Miles looked at her longingly and tried his best not to focus on the wet gleam of her bottom lip or the way her breasts moved as she breathed heavily. Everything about Lizzie was driving Miles wild right now, and he knew if he crossed that line, there would be no going back, not for either of them. They would be as bad as the Angels who were throwing off the balance.
They were not allowed to be.
“I should go shower,” Miles said finally. “All my things are back at my place, and I have research to do. Besides, you’ll just distract me.” He smiled, to make it a joke, but he could see the doubt in her eyes, and he hated it. He hated himself. For the first time in all his supernatural years, he had questions about the rules, rules he had happily and blindly followed for thousands of years. Rules that suddenly made no sense and that he didn’t want to follow.
“Well, the offer stands if you change your mind,” she said with disappointment. “The door is open.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Miles reached out and touched her on the shoulder, and he swore he could feel sparks where their skin met. No, not sparks, an explosion of passion. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms then and there and...he gave himself a mental shake and withdrew his hand, but he knew she had felt it as well. He left without another word.
He didn’t go through the front; he left the way they had come in. A few supernaturals were hanging around the front of the pub, but no one said anything to him as he hailed a human cab to take him back to his accommodation. He could still feel the softness of her skin on his fingertips, and although he knew he should be smelling the minty gunk of the antidote, somehow the only thing he could smell was the woodsy scent of her perspiring skin. He closed his eyes, and he saw her there in front of him, close enough that he could reach out and run his fingers through her black and pink hair, pulling her closer to him.
He opened his eyes and looked out at the city. He thought about the consequences of his actions. Balancers were celibate by nature; nothing was to cloud their decisions of what was right and wrong and where the balance of the world lay, but all that seemed so silly. He could easily maintain a balance and still make love to a woman as beautiful as Lizzie. Elizabeth, her name was probably Elizabeth, and somehow that was even sexier to him.
The cab pulled up outside the building, and he paid his fare before climbing out. He used his key to get into his little room and went straight for the shower. He needed a cold shower to calm his thoughts. He pulled his shirt off then started the water, letting it run while he took off his shoes. He groaned softly, feeling his aching muscles now. He hadn’t realized how sore he was in all his concern for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth.
He looked around the empty room and wished he was back in her apartment above the bar. What would they be doing? Would they be doing anything? Would they be doing it together? He climbed into the shower, and suddenly all he wanted to do was think about what he and Elizabeth would be doing together. He turned the hot water on and decided to enjoy his shower another way instead.
Chapter Twelve
Lizzie
The pain from the wound had lessened, but it made it uncomfortable to lay down, no matter which position she tried. The least painful seemed to be on her right side, furthest away from the deepest side of the cut.
She’d waited until she was sure he was gone before her shoulders sank in disappointment. She could have sworn they had shared a moment but then, what had she expected? He was a Balancer, she a Fallen Angel. Neither of their species was allowed to have relationships—well, Balancers weren’t allowed connections and Fallen Angels could only have them with Angels or Demons. Or as the scripture read, with that which you are made.
But Miles, he couldn’t have a relationship at all. It simply wasn’t allowed. She was pretty sure that he couldn’t even feel anything and yet, when he had touched her... Before he had even touched her when he cleaned her wound, every movement with her had been one of such care. It had emanated off of him. His feelings had been clear as day and that touch, his fingers on her shoulder, the electricity that had sparked between them; that had just cemented what had already stirred deep inside of her. She knew that he could feel it too, but he’d rejected her offer to stay.
Maybe he was confused. Perhaps he wasn’t. She was too exhausted, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, now that he was no longer around, and she was in too much pain. She had dragged herself to the bed where she had kicked off her shoes and crawled under the covers next to Loki. She tried to get as comfortable as she could, eventually settling on her right side with her arm tucked in.
She dozed in and out of sleep; her dreams were vivid and wild and startling, but just as one would startle her awake, she would practically fall asleep straightaway again and submerge herself in another. One dream after another of chasing someone, first down a hallway, then a dock, then through a field of corn. Always chasing and she couldn’t tell who it was, and she couldn’t call out to them to stop. When she could almost reach them, she would stretch her arm out to grab their jacket, and then she would wake with a start, close her eyes, and drift off to start the dream again. It was a fitful night’s rest, and eventually, she woke up and stayed awake, just as the sun was rising over the city.
She felt much better, at least, and the medicine had done its magic. The combination of the unique magical herbs had healed her for the most part, so she took the bandage off and examined herself in the mirror in her bedroom. There was a bright, angry scar on her back which would fade with time as many had before it, so she dropped her shirt back down and went to make some coffee.
She had barely taken a sip of the hot brew when she heard the downstairs door open and close. Looking at her watch, she wondered if it was Miles. Unsure, and not wanting to take the risk, she picked up a kitchen knife and set her cup down, waiting behind the door. There was a pause, an uneasy silence, and she wondered if looters had come to rob the pub downstairs when there was an abrupt knock on the door.
“Hello?” she called.
Miles answered, “It’s me; may I come in?”
She set the knife down quickly. “Yes, coffee?”
“Please,” Miles said as he walked in.
She turned her back on him and started to prepare his cup, trying to ignore how his presence seemed to fill the room. How had she never noticed that before? She cleared her throat.
“Sugar? Milk?”
“No sugar. Milk please,” he said; he was standing by the bookshelf outside her bedroom door glancing at the titles.
Lizzie brought his coffee to the little table in the kitchen where they had worked the night before. She set the mug down and cleared the contents of their work, packing it away on the kitchen counter neatly.
“It’s here,” she said, feeling betrayed at how squeaky her voice sounded.
Miles crossed the room and sat down as she did, opposite her, and they both crossed their legs. Miles picked up his coffee and took a tentative sip.
“Is it okay?”
“It’s perfect,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on her.
She could feel a light blush crawling up her neck to her face, and she willed it away. She set her coffee down and swallowed hard. Miles followed suit, and they looked at each other, both silent. Lizzie didn’t know what to say, but she felt this burning, passionate desire, this pull towards him unlike any she had felt before. Without knowing what else to do, she stood up, and he did as well, their cups of coffee long forgotten.