Chapter 44
forty-four
-Serena-
I follow Whiro downstairs, and as I descend the steps, I realize the house is full of people now.
Well, not exactly people because none of them seems earthly.
Sure, they all look like mortals, but I've come to tell the difference lately. They’re all too perfect, like they’ve just stepped off the cover of a magazine.
Too fit, too flawless, yet cloaked in something dark—something unmistakably fascinating.
The women wear sublime dresses, like we’re almost preparing for a party rather than coming to check on a sick relative.
They probably don’t even know how to act in this case because none of them has ever been sick before.
All the men are also stylish in their own distinct way. Whether they go for the businessman look, dark Gothic, or the casual serial killer like Whiro, there’s something about them that makes them irresistible.
In fact, they all look so good, I half-expect Magic Mike to start any second.
Is there a hidden camera somewhere? Because this feels like it could easily be one of those TV pranks.
But I know better. They’re all gods, just like Set.
And suddenly, I feel a little overwhelmed and way too fragile around them.
Whiro must feel it too, and edges a little closer to me.
“Don’t worry about them. They don’t bite,” he pauses.
“Actually, scratch that. But at least, they won’t bite you. They all know you’re Set’s.”
I nod as I enter the living room, and everyone else seems to nod in return, acknowledging my presence.
Phro pops up out of nowhere and rattles off a few introductions.
And by a few, I mean I’ve met almost every god known to man by the time I reach the dinner table.
I even met Osiris, or at least that’s what Phro called him.
And Set was right, he seems pretty much alive to me.
So the myths turn out to be just that—myths.
Phro seems a lot nicer now. She still clings to that high-maintenance energy, but it’s toned down. Nothing like the theatrical diva she was at the party. On the contrary, she tries to make me feel welcomed, and even sits with me at the table as I eat, so I won’t feel so uncomfortable.
“Don’t bother with them. Their attention is…
elsewhere. We don’t get together that often, so it’s a good opportunity for them to catch up,” she says, probably sensing that I’m still not entirely at ease being there with them.
And I can tell, she’s right. No one seems remotely preoccupied by my presence.
They’re all deep in conversation, breaking into small or large groups around the room, like they’re just here for dinner.
But I know from Set they don’t need to eat as often as humans, so I guess that explains the lack of actual appetite.
I walk into the kitchen to make myself coffee as soon as I finish eating.
Probably not the best idea since the shaking in my limbs didn’t quite stop.
But I can’t go back to Set yet. Phro said his brothers and sisters were going to see him one at a time.
And I don’t feel comfortable being there when they do.
They need their time alone, probably to discuss things no mortal should ever hear about.
And I need to find something to keep me busy in the meantime.
I text Monica not to panic, but I had to go on an unexpected business trip, then I call the maid back at the penthouse to make sure Eight-Ball is well-fed, since we left Vegas in a hurry.
She assures me that I have nothing to worry about and wishes me a pleasant vacation.
If only she knew the vacation we’re having.
I prop my feet up on a kitchen chair, coffee in hand, eyes out the window while I keep running the events through my mind.
Actually, I keep replaying in my mind everything that happened lately, and I realize I’m a different person.
Set was right. I’m stronger now than when I met him. I am the best version of myself.
My feet have gone numb, and as I come to think about it, I must’ve been sitting on the chair for more than an hour.
I try to stretch them, but the tingling is a little too much to bear, and just as I’m about to stomp my heel on the ground to stop the pins and needles, Draco sneaks in behind me.
“Set’s going to have visitors for a while. .. family keeps coming in.”
“Shouldn’t he rest?” I ask, knowing that it’s a lot for him to take on.
“We’re much stronger than you give us credit for—even with a bullet hole in us. But you should rest, or at least get on a more comfortable chair. Come on. I had the housekeeper set up a spare bedroom for you.”
“I’m not sleepy,” I lie, even though my eyes are literally closing—coffee and all. I just don’t want to miss the opportunity to get next to Set.
“Then don’t sleep. Watch TV or something, but at least stay in bed or the armchair.
I might know how to patch up gods, but people?
That’s a different deal. If you pass out on me, your ass is going straight to the hospital.
” Draco doesn’t give me time to answer, just heads to the spare bedroom, and I follow, knowing he’s got a point.
Getting myself put into the hospital is the worst thing I can do right now.
“Phro left you some clothes,” he gestures towards the bed where a neat little stack of clothes waits—then leaves the room.
Well, that’s a relief because I’m still in the clothes I wore to the club, and they’re stained with Set’s blood. Plus, I haven’t showered ever since. I’m basically a walking crime scene.
