"There are your gods," Jade teases, pointing a finger towards the middle of the fighters where Storm and Seth are fighting. I feel frozen in place as Storm swings his axe at Seth, who counters with two swords. They roughly push each other away before coming back to swing at each other once more. I don't know who is winning, but hell, I have to admit they look sexy as sin right now. Sweat drips down both their bare chests, sticking to their skin as they fight, and it only emphasises their muscular and toned bodies. Even though they aren't using any powers, which they don't need to, their brute strength as they fight is crazy and somewhat amazing to watch. Only gods can fight like this. Fierce, scary and damn sexy.
"Karma!" Killian calls my name, jogging over to me from the right. He stops in front of me, holding a towel which he uses to wipe some of the sweat off his face. "Do you fight? I didn't have you down as the type, but I’m happy to see you here."
"Nope, and you're right, I'm not the type. I'd likely harm myself before someone else if I tried to practice weapons," I tell him, wondering if I could get my daggers back off Seth at some point. This place just reminds me that I could have a chance of defending myself with those. I look back at Seth and Storm, seeing that they are so focused on beating each other that only a fool would interrupt. I’m no fool.
"Have you ever tried though?" Killian asks, and I look back at him as I answer. Words escape my lips for a second as he peels his shirt off his chest. The world seems to slow down as the shirt comes off, and man, even though I’ve seen Killian shirtless in the kitchen a few times, it is always impressive.
"Nope," I manage to cough out. I elbow Jade when she laughs, and Killian just looks confused as he shoves his shirt into his trouser pocket.
"Well, call me your new teacher. Come on." Killian wraps an arm around my shoulders, leading me away as I hear Jade just laugh. This is not what I had in mind today, though pressed against Killian’s bare chest isn’t too bad.
"I didn't come here to fight," I look up to tell him, making sure not to place my hand on his chest like my body itches to do.
"What did you come for? Did you miss me?" Killian asks, teasing me.
"Maybe...If I said yes, would you let me escape back to the house?" I ask.
"Err no," he says with a laugh. "Come on, I'm not going to do anything but show you how to defend yourself. In this world, that's something everyone should know how to do."
"My older brother, Peyton, once tried to teach me how to throw daggers...and I accidentally stabbed him in the foot," I say, remembering how mad he was at me. He was hopping around for a week until it healed, and my other brothers kept “accidently” stepping on his foot before running away, because they knew he couldn’t catch them.
"I will keep my feet out the way then. Maybe a light sword might be better for you to start with," Killian says, and he seems somewhat nervous as we get to the line of weapons. Killian chooses two swords before handing me the smaller one and nodding his head to the side. We walk until we get to a clearing.
"Right, stand here and hold your sword up, angel," Killian instructs, shaking his head at me as I stand still, holding the sword in the air. Killian puts his sword down and comes over to me, standing close to my back, and my body tenses from the close contact. Dammit, I like having him close to me.
"Move your hips this way," he instructs, placing his large, warm hands on my hips and turning me to the side. I almost sigh as he slowly moves his hands up my sides to my arms. I gulp as his hands cover mine, moving the sword into position. "Perfect," he whispers into my ear, his hot breath blowing against my neck. In a matter of seconds, he steps away and picks his sword up before walking a few feet away. I’m not sure if he knows he is teasing me, but god, is he good at it.
"Now stop me," he says, swirling his sword around with impressive wrist actions and stepping closer. When he lifts his sword, I do the only logical thing that comes to mind. I drop my sword and run away.
"Karma!" Killian shouts in panic. I don't get to register his warning until something hard slams into the side of my face, and everything instantly goes black.
Chapter Twenty-Six
"How is your head now?" Storm asks when I come out the shower room, seeing him sitting on the sofa with a black glass bottle in his hand. He takes a long sip as I close the shower door and walk over to sit next to him. I choose to sit close even though there is plenty of room. Maybe the head injury—that I wouldn’t let Killian heal and take from me—is making me braver than usual. Storm doesn’t move, instead he just lets me rest against his side.
"Sore. I can't believe I didn't see that flying ice sphere," I mutter, placing my hand on the lump on the side of my forehead, where it is still throbbing after earlier today. Killian and Jade blamed themselves for the accident, Seth couldn't stop laughing at the fact I ran away from practice fighting, and Storm carried me back to the house when I woke up, despite my several protests about it all being embarrassing.
"You were running away from Killian like he decided to stab you or something," he chuckles before his face darkens, and he takes a long sip of his drink that smells like some pretty strong alcohol. "I thought you guys looked pretty close before that happened." I try to ignore the jealous comment, knowing that Storm isn’t going to make me feel bad for anything with Killian. Storm doesn’t own me, nor has he made a move to suggest he wants to be more than a friend. I also know literally nothing about him, other than what everyone else in this prison knows. As much as I don’t like to admit it, Vivian was right in some ways. Storm is a closed book and keeps everything locked away tight.
