Equal Parts (15 page)

“Christ, those drugs do boost your confidence, don’t they? It might surprise you to know,” he told me, helping me to my feet, “she wasn’t a hooker, and she
certainly
wasn’t a friend. But it helps to know you’re jealous.”

“I am
not
jealous!” I almost stamped my foot. How embarrassing that would have been. And painful. “I just don’t love the prospect of spending the night freezing my ass off while you do the no-pants-dance with some random sl-”

But his hand clapped over my mouth – gentle enough not to hurt, but firm enough to close my lips. “First of all, the fact that you used the term ‘no-pants-dance’ is
strangely endearing
, and I commend you on it. And secondly, if I tell you I won’t be bringing home ‘hooker friends’ any more, will you agree to tell me why you don’t like using your power in large doses?” He released me as we got into the bedroom.

My head hurt too much for me to mull over the offer. “Fine. But tomorrow, not now. I’m not in the mood.”

His chuckle slid down my back as though he’d traced my spine with a finger. “You know, you’re the first girl to say that whilst in my bedroom.”

“Urgh,
pig
,” I said, screwing up my nose as I fell – rather than climbed – into the bed. “I’d smack you but my arms won’t work.”

He slid into the bed beside me, flicking off the lamp as he went. I vaguely noted that he hadn’t washed the paint
or
blood off his face. I suppose, with black sheets, it didn’t matter that much.

I should have been aware of his body’s proximity to mine, of the heat radiating from his skin just inches from me, of the fact that I was sharing a bed with a madman of epic proportions.

But awareness was beyond me, and I guess that, in the dark, all cats are
gray
.

Chapter Ten

A Symbol of Trust

Hands roamed across my arms and neck, stirring something inside me I didn’t know existed. I was hot – so damn hot. My skin felt like it was on fire, my gut tight with a feeling I couldn’t name. A voice called out to me and I moaned in response. Skin slid against mine. I gasped at the sensation, rocking against it, against any touch I could find.

“Felicity,” said a familiar voice.

I couldn’t do anything but moan again, the power of touch superseding all logic.

“Felicity!” insisted the voice. I bucked my hips. Fingers brushed against my collarbone – it wasn’t enough. I grabbed the hand and pushed it against my skin, palm flat, to find that it was just as hot as I felt.

“Darling, you’re not making this easy for me.” The voice sounded slightly pained.

With a final gasp, I brought myself to the surface.

And woke up in flames.

“Achilles” was the first thing I choked out, past the hot blood rushing through me, throbbing in my gut, my head, my breasts, between my legs. Oh my God, what was
happening
to me? “Help me.”

I could feel him straddling my waist, pinning my hands to the pillow. In the dim light from the living area, I could just make out the white of his face-paint, the outline of his slicked hair. The sight of him made something in me physically
ache
, like a bull ramming against its cage.

“Trying, darling, trying,” he told me through gritted teeth. My arms were struggling to escape his hold of their own accord, and my hips bucked underneath him, almost throwing him off.

“What’s happening to me?” I gasped. Sweat coated every inch of me, plastering my hair to my cheek, my nightgown to my skin. Why did it feel
good
? This wasn’t normal. Something was terribly wrong. I let out another low moan.

“I’m hoping it’s the drugs. Either that, or your repression of sexual urges has suddenly caught up to you in a rush.” I heard the smirk in his voice, and it made me hotter.

“Stop,” I groaned, “you’re making it worse! Help me!” I writhed under him, uncaring for what happened. I was burning for him, for his touch.
Any
touch. Something deep inside me realized how wrong this all was, but my body couldn’t care less.

“Any suggestions?” he asked in a tight voice.

“Just touch me! Anywhere!” God, I could hear myself and was ashamed of what came out of my mouth. I was just thankful it was Achilles I was here with, and not back in my cell, or worse, with Molten.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, but let up on my arms to bring his hands to my face. I could feel every callous, every scratch, every crease in his palm. I was hypersensitive to painful proportions, and to my horror, it wasn’t going away.

My eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness
.
He was wound so tightly above me that I was sure he’d snap if I so much as flicked him.
His face was precariously close to mine – so close that I gave in to a rather suicidal urge, and ran my tongue across his bottom lip. The worst thing was, I
wanted
him to lose control. I
wanted
to play with the fire he provided.

I felt, rather than heard, the responding growl in his chest.

“Don’t tempt me, darling. My moral code isn’t prepared for the likes of you.” He was breathing heavily. Good. I dug my nails into his biceps and saw a flash of white teeth. “You’re going to hate me in the morning, but this is the only noble reaction I can think of right now.”

“Stop talking and start –
oh
!” I cried out when he transferred his weight to his hands, and pushed a thigh between my legs, right against my very core.

And all of a sudden, the pressure started to wane.

I moved against him, all but writhing on his skin, clawing at his shoulders and moaning out unintelligible sounds. Achilles, on the other hand, stayed perfectly still, holding himself above me with an admirable amount of self-control. Well, much more than I had at that point, anyway.

When his leg pressed a little more insistently, and I lifted my hips at just the right moment, the fire ripped through me with a terrifying power. I screamed into his shoulder, the relief so great that it took a full ten seconds for my vision to refocus.

And then, of course, came the inevitable realization of what I’d just done.

“Please tell me this is a dream,” I croaked, knowing the blush filling my face was probably visible, even in the dark.

