“Don’t stop,” he commands me, and feckin’ hell, I couldn’t if I tried. I roll my hips faster, chasing an orgasm I can feel getting close. Storm moves his hands to my nipples, flicking them as I ride him, and it soon sends me crashing into my next orgasm. Storm roars as he thrusts a few more times, gripping my hips tightly as he comes hard and fast deep inside me. I collapse onto his chest, breathless but completely sated.
“You aren’t leaving this room for the rest of the night. I want to do that over and over again,” he says, somehow looking relaxed and excited at the same time.
“I don’t need convincing. I’m staying,” I reply, smiling down at him as he rolls us over and kisses me. Whatever happens, I know I have Storm and moments like this to remember. I have a man I love more than anything, and he loves me back.
That is worth fighting for.
Chapter 47
I stand in the kitchen alcove of my family’s apartments, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest and my hair falling down my back in a long curtain. I’m looking out the western window, facing the side of the palace that slopes down onto the rocky coast, the pebble beach, and then, farther out, the ocean in the distance. It seems to spread out into infinity like an endless blue blanket. The only thing that breaks up its sparkling sapphire surface is the rock formations that jut into the sky a ways off the coast, pointing up at the sun like grasping fingers. The lulling waves glide over the smooth stones, their rhythmic crashing not entirely muffled by the castle walls, sending sprays of seafoam out and over the shore. The skies are the bluest I think I’ve ever seen them, like the colour of a robin’s egg, complete with speckles of clouds in the distance. The sun is high in the sky, shining brightly and dazzling off the water in flecks of light so intense they’re almost blinding.
It’s a perfect day, and if I were anyone else in the world right now, my breath would be taken away by how spectacular the view from the castle is… but I can’t stop myself from thinking about a different, much more personal, kind of beauty. My mind is fixated on the night - one night, in particular, as a matter of fact.
It’s been two days since I slept over at Storm’s apartment, and it’s still hard not to think of that night over and over again. The feeling of his lips on mine, of his hands on my body, the feeling of him inside me, as close to me as he could ever get… It sends a shiver up my spine just thinking about it, and I let my eyes drift closed as I let the memory overtake me once again. That night was more perfect than today - or just about any day - could ever be. In fact, the only night that even holds a candle to the one I shared with Storm is, incidentally… the one I shared with Killian. The confusing nature of my situation isn’t lost on me, and any time I think too hard about the logistics - specifically, the possibility of negotiating a relationship with all three of the men in my life - it’s nearly enough to make my head spin. Theory and practise are two different things, and each of these guys has his own demons… and his own ego. But none of that changes the beauty of the night Storm and I shared, and I let a smile creep onto my face as I remember the highlights now.
“Karma!” Mads nearly shouts my name, nearly making me jump out of my skin, and I realise that she’s been calling my name for several moments. She’s by the kitchen table now, a red envelope tucked under her arm as she watches me. “I’ve been trying to get your attention.” She glances over at the kitchen table, where Kit is now sitting, surrounded by little sandwiches, mini chocolate cakes, and other things that Mads has been cooking for him. The two of them appear to have quickly become fast friends, and he doesn’t bite her, no matter how much sass she gives him… lucky cow.
“What’s up, bestie?” I ask Mads with a little too much enthusiasm as she walks up to me, nudging me on my arm.
A burst of colour rises in my face, which doesn’t go unnoticed; she frowns, her brow furrowing. “You okay?” she asks.
“Hmm?” I clear my throat. “Me? I’m fine.”
“You’ve got this far away look on your face. And besides,” she laughs, “you never use that tone of voice unless you’re worried about something but trying not to let on.”
I sigh. What was I expecting? Trying to hide my emotions from Mads is like trying to block out the sun - impossible. “It’s nothing,” I reply, rubbing the back of my neck. “I was just thinking about everything that’s happened, that’s all.”
Mads turns and follows my gaze back out to the sweeping stretch of ocean in the distance. “Yeah,” she says dryly, shaking her head. “None of it seems real, does it?”
“It’s like a dream,” I agree, nodding. “Although I just can’t decide if it’s a good dream or a nightmare.”
“Well,” Mads replies slowly, turning away from the window, “this might swing the vote one way or another.” She holds out the envelope, which is a deep shade of red - nearly the colour of blood. Holding it closed is a red wax seal, stamped with a star shape in a circle… similar to the statues in the higher gods’ downstairs dining room. There’s a sinking feeling in my chest as I take the envelope from her; this can’t be good.
“Who is this from?” I ask, the envelope feeling like it weighs a ton in my hands.
Mads shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she replies. “Someone slid it under the front door. It has your name on it, though.” She points at the letter, which I flip over to see my name on the front. It’s drawn in a pretty way - almost like calligraphy - no doubt by the hand of someone as elegant and sophisticated as they are dangerous and precise. One of the higher gods - I have no doubt.
“This ought to be good,” I mutter grimly, setting my jaw and breaking the wax seal. Tearing open the envelope, I find a letter on red paper, which I pull out with hands that are shaking more than I would care to admit. Unfolding it, I see a note written in silver ink, in the same precise, dreadful handwriting as my name. I read it aloud - pointless, considering Mads is already reading it over my shoulder, but my disbelief overpowers common sense. “The second game will begin now. Come to the arena where we first met - and make sure you are alone. -Eenta Cyncus’.”
