“You have no right to tou—” Anya’s eyes closed before she could finish the sentence.
“Touch you?”
“Yes.”
“Hush.”
“I’m sick of being good.”
“Anya,” I said sternly. “It’s dark. You will die out here if I leave you behind. Now quiet.”
I heard her grumble again, but she didn’t fight. I imagined she was too drunk.
As we made it out of the maze, we were met by the light from the house illuminating the pathway back.
She’d stilled in my arms.
I opened the door, heading in with my find, and dropped the bottle back on the bar on the way in, carrying her on to my room. Once there, I pulled the duvet back and placed her in bed, not even bothering to undress her. Her shirt had risen though, her taut stomach muscles showing, the underside of her breast peeking out.
I hadn’t noticed, but her shirt was wet with what I assumed was vodka, making the fabric wet around her nipple.
The girl needed to put on a decent shirt. One that covered her.
Fuck.
“Anya. You need to change. . .”
“Don’t want to. Just want to sleep.”
I crossed the room and opened the cabinets, finding a tank top.
“Take off your shirt. I’ll help you.”
“You just want to see me naked,” she slurred.
I shook my head. “Not like this.”
“Then like how?” She giggled. “You want me.”
“Anya . . . ” I scolded. “Just take off your shirt. I’m not watching.”
I turned and heard her drunken stumbling as she sat up, swearing.
When the noise stopped, I pivoted to look back down at her. Anya’s eyes were closed. Her chest was barely covered by the tank top she’d failed to pull on properly. Her arms weren’t even in the shirt.
Goddammit.
I sat on the edge and helped her into it properly, touching her skin felt like it branded me. She was fire scorching my skin. She moaned erotically, and I swore I would combust from the sound.
“There. Done.”
I needed to leave, but instead, I watched her from where I sat close beside her on the edge of the bed, making sure her breathing was safe.
“Don’t leave. . . ”
I halted and turned to face her. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn’t asleep. “You always leave me.”
For a moment, I thought she was talking to me.
“Archie.” She was quiet again.
I moved closer to hear what she was saying.
Her voice a whisper. “Don’t trust them . . .”
She was talking in her sleep.
“It’s all there, Archie, in the Lafayette Cemetery. Didn’t want to scare you with it.” Her eyes flew open, and she looked at me. Fear in her eyes. Absolute terror. As though still caught in a nightmare, her body was shaking.
My legs hit the mattress, and it startled her.
A desperate sob escaped her. “Don’t hurt me.”
“Of course not,” I whispered.
Was she talking to me or her ghosts?
Shame flooded through me. Seeing her like this, vulnerable and full of fear. My sickening plan had been to use her, exploit her. Now, I just knew I couldn’t do one more thing to her. I wouldn’t be that man.
I sat beside her and took her hand in mine. “You’re safe now.”
“Promise you won’t leave me; I just want to close my eyes.”
“I’ll stay.”
“You’ll make sure I’m safe?”
“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
I held her hand to my mouth to kiss away the pain, hers as well as mine. This war had caused our lives to be interwoven, and one couldn’t be free without the other.
I laid her hand down gently so as not to awaken her.
Pushing up, I headed over to the corner of the room to sit in that high-backed chair, keeping some distance so as not to startle her if she woke up, but close enough if she needed me.
Getting comfortable in the seat, I turned my attention back on her. That enduring sweetness in her features even more pronounced with her asleep, the way her eyelids blinked through what looked like a nightmare.
It made me wonder if she was dreaming about me.
Anya
Languidly stretching, I reached out to feel the soft linen—this wasn’t my bed.
Lifting my head off the pillow, I peeked over the duvet and sensed Cassius before I saw him in the corner where he sat in an armchair.
His focus completely on the book he had open on his lap. Looking as fresh and as complicated as I usually found him. His finger curled over his lower lip, deep in thought. Twinkles of morning light flitted over him, a reflection from the shadowy outline of leaves coming from the oak tree outside the window.
Sun rays were flooding in too harshly, along with that shock of pain in my head reminding me I’d discovered his liquor cabinet—more precisely, his stash of vodka. I replayed all that had happened last night.
What I could remember, anyway. Me over his shoulder as he carried me to bed—his.
Peeking below the covers, reassured to see I was wearing a tank top. With no memory of putting it on, I assumed Cassius had stripped me naked. Something told me he’d been decent about it.
The reason I’d tried to dive to the bottom of a bottle flashed into view as raw and agonizing as that moment I’d overheard Ridley telling Cassius my parents weren’t coming for me.
No one was.
Grief intertwined with my insides. How would I ever come to terms with being hated so much by my own parents? A wall of grief hit me. A futility I’d tried to deny. This pain would never lift. It melded with each cell of my body bringing a new bitterness.
Dark and mysterious eyes were now on me.
“Good morning,” said Cassius, half-amused and half-chastising.
“How long have you been there?”
He stretched his arms over his head and curved his spine, answering with, “A while.”
Something told me he’d been here all night. The clues were easy to decipher. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, and his lush hair was messed up as though he’d spent the late hours running his fingers through it.
Glancing at the bedside table, I saw the gift laid out from the gods—two Tylenol and a tall glass of water. I reached for it and gladly swallowed them and the water, quenching my thirst, self-consciously wiping a few droplets off my chin.
He frowned his concern. “How do you feel?”
“Never better.” I lied, looking around his room.
It made me wonder why he’d brought me here and not the sparse bedroom meant to be mine.
“Can I get you anything?”
I frowned his way. His kissable lips were vaguely annoying, as was his attempt at caring for someone other than himself. This new side was unsettling, or maybe this was the side I’d never seen before. Like another fragment of the complicated man revealing itself.
I’d rather get lost in his mesmerizing eyes than be reminded of last night.
He pushed to his feet. “Want breakfast?”
“French toast.”
“Seriously?” he let out a chuckle.
“It’s the ultimate cure.”
“You think you’re up for eating that?”