Chapter 4 #2
The room is empty except for an incredibly intricate mosaic that covers the entire center of the floor—and I mean the entire center.
It has to be at least twenty feet across, made up of thousands upon thousands of tiny tiles in every color imaginable.
At first, the design is just a beautiful, overwhelming jumble, but as I step back toward the curved wall and adjust my angle, it resolves into something that steals my breath.
Each tile is no bigger than my thumbnail, cut from what looks like precious stones—lapis lazuli, mother-of-pearl, gold leaf, tiny fragments of what might be actual diamonds that catch the colored light and throw it back in brilliant sparks.
My breath catches in my throat.
Flaming angelic beings with wings like Remus’s—except pure white instead of black—gathered in an enormous hall. They’re arranged in perfect rows, all facing toward some kind of altar where there’s a burst of light so bright it’s depicted in pure white tiles.
“What is this?” I breathe.
“Watch,” Remus says.
I frown, confused, but before my eyes, the mosaic begins to move.
The tiny tiles start shifting like living things, millions of microscopic pieces sliding and rotating and changing color.
It’s like watching the world’s most expensive LCD screen, except made of actual stone and metal and gems. I yelp and stumble backward, my feet nearly tangling as I crash into Remus’s solid chest.
He chuckles, a rich sound that vibrates through his ribcage against my back, and slips an arm around my waist to steady me.
This time he doesn’t let go, and I can feel the heat of his body seeping through my clothes.
There’s something incredibly comforting about his solid presence as I watch the impossible unfold before me.
The tiles ripple outward from the center like water disturbed by a stone, creating waves of movement that are almost hypnotic.
The angelic beings begin filtering out of the great hall, their white-and-gold forms flowing like liquid light across the shifting surface.
Then another figure enters—different from the angels, less bright, more human-looking but still winged.
Unlike the others standing tall and proud, this figure lurks in shadows, head darting around nervously.
It’s like watching the world’s most beautiful security footage as the figure creeps toward the bright altar, dips his hand into the fire, and steals some of that divine light. Then he flees, racing down the aisle and into a darker corridor.
The scene follows him to a room with what looks like a rippling blue mirror. He glances back once, clutching the stolen fire to his chest, then leaps through the mirror.
The entire mosaic explodes in a rainbow of shifting colors, and when it settles, the thief has landed in a crouch on green grass, still holding that divine spark. He stands triumphantly, lifting the fire above his head as his wings flare wide.
The image freezes there, and I let out a shaky breath. “What did I just see?”
I’m suddenly very aware that Remus’s arm is still around my waist, that I’m pressed back against him, that I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. Part of me wants to stay right here, safe in his warmth, but the rational part of my brain is screaming warnings.
I spin away, careful not to step on the magical mosaic, and hurry around the perimeter of the room to the doorway.
Remus follows, and once we’re in the small landing at the top of the stairs, he gestures back toward the room.
“That was my father’s monument to his proudest moment—when he stole the spark of life from the gods so he could become a god himself.
When he came to Earth, he forged his children with that stolen fire, implanting the godspark in each of us. ”
He thumps his fist against his chest with obvious pride.
My eyes widen. Well, that answers some questions while raising about a million others. “Oh,” I manage intelligently. “Wow.”
“Yes,” he nods, standing a little taller as I look at him. “Wow.”
I shake my head and swat at his chest without thinking. “You’re way too full of yourself.” The moment my palm makes contact with his bare skin, I freeze. He’s warm and solid and very, very real, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of every point of contact.
Before I can pull away, he catches my hand and holds it there against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm—strong and steady and definitely not human-slow.
“I feel very full when you are here at my side, Lo-Ren consort,” he says, voice rough with something that might be sincerity.
Swoon.
Wait—no. Not swoon. I’ve made this mistake before, falling for a guy who seemed too good to be true. The thing about men like this is there’s always a catch. Usually some gigantic red flag that’s been waving in my face the whole time.
Michael seemed perfect too, at first. Charming, attentive, full of grand plans and bigger promises. Right up until the moment he decided I didn’t fit into his “five-year plan” anymore.
Just then, I notice that Remus’s hood has come askew, revealing a glimpse of... something. On pure impulse—because apparently I have zero self-preservation instincts—I reach up and yank the hood off his head.
And immediately yelp in shock when he lunges forward to grab it back.
“Oh my god!”
There’s another face on the back of his head.
An actual, different face with closed eyes and slack features, like someone peacefully sleeping.
The skin is the same bronze tone as Remus’s, the features just as sharply defined but somehow softer, more controlled even in sleep.
Dark hair falls across the other face’s forehead, and I can see the rise and fall of breathing that seems separate from Remus’s own.
It’s not grotesque or disturbing like I might have expected—it’s just... another person. Literally another person sharing the same skull, as impossible as that should be.
Remus immediately releases my hand and backs into the corner, trying to hide what I’ve already seen. For the first time since I met him, he doesn’t look confident. He looks... vulnerable. Maybe even scared.
“How is there another face on the back of your head?” I squeak.
“I did not want you to see that yet,” he snaps, gritting his teeth and stretching his neck in a way that looks painful.
“W-what is it?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound judgmental but knowing I’m probably failing miserably.
Remus pulls a small silver flask from his pocket—ornate and old-looking, with symbols etched into its surface that seem to shift in the colored light.
He takes a sip of whatever’s inside, his throat working as he swallows, then does that painful neck-stretching thing again.