As I dig through the pile, I realise there are only dresses. Not that I expect anything else because she doesn’t strike me as a pants kind of girl.
I appreciate the gesture more than she probably realizes.
And since I finally have clean clothes, I hit the shower and let the water run over me for a long time before I actually feel clean.
Too tired to even stand, I return to the room and pick the least elegant dress from the pile—white with a gold cord at the waist. Fittingly, it really looks like something Aphrodite herself would wear.
I turn on the TV as I crawl into bed. Not even sure what channel I landed on. Doesn’t even matter. I’m out cold before the first commercial break ends.
I’m not sure how long I slept, but when I wake, Set’s lying next to me.
My eyes quickly open to check if we’re in the same room—which we are.
That only means he came here to sleep next to me.
God, this man is so stubborn, walking around with a damn bullet wound.
I could give him a piece of my mind right now, but I let him rest. There’s plenty of time to do that.
And by the time he wakes up, I've even forgotten why I was mad at him.
He sleeps for a day and a half. Yeah... an actual day and a half. I don’t even know how that’s possible without actually being in a coma, but I guess his body has a different rate of recovery than our own.
I spend the time meeting a part of my new family. None of them are too welcoming, and none of them have great human skills, but strangely, they’re all protective—treating me like I’ll shatter if someone even breathes wrong. I can’t blame them, though, since they have immortality on their side.
It’s a thought that’s been haunting me lately.
Ever since I found out about Set not being human.
No matter how much he cares for me, he can’t grow old beside me.
While my body will break down in time, his stays untouched.
And while for me it might be my lifetime, for him it’s just a moment in his eternity.
I try not to dwell on it, but this will be an issue sooner or later.
I just returned to the bedroom after having dinner with Phro and Draco. Whiro had to leave, and so did most of the entities who came to visit Set, a.k.a. his siblings.
I glance around the room as I open the door and step inside. He’s not in bed, and as I listen carefully, I can hear the shower running.
I’m surprised he’s already well enough to shower, but as the bathroom door opens and he steps out with just a white towel around his waist, I realize his wound is healing way faster than I expected.
It’s almost closed, and that makes my eyes drift away from the wound and down to the hard bulge hiding beneath the towel.
“You’re looking a lot better,” I say with a large smile, silently thanking God—not that I’d ever say it out loud because I would never hear the end of it from Set.
“I am a lot better,” he smiles back, though I don’t really like the inflection in his voice.
“Do you want me to help you put some clothes on?” I ask, looking at him walking straight to me.
He gives a subtle shake of his head—a no—and I recognize something totally devious in his gaze. “Set,” I warn, feeling he’s about to do something reckless, but his direction doesn’t shift. That makes me jump up on the bed, scramble across, and stop next to the window.
He chuckles, quickly changing directions and appearing in front of me before I can react. “Set, no!” I warn, seeing the unmistakable rise of his towel. “You just got out of bed. This isn’t the right time for this.”
“It’s always the right time for this,” he murmurs, closing in the distance until I’m trapped, caged between the window and the cushioned bench, tucked beneath the tall pane of glass.
“Are you out of your mind? You’re still hurt.”
“I’ll get over it,” he says, already making room between my legs. “And I have the perfect way to speed up my healing.” His hands glide slowly up my thighs, his fingertips brushing my skin and causing pure delirium.
He reaches the top of my thighs but pauses. There’s no material between his fingers and my sensitive skin. “No panties? Maybe I should get shot more often.”
“I didn’t pack spare underwear to the club, and I just washed the pair I had on,” I explain before he’s the one asking questions. “It’s not like this was a planned road trip.”
“Saves me the trouble,” he whispers dangerously low, just as he leans in, his lips ghosting over mine, while he’s already positioning me against him.
I don’t get to protest before his towel slips, and he also slips inside of me.
At least the height of the window bench saves him some of the effort.
And he uses this leverage as best as he can, pressing me against the cold glass, his hips rolling forward until he’s fully seated inside me. I just pray his madness won’t kill him.
“Slow,” I breathe, hoping to hold him back, pressing my palms against his chest until I can feel the heat of his wound.
Not that it’s working. “This isn’t what you asked for last time.”
“You didn’t have a bullet wound last time,” I whimper, as he drives so deep, it nearly knocks the words out of me.
“The pain just makes me want to fuck you harder,” he breathes, hips moving like they’re sole goal is to break me.
And each one of his thrusts does just that, wrecking every nerve, claiming every inch of my core.
The window rattles behind me with every slam of my back against it, hard enough that I expect someone to barge in at any moment. But he doesn’t stop, just goes on and on and on, determined to break me, as if taking more of me, he could put himself back together.