Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
I’ve already been away from Atalanta too long. I never should have come here, drawn by a presence I was half-sure existed only in my imagination. Except then I heard familiar footsteps in this house I built for us, and I was lost.
I sit up and kiss Circe, tasting both of us in the process. Once upon a time, it felt like a promise of the future we dreamed of together. Now, it just hurts. “Let’s move this to the bedroom.”
It’s a testament of how thoroughly she just orgasmed that she doesn’t question the statement. She simply rises, tugging me up with her. We walk hand in hand down the hallway and into the primary bedroom. Every step is a dagger in my heart. The sensation only gets worse when I force myself to smile at her. “I’m going to freshen up. Wait for me?”
Circe’s smile fades a little, leaving her looking so much like the girl I fell in love with all those years ago. I don’t know if I can stand it. It’s on the tip of my tongue to offer to run away together, to leave this all behind, to chase down the future we always promised each other. It’s far too late for that.
We part ways there, me slipping into the bathroom and closing the door, and her moving to the bed.
I avoid my reflection in the mirror as I pace. My body still thrums with the pleasure of her hands and mouth. Each step threatens my resolve, tempting me with the memory of what we just did. I do my best to distract myself by counting down from sixty, over and over again, until it’s been fifteen minutes. Not so long in the grand scheme of things, but an eternity in this place filled with the promise of memories I’ll never get to create. Not with Circe. Not with Atalanta, either.
Guilt wraps thorned vines around my throat and digs deep. I wasn’t thinking about Atalanta when I kissed Circe. Or during anything that came after. I might have walked through this door with fury in my heart, but Circe’s presence chased it from me the way it always seems to eclipse the thousands of other things I should be focused on.
When I finally emerge from the bathroom, Circe is sleeping in the bed I bought for a future I was still mourning. It’s unspeakably cruel to see her there now, her face relaxed in sleep, her arm thrown over her head and leaving her fully exposed.
I could end this now.
Without Circe, her people will crumble and falter. The mobs will continue to be a problem, but without someone escalating things, eventually their energy will fade. Maybe that will be the moment to finally reach victory, to dismantle the Thirteen and set up a new form of government that serves all the people of Olympus instead of just the few at the top.
I actually take a step toward the bed. Circe gives a faint cry that makes my body lock up. I’ve heard this woman happy and devastated and angry. I’ve never heard her terrified…until now. Because that’s what she’s feeling right now as she shifts on the bed, tangling the sheets around her body. Terror. Her beautiful face furrows as she whimpers, clearly trying to get away from whatever haunts her dreams.
My heart wants to climb into bed, to wrap my arms around her, to pull her away from the nightmare plaguing her. Circe never had nightmares when we were together before. I didn’t, either.
My mind, spinning and planning and plotting, whispers that this is my chance to end things once and for all. She’s helpless. She trusts me, at least enough to fall asleep. All it would take is to grab a pillow and shove it over her face. A quick, brutal death. I’ve delivered that before. I can again. It won’t solve the problems plaguing Olympus right now, but it would…
I can’t do it. I stare at my shaking hands. I can’t hurt her, even knowing how much devastation she’s caused—how much she intends to cause. Even with all the years between the woman I knew and the one in the bed before me, I can’t look at her and not see the Circe I loved enough to bring Olympus down. She’s still there, beneath the scars and pain and rage.
And that scares me more than anything else.
16
Atalanta
I wake up to the throbbing pain in my shoulder, but the wound has lost the sharp sensation suggesting it’s about to get worse. That’s good news, enough to make me feel slightly positive in perspective. At least until I lift my head to see Hermes slumped in the chair next to my bed. She’s not sleeping—hasn’t slept all night, if I don’t miss my guess—and there’s a distant look in her eyes. A very recognizable look.