“Shit,” Mads breathes, her eyes wide as she looks at me.
“I guess I know what I’m doing with my day,” I remark dryly, resisting the urge to wad the paper up and chuck it over my shoulder. There’s no point in fighting it, though; the ball is in their court, and they’re about to serve the next match.
“I will get your family—” Mads says, turning to go, but I grab her arm before she can leave, pulling her back to face me.
“No,” I insist frantically, “it says I have to go alone.”
“Karma,” Mads protests, “what if something happens to you? They’re going to want to know, to at least be able to watch-”
I shake my head, my grip on her wrist like an iron vice. “They can’t come,” I tell her. “If I disobey the instructions, there’s no knowing what the higher gods will do to them - to you. I have to win it on my own, it seems.” I let out a long sigh. “Although that might be a good thing, considering the last game nearly got you killed.”
“Hey,” Mads says, “that wasn’t your fault. It was their sick trial. Besides, I’m holding up just fine.” She straightens up a little, although I can see that her injuries aren’t yet healed completely. “Besides,” she adds, her brows knitting together, “I don’t like the idea of you going on your own. This could be a trap - what if they try to hurt you or something?”
I chew the inside of my lip. She has a point, one that I don’t really want to consider - I didn’t go into this expecting the higher gods to play fair, and I don’t expect them to do so now. But this just illustrates the bitter reality of the situation we’re in: I don’t have any other choice. We’re completely at their mercy, and the best I can do - the best any of us can do - is to obey their demands and hope that they stay true to their word. It’s the only option we have, and I can see in Mads’ eyes that she knows it, too. She must agree with me that getting anyone else to come with me is a bad idea. I don’t want to put anyone else’s life in danger if I can help it.
Still, she protests, “Your family will be horrified if they find out you went to the next game alone. I don’t want to have to tell them where you went.”
“I know, and neither do I,” I say, putting the letter down on the sofa. It seems to mock me from its place on the clean white fabric, taunting me and threatening me all at the same time. “Make sure my family doesn't see this. They will just end up panicking.”
I look back up at Mads and see that her eyes are glistening with tears. My heart skips a beat when I see that, and when she moves to hug me, I don’t resist, snaking my arms tightly around her waist. “Be careful, Karma,” she murmurs in my ear, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re playing with fire.”
“I know,” I tell her, trying to keep my tone self-assured when on the inside it feels like my world is falling apart. “But so are they.”
Mads laughs grimly at that, but there’s not much humour in her voice. She gives me a squeeze before letting me go, even though I can see she doesn’t want to. I struggle not to look back over my shoulder at her as I leave the apartment, not wanting to see the fear and desperation on her face.
It’s a silent walk to the arena, that same silence that has filled the place for the past few days, like the higher gods are waiting for something… planning something. I suppose I know what that something is, now. The only people out in the halls are the silent guards, who remain as still as statues as I pass them by. I’ve never heard one of them say a single word in the near week that I’ve been here. It’s seriously creepy, and part of me really wants to know what’s under their helmets. The other part doesn’t even want to think about it.
I’m half-expecting to be attacked the moment I arrive at the arena, so I stop abruptly in my tracks when I see Seth and Killian waiting in the middle. Their arms are crossed against their chests, and they both look tense, their broad shoulders hunched with grim determination. Seth is wearing an immaculately-tailored suit, with a deep blue tie and a black jacket that brings out the magnificence of his gold eyes. Killian is his usual casual self, in low riding jeans and a tight black shirt that emphasizes the sculpted muscles underneath.
I glance down at my own clothes - a cardigan, white top, and skinny jeans - and wonder belatedly if I’m dressed appropriately for whatever the higher gods have in store for us. All that really matters is that I can move around - and fight tooth and nail, if need be. Still, that doesn’t stop me from feeling a little self-conscious… especially when I see how the higher gods are dressed.
Looking around as I approach the justice twins, I see the higher gods in the audience. Storm is in the front row, his face written with anxiety and his eyes narrow with worry. Eenta sits next to him, which I don’t like, as much as I tell myself not to be jealous and clingy - if Storm was telling the truth, then he has eyes only for me, after all. But it’s impossible not to be, especially not when all I can do is compare myself to her otherworldly beauty and wonder why the hell Storm would go for someone like me when he has the living example of perfection sitting next to him. It’s hard, now that I know how much she likes him, and it’s clear that it’s more than just familial love. How am I supposed to compete with someone Storm grew up with, someone who might as well be the most gorgeous person in the world, with the power to match?
I grit my teeth when I see how she leans into him, making a show of brushing her arm up against his and letting her fingertips graze his hand. I can see she’s wasting no time getting back to the seduction, even after four hundred years of being away from him, and it’s enough to make my head explode. The deep red dress she has chosen to wear is extremely revealing of her perfect body and creamy white skin, and the worst part is that I know exactly why she chose it: it matches my hair. Her previous comment about how Storm should have told her he likes redheads echoes in my mind, making the jitters I’m already feeling nearly unbearable.
It’s not like he just likes redheads, some panicked part of my mind pipes up. His ex back in the prison was blonde, after all… Okay, no. Knock it off. Now I’m just making myself nervous. She’s trying to throw me off, and it’s working. I steel myself and make eye contact with her, my expression a silent challenge to try to use Storm to intimidate me.