He let out a strained laugh and rolled back to his side of the bed, while I tried not to bury my head under the pillow in pure shame. “If it is, it’s one of the best I’ve had.”

“Achilles, I am
so
sorry,” I gushed. “I honestly wasn’t thinking. I had this weird dream, and then I woke up and I felt like my skin was on fire, and –”

The light flicked on, and I winced at its brightness. Achilles’s black eyes bored into me, seeing straight to my disgraceful soul.

“Felicity, are you honestly
apologizing
to me?”

“Well…” The blush increased. “I kind of …
used
you. If our genders were reversed, this would be assault.” When he didn’t respond, didn’t even blink, I went on blithely, “And thank you for, you know, helping me out. And for not taking advantage of me.”

He continued to stare at me. Eventually he said, in a quiet voice that warmed my blood all over again, “I want you, Felicity. I want you so goddamned badly, it hurts. I think you want me too, despite it all. And one day soon, I’m going to have you, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it. When that day comes, you won’t be injured, or drugged, or drunk, or anything else you can blame your actions on the day after.” He moved closer to me across the mattress, and I didn’t even flinch backwards. “Don’t apologize or thank me for something beyond your control.”

Something between an ‘okay’ and a ‘sure’ fell from my lips. I was too busy registering his words to correct my own.

He wants me
. It didn’t seem possible. Why would he want me? It had to be my power – maybe he thought by sleeping with me, he would somehow gain access to the sunshine in my blood. Or maybe he was still softening me up to coax me into cooperation.

But why would he be so intense about it, then? Why not just seduce me and be done with it? Hell, I had been all but offering myself up on a silver platter not five minutes ago – he could have taken me then, and I wouldn’t have minded at all. Well, at the time, I wouldn’t have.

Apparently satisfied with my speechlessness, he turned the lamp off again. Thank God. I didn’t think I could look at him any longer without spontaneously combusting from the embarrassment.

“That has to be a first for you, right?” I asked after a long while of the two of us breathing in tandem.

“What – confessing my feelings?”

I instantly flushed yet again. “No, having a drugged-up hostage hump your leg into oblivion.”

He laughed so hard and so suddenly that I jumped, which only made him laugh harder.  Threads of happiness ran from him to me, enough for me to transfer back tenfold. So I reached out, touched his bare arm, and let it flow back to him. I didn’t know why – it just seemed like the right thing to do.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he told me, after the effects had sunken into his system and the laughter had stopped.

“I know. I wanted to.”

Silence, then, “You are the strangest person I’ve ever met – and I’ve met myself.”

His breathing evened out into slumber, and I rolled over, trying not to dwell on anything that had happened in the dark. But even as the fire subsided in my blood, I felt his words –
one day soon, I’m going to have you
– sparking a whole other brand of flame somewhere deeper in me.

And it refused to be extinguished.

The morning after ‘the incident’, I fully expected to wake up alone. It wasn’t a totally farfetched idea – every other morning I’d been in the apartment, Achilles had already disappeared.

But, that morning of all mornings, I opened my eyes to find him still there, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape. It saddened me a little to find his face remained wracked with worry lines and frowns, even in sleep. How could someone with such freedom, such endless possibilities in life, appear so burdened?

Forcing the memories of the previous night into a tightly-locked room in the back of my mind, I gingerly got out of bed, my legs aching under the sudden weight. God, the bruises on me had seemed to worsen overnight; my upper arms were peppered with nasty shades of purple, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror I almost shrieked.

The swelling on my forehead had mostly disappeared, but my left eye and the space around it looked as though I’d been sucker-punched by a heavyweight champion. Green-and-brown spots, with some minor cuts, decorated the socket like eyeshadow.
Ick
.

A few steps towards the door and exhaustion swiftly caught up to me.

“Crap,” I mumbled when my knees began to shake. Last night’s activities –
both in and out of the bed
, I thought, fighting a blush – had drained me almost dry.

You can do this. You stink. Just make it to the bathroom and you can sit down for a while
.

Latching on to the furniture for support, I hobbled into the living area, then all but dragged myself into the bathroom. There was no way I was waking Achilles for help. After last night, I’d be happy not to see him again for another week, at least.

Once inside the bathroom, its interior so posh and modern, I sank to the gold-flecked tiles and almost sobbed in relief. My legs were
killing
me. My thighs felt as though they were being constantly pricked by needles, and every breath I took made my chest seem like it was being ripped apart.

I peeled the bandages from my torso and thighs, wincing at the sight of the skin underneath. At least most of the cuts had healed over, despite the pain. I unwound the padding on my hands to find the grazes still an angry shade of red. But they weren’t bleeding – that had to be something, right?

“What the hell are you doing?” asked a voice from the door, making me jump.

“I need a shower,” I huffed at the object of my worries. Sleep, hard as it was to admit, was good to Achilles. The whole bed-head look really suited him, as did the slight smudges it brought to his face-paint. I, on the other hand, probably resembled a female Yeti.

I had the distinct feeling he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be really good for the bandages. Scalding water cures everything, right?” Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the space and crouched before me, a bottle of pills in his hand. “Tell you what – take these for me, and I’ll help you with your shower.”

“Um, no, and
hell
no,” I answered, pushing the hand away. Even that small effort sent darts of pain through me. “You’ll have to try a bit harder to use me for your nefarious purposes, I’m afraid.”

Smirk
. “I think you’re flattering yourself, darling. They’re painkillers, and I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. Although after last night, I think –”