I catch a whiff of something bitter and metallic, like copper pennies dissolved in wine.
When he settles with a sigh that sounds more relieved than anything else, his whole posture changes—looser, more relaxed.
“Meet my twin brother, Romulus,” he says, way too casually for someone introducing a second person attached to his skull.
“Your twin—Why isn’t he moving?!” My heart pounds as the fairy-tale wonder crashes down around me, replaced by a cold dose of reality.
I’ve been kidnapped by a creature with wings, a tail, and two faces.
I mean, yes, technically I volunteered to be kidnapped, but that’s completely beside the point right now.
“He’s sleeping,” Remus says simply.
“Does he ever wake up?” I step forward, reaching for his shoulders to try to turn him around for a better look, but he blocks me by keeping his chest toward me. His hands grab my waist, and before I can blink, he’s lifting me and setting me down several feet away like I weigh nothing.
I make a startled noise as my feet hit stone again. He doesn’t let go of my waist, and just like before, my traitorous heart speeds up at his closeness. I blink, trying to clear the hormone-induced fog from my brain.
Wasn’t I just telling myself not to swoon?
“He’s not going to wake up for a long time,” Remus says, and there’s something evasive in his tone that sets off alarm bells.
When I inhale to ask what he means, all I smell is him—clean male musk and something wild and dangerous that makes my knees weak. God, it’s been way too long since I’ve been touched by a man. A real man who looks at me like I’m something precious instead of something he’s settling for.
Remus grins, that wild glint back in his eyes. His hands linger at my waist, squeezing slightly, and I swat at them even as I notice how he squeezes a little more before letting go. Like he’s reluctant to stop touching me.
“Don’t worry, little one. It’s only you and me at this party for as long as we can manage.”
“Nothing you’re saying makes sense!” I declare, frustration bleeding into my voice.
“But you don’t want boring, do you?” he counters, stepping closer.
“How do you know what I want? Maybe I’m perfectly fine with boring. Boring is safe.” Even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. Boring got me nowhere. Boring got me a dead-end relationship and no job prospects and a mother who never missed a chance to remind me how I was wasting my potential.
He scoffs. “Safe? What fun is safety? There’s no adventure in safety.” He leans in, flashing that too-wide grin that should be unsettling but instead makes my pulse race. “And you’re a woman who wants adventure, aren’t you?”
I narrow my eyes at him, even as my body betrays me by responding to his proximity. “You know nothing about me. Or what I need.”
He’s staring right at me with those dark gray eyes, and I notice his face is chiseled in a way that seems almost too perfect—beautiful and unnerving, with full lips and that smile that curves too wide, like the Cheshire Cat.
“Oh, I want to hear all about your needs,” he says, and the way he emphasizes the last word makes it sound... gulp... incredibly sexual.
My mouth goes dry. Is he flirting with me? I’ve almost forgotten what that feels like. It’s been so long since someone looked at me with genuine interest instead of polite tolerance.
“Can we get back to the part where there’s a sleeping twin on the back of your head?” I ask weakly.
“Are you hungry?” he asks suddenly, completely changing the subject. “I bet you’re hungry. I know a place that makes the most delicious meals.”
I frown as he steps back. Is that a reference to my weight? My stomach drops as old insecurities rear their ugly heads. Michael used to make passive-aggressive comments about my appetite, especially in front of his friends. Oh, she’s always hungry, followed by snickers and sideways glances.
I cross my arms over my chest, walls slamming up so fast it makes my ears pop. “What do you mean by that?”
But Remus has already started heading down the stairs, his boots echoing on the stone steps as he moves with that same fluid grace.
“Hmm?” he asks over his shoulder, barely turning to look back.
The colored light from the stained glass windows catches in his dark hair as he descends.
“Head down to the dining room. Eleven floors down. I’ll meet you there with dinner. ”
And then—because apparently this day can get even weirder—he reaches one of the tall arched windows in the stairwell, unlatches it with practiced ease, and jumps right out.
“Hey!” I yelp, rushing to the window and grabbing the thick stone sill.
The opening is large enough for his wings, and when I lean out, I can see him already soaring away over the treetops, those massive black wings beating powerful strokes against the late afternoon sky.
The wind up here is fierce, whipping my hair around my face and making my eyes water.
But he’s already a small dark dot in the distance, wings beating against the sky. Damn, he moves fast when he wants to escape a conversation.
I sigh and lean against the thick stone window frame, the carved details pressing into my back, then shake my head at the sheer absurdity of my life.
The view from up here is incredible—endless green forest stretching to the horizon, broken only by the sparkling blue lake far below and what looks like mountains in the distance.
There’s no sign of civilization anywhere, no roads or buildings or even a wisp of smoke. We really are in the middle of nowhere.
What in the absolute hell have I gotten myself into? Flying men with tails and twin faces and moving mosaics and family drama involving stolen divine sparks? I know I wanted adventure, but next time I’m definitely going to be more specific in my prayers.
Dear God, I want adventure. But maybe the kind that doesn’t involve potential kidnapping by supernatural beings with serious communication issues and mysterious flasks?
I glance toward the sky through the diamond-paned glass, close the heavy window with a satisfying thunk, and groan when I look down the steep spiral staircase stretching below me.
The stone steps seem to go down forever, disappearing into shadows, with only those narrow arrow-slit windows to light the way.
Eleven flights of stairs. Here we fucking go.
At least I’m getting my steps in today.