The things he’d said came back full force, as did the mortification when she remembered what she’d done with him. Rolling quietly away, she tugged the blanket around herself and crossed the floor toward the stone table in the middle of the room.
The clothes he’d brought for her were scattered over the floor. Cheeks heating with memories of his mouth, his hands, how she’d all but begged for more, she stooped to pick them up, then dragged them on. The shorts were baggier than she liked, but they were better than nothing. She didn’t look at the table as she dressed, and when she was done she straightened, only to have a wave of nausea that came out of nowhere wash over her.
She reached out to steady herself. Breathed deep until it passed. Then wiped a hand over her damp brow.
That was weird. Yeah, she’d been a little stressed since she’d been here, and she wasn’t eating like she should be, but she hadn’t felt anything like that since…
Dread spiraled through her and she mentally ticked off days. At least seven had passed since she’d last been at the castle in Argolea. Seven days away from her sister. The ramifications of her situation suddenly hit full force. Regardless of what had happened here with Demetrius, she needed to get home before things turned dire for Casey.
Her gaze strayed to Demetrius, still sound asleep, and her temper kicked up. She moved around the table and flipped open the lid of the first trunk, looking for…she didn’t know what. Just something that would help her get the hell off this island. Not his type? Screw him. He wasn’t her type. Mean definitely wasn’t her type. Why on earth had she ever thought he wasn’t the bastard he’d always been back home?
She moved to the next trunk and silently rejoiced when she found a sword. She turned the blade in the low torchlight still burning from last night and figured it would do. It wasn’t as big as the one Demetrius carried, but it fit better in her hand. Orpheus had taught her just enough to wield the damn thing, but she wasn’t afraid now like she’d been before. She wanted off this damn island so bad she was willing to search for holy ground without him. She could open the portal on her own.
She turned for the steps, then belatedly remembered the spell book she’d seen in Jason’s chest.
What you’ve got there is more powerful than you or your sisters realize.
Orpheus’s words from days ago skipped through her mind. She looked down at the winged omega marking on her inner thigh, visible beneath the hem of her short shorts. Orpheus knew all about spells and drawing power, and if her link to the Horae gave her some sort of advantage where that was concerned, she was going to use it. No matter the cost.
She moved to Jason’s chest, set the sword down in front of her, and pawed through the contents until she found the book. The cover was dusty and she blew until the grime cleared and the Helios symbol became visible in the aged leather.
“Aren’t we curious this morning?”
Isadora’s heart lurched into her throat. She dropped the book, grasped the sword, and whipped around with her arm outstretched. The tip of the blade stopped centimeters from Demetrius’s bare chest.
His eyes flicked down to the weapon, then lifted to rest on hers. “I see sleep did you well. You obviously remembered all those reasons you hate me.”
Her heart pounded hard against her chest. Relief that it was him and not some monster pissed her off more than if she’d found herself face-to-face with a Hydra. “No, I just remembered your legendary cruelty.”
“Very good, Princess.”
His low mocking tone clawed at her self-respect, heated her cheeks, and made her remember all over again what she’d done last night. With him. In this very room. The difference was, to her it had meant something. To him it was…
She didn’t know what it was to him. A game, she guessed. One more way to humiliate her.
He took a step forward, until the tip of the blade pressed into his chest but didn’t break the skin. “Do it. Now’s your chance.”
She wanted to. She was so angry she could barely see straight. Every one of his cruel words over the years crashed in to remind her of the thousands of times he’d belittled her. And that, coupled with the newfound fear over her sister, made her unsteady. But when he moved closer still and the tip pushed deeper, she tensed. Her eyes shot to his chest and to the tiny droplet of blood that trickled down the blade.
Her stomach rolled. Yes, she was angry, and yes, she hated that he made her feel anything at all, but she didn’t want this. She didn’t want to hurt him just because he’d hurt her.
“Go ahead, Princess,” he whispered. “All you have to do is push.”
Her eyes lifted to his and though she saw indifference in his black irises, she also saw something else. Lurking deep, there lingered…regret.
Her heart stuttered, caught, and picked up speed as she stared at him. The night before spiraled through her memory again, only this time she didn’t focus on his words. This time she focused on the look of desire in his eyes, the way he’d touched her, the fact he hadn’t been able to get enough of her. And she remembered the way he’d told her to tell him to stop, and when she hadn’t, how he’d finally let down his guard and taken her places she never knew existed.
He’d wanted her, and it scared the crap out of him. So much he’d reverted to his old ways to convince her he was the enemy. She lowered the sword, even as her heart raced beneath her breast.
“Your father’s right,” he muttered. “You’re no leader.”
His words cut to the heart of her, to every one of her insecurities and what she feared most in this world. But she didn’t dwell on them. For whatever reason, he was trying to make her hate him. And his baiting words belied his actions. Those were what she focused on.
She turned the sword and held out the handle to him. “Maybe I’m not. But I know a lie when I hear one.”
For just a split second, confusion crossed his features. And then the mask came up again, the one that said Fuck you to the world and Leave me the hell alone. But that wasn’t the real him. The real him was the one who’d rescued her more times than she could count, watched over her, and pleasured her so completely last night without taking a single thing for himself in the process.
His fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade, and as he lowered it to the ground, she knew she had a choice. To let him go on believing that lie or prove to him he was wrong.
She moved into him without a second thought. Just as she had last night, except this time she wrapped both arms around his waist and held on tight.
He tensed, and beneath her ear his heart rate kicked up speed.
The reaction warmed her, told her yeah, she was definitely right. He was trying to keep her away from him. Though she didn’t understand why, she wasn’t about to let him win. Last night had meant something to her. And it had obviously meant something to him as well, if it had spurred him into using his old cruel tactics on her again.
“Wh-why are you doing this?”
“Because you won’t.” She wiped the droplet of blood from his chest, then softly pressed her lips to the wound that was already healing. She wanted him to know she was serious, that this—he—mattered. Because something inside her sensed he never really had before.
Seconds passed as they stood frozen together. For a moment she thought he was going to draw away. And then the blade clattered to the floor at her feet and his large, warm hands landed gently on her shoulders and slid down her back.
Yes. Yes.
She closed her eyes, burrowed closer, and hung on to the feeling. The same one she’d experienced last night when he’d kissed her and touched her and made her want.