"Hand that over," I say, holding my hand out for the bottle, knowing that I could use a drink. Storm shrugs before giving me it, and I take a long sip, the unfamiliar liquid burning my throat almost instantly. I cough a few times, thinking the closest thing I've tasted to this is whiskey, before I can even speak. "What the hell is this stuff?"
"Honestly? Who knows?" he tells me. That isn't concerning at all. "A pleasure god who lives in here makes his own drinks, and he gave me that a while ago, telling me it would 'chill me out'."
"Does it?" I ask with a little chuckle as I rest back on the sofa, well aware that at some point, either Storm or I have moved closer to each other. Our legs are now pressed tightly together.
"I wish," Storm replies as I take another sip and hand him the bottle back, watching as he takes a long drink. "Nothing can erase the past and make everything less stressful. Not even this stuff." I’m surprised by his comment, because that is the first time I’ve heard him comment on anything to do with his past.
"We know each other now," I start off as he hands me the bottle back, and I drink some for bravery. "Will you tell me what kind of god you are?" I ask, reminding him of the first time I asked, and he asked me a question right back. What happened with me isn’t a secret though, so I was just teasing him, and I’m pretty sure he knows it. The last few weeks, Storm has asked a load of questions about my past and my life before here, but he never asked about what I did to get here. Storm leans back, placing his arm over the back of the sofa, his fingers finding their way into my hair.
"If you will do something for me, then yes," he replies and moves his gaze from me to my hair as he gently twirls the curls around. “You have exquisite hair, you know that?” I can only nod, words escaping me.
"What do you want?" I eventually ask him, and the question seems to linger between us as he looks down at me, facing me as he takes the bottle back, bringing it to his lips. I never knew it could be sensual to watch a guy take a long drink, but holy gods, Storm makes it borderline erotic. Not that I'd tell him that. I'm pretty sure he knows it anyway from the smirk on his lips.
"A lot of things, Karma, but this time, I want you to be my date to a party next weekend," he tells me. “We celebrate the changing of the seasons, the way my parents once did many years back. Next weekend, we change from autumn to winter.” Even though he is asking me out on a date—which god, makes me nervous and happy at the same time—he sounds sad. I just wish I could understand him more to know why it does. I know he is old, like really old, but it sometimes feels like he has been in a trance for a long time. Just frozen in this prison, waiting forever to escape. Then he looks at me, and somewhere in his gaze, I see something familiar.
"You are asking me out on a date? Again?" I ask with a cheeky smile. “Is there any chance of getting stopped by your ex-girlfriend on this one? Not that I’m saying yes.”
"That tour wasn't a date, I was teasing you. I want a real date," he responds, tilting his lips up. I’ve cheered him up a little bit.
"And that's the price to know all your secrets?" I ask, well aware of the way he is looking at me, the sweet musky smell of whiskey on his breath as he awaits my answer.
"Not them all, but some, yes," he replies. Damn, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. “What do you say? I promise you will love the party." His hand finds itself on my shoulder, resting there, and damn I can't say it doesn't feel good when he is touching me. What the hell is in this drink? I take the bottle off him, drinking more before answering. I need something else to focus on that isn’t Storm before I do something stupid like kiss him. God, now I can’t stop thinking about what he tastes like. Whiskey and bad decisions most likely.
"You have a date then," I say, knowing I’m too curious to say no to that. It’s like hovering peanut butter in my face and expecting me not to want it. God help me. I have a date with one of the most attractive and charming men I have ever met. They say curiosity killed the cat, and I'm not even a cat, but curiosity has the better of me. Or Storm's abs do. I'm not sure which one it is. "Now out with it, what are you?"
"A higher god. The god of weather to be precise," he calmly tells me, and I nearly choke on thin air as I try to even process that. I grab his hand, turning it over and not seeing the dragon mark they all have. “Our parents both named us in the literal sense. Another thing we have in common.”
"You don't have that mark, so that can't be true," I say, lifting his hand and turning it over. I can see his other hand, knowing it’s not there. I must be shocked, because I don’t even realise I’m holding Storm’s giant hand until he links our fingers. My hand fits almost perfectly into his, like a tiny little doll slotting in a pocket.
"They gave themselves marks as a reminder of my betrayal and to erase their history," he tells me as he takes the bottle back. "My adoptive brothers and sisters would never want to forget what happened between us."
"Holy Batman, you really are a higher god," I mutter as he drinks more and hands me the bottle like he knows I need a drink. His eyes leave me and go to the painting above the fireplace, the faces are hauntingly bright in the dim room.
"Yes.”
"What happened to you?" I softly ask, because I can sense a little bit about his fear. I never understood what I was feeling from his fear before, but it makes some sense now. He fears family.
