You must really hate me.”

Dominic didn’t look up from his book. “I do.”

I knew that. Right. “For good reason.”

“For good reason,” he agreed, voice sounding hollow.

“Great.” Glad we had that sorted.

†

We sat in silence as the sun fell the rest of the way to the horizon, the only movement from me, getting up to walk over to the window and watch the sunset. It was a fiery orange today, with streaks of brilliant pink weaving through it, before fading to a softer orange, like freshly bloomed tulips, as the sun finally dipped behind the bay outside Dominic’s house. It left his bedroom in a soft, evening glow.

Our fighting would be a stark contrast to the candlelight. Burning rage against a mellow flame.

The only signal that our friends were alive on the other side of the door was a tray of food that passed through, relying on a show of power.

Dominic closed his book shut and walked over to the tray. He moved with the type of settled grace that only muscled strength could create. He walked over to the tray, bending into a crouch to pick it up, then brought it back to the table in front of the couch.

He lifted the metal covering, revealing what looked like a sandwich and some vegetables.

Interesting. But I stayed where I was by his balcony.

Dominic dug right in, devouring the sandwich like a crazed animal. He never ate the food I made him like this.

“Why aren’t you eating?” He asked when he realized I hadn’t moved.

“I’m not hungry.” I was, but if his cook had made it, I didn’t want to take my chances. I’d sit hungry.

“Liar,” he said, twisting his mouth into a perfect smirk.

I narrowed my eyes on him. Either he’d picked up on the way I twisted my rings on my fingers when I was hungry or he was just being an ass. I’d bet on the latter.

I walked over to the couch and sat with my back to the arm and my legs towards him. “Mary looks like she can cook.”

Dominic shook his head and said through a mouth full of food. “Mary wouldn’t have made this.”

I laughed, feeling the urge to free my hands in case he choked on that giant bite. “Oh, why?”

Dominic was looking at me weird, like I’d said or done something incredibly odd instead of asking a simple question. After a moment he said, “If there’s a breach, everyone but the guards go on lock down. What you are looking at is a creation courtesy of Raiden.”

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