Chapter 7 #2
My teeth rake over my bottom lip as I look up into his haunting, dark eyes. “Why are you so interested in me?” I ask softly.
Achilles’ brows knit, but he doesn’t answer.
“Are you going to finish your run?” he growls, easing the tension a little.
My shoulders lift. “I…thought I would?”
He nods. “Okay.”
My hands ball nervously at my sides, the nails of my index fingers picking at the cuticles of my thumbs. I shift awkwardly on my feet, suddenly aware of the cool fall air against my bare arms and legs now that I’m not moving.
Achilles cocks his head slightly to the side, his eyes still locked on mine.
“Are you looking for my permission?”
I blush. “No.”
He doesn’t say anything else. So…I guess that’s the conversation, then.
Awkwardly, I walk around him and kick off, shivering as I start to run away, almost like I’m waiting for him to pounce on me.
He starts to jog alongside me.
I stop abruptly.
“What are you doing?” I ask, more forcefully than I intended.
Achilles shrugs, looking at me like I’ve just asked the dumbest question in the history of dumb questions. “You’re not running alone at night.”
I roll my eyes. “Thank you. But I’m fine.”
“You’re welcome. But I’m not going anywhere.”
My brow furrows. “I don’t need a chaperone, Achilles.”
He doesn't reply.
Okay…
Still frowning and a little unclear what’s happening, I turn and start to jog again. Achilles falls into step beside me. I try to ignore his magnetically dark presence, but him being so close to me seems to suck the oxygen out of the air around us.
Abruptly, I stop running.
“What is it?” he growls, skidding to a halt.
“I…” I frown and shake my head. “I can’t do this.”
“Really? You seem to be a pretty good runner.”
“No, I mean…” I glance up at him. “You’re in jeans, a hoodie, and boots.”
“That doesn’t bother me.”
I bark out a nervous laugh. “Well, maybe it bothers me. You look like a normal person and I’m sweating like a pig over here.”
A gasp catches in my throat as he takes a step closer.
“I truly don’t mind,” he murmurs, his dark eyes locking with mine. “And maybe I like you sweaty, and panting, slightly out of breath,” he says quietly.
My skin prickles and heat teases through me. The slithering thing inside me coils tighter in my core as I swallow heavily.
“Are you stalking me?”
Jesus God, why did I just say that? Alone with him, at night, with woods on one side of us and a fucking cliff on the other?
And the more pressing question, why do I actually not feel like I’m in danger?
Achilles looks at me for a moment, his dark eyes unblinking.
“What’s your favorite sexual position?”
My jaw drops, and I blink in utter shock. “Excuse me?” I squeal.
He smirks. “Shall I repeat myself?”
“No!” I blurt, my face suddenly hot and tingling. “And I’m not telling you!”
“Hmm. In any case, I would call what I’m doing digging, since you won’t tell me these things. But if you’d prefer stalking, I’m fine with that word too.”
I stare at him. “Why would I tell you something like that?”
“Mine is generally from behind,” he says matter-of-factly. “But with you, I think I’d prefer you on your back, your legs around my waist, your arms bound over your head, and your tits jiggling as I impale you on my cock.”
My entire universe turns to liquid fire. It’s simultaneously the most offensively crude and single hottest thing anyone has ever said to me, and it’s like my brain can’t figure out which side to focus on first.
“I—I—” Words fail me as I stare at him, my jaw still agape and my pulse thudding in my ears.
“Let’s try a different question,” he murmurs darkly, his eyes gleaming. “Did you just come out for a run to clear your head, or was a small part of you hoping that if you did, maybe I’d chase you again.”
The thing coiling inside me tightens and squeezes, turning my insides to jelly as I stare up into his gorgeous, nightmarish face.
But his question pulls at a thread I’ve been trying to ignore.
“W-who were you meant to meet that night at the party?” I ask hesitantly, not sure if I want to know the answer, and even less sure about why that is.
Achilles regards me for a moment.
“You, apparently,” he murmurs.
It’s not flirtation. It’s not him being smooth or suave. He just says it like he’s stating a fact, like telling me what the capital of Iowa is.
Heat blossoms in my face as a tingling sensation flickers over my skin.
“I’m serious,” I mumble.
Achilles cocks his head slightly to the side. ”So am I.”
Silence descends over us until all I can hear is the soft crash of the waves at the bottom of the cliffs and the dull, rhythmic thudding of my heart in my ears.
“I didn’t know about the additional stories on that building,” I blurt. “I mean, I don’t think my dad did, either. But I’m not involved with any of that—”
“I didn’t imagine that was the case,” he says in a low, even tone. His baritone voice hums around me, circling my throat like a lover’s finger tracing my skin.
“But isn’t that why you’re so interested in me?” I croak.
Achilles says nothing.
“So why?!” I finally yell, my whole body jolting as the pressure releases. “Why are you so interested in me?! “Why the hell are you—”
I gasp sharply, trembling as Achilles suddenly surges into me and wraps a strong hand around my throat. His big fingers press on my skin, and a whimper rattles from my chest as my wide eyes stare up into his hauntingly beautiful face.
“Because you caught my attention, little prey,” he growls.
I hear footsteps on gravel behind me. With a jolt, I pull away, whirling toward the sound.
“Someone’s coming,” I say. When there’s nothing but silence in reply, I glance back to Achilles. “Someone's—”
He’s gone.
I whirl in shock, feeling I’ve somehow misplaced the six-foot-four demigod who was just standing right behind me.
“Lena?”
I whirl back, blinking in surprise to see Damiano walking around the bend in the cliffside path. Like Achilles, he’s all in black—t-shirt, pants, shoes, and…
Gloves.
He’s also got one hand behind his back.
What the hell…?
“Who were you talking to?” he says in a concerned tone.
“No one,” I lie, then nod at him with my chin. “What’s behind your back?”
Damiano’s face is utterly neutral. But there’s tension in his body.
“Nothing,” he shrugs.
I do love my not-really-cousin. But I’d be lying if I said there weren’t times when he just seems off. Not a dangerous off, and not a “this is me without the mask” off, like Achilles. Just…I don’t know…
Off.
I sometimes wonder if my opinion of him is shaped by knowing his dad, Carmine Barone, is legit a little psycho, though it’s clear Damiano’s mother, Lyra, manages to dull the edges of it.
Damiano isn’t his father. But you know what they say. Apples…trees.
He frowns, glancing around like he’s looking for something. “What are you doing out here, Yelena?”
“Running?” I answer honestly.
Mostly honestly.
“Alone,” he growls. “At night.”
Maybe not so alone…
“Dame, it’s fine. Knightsblood is a closed campus, with guards—”
“Like fuck it’s fine,” he grunts. “I’m walking you home.” He pauses, frowning for a second, his head half-turning to glance at the arm behind his back.
“Hang on.”
Damiano disappears into the trees next to the path. A moment later, he emerges, sans gloves, wiping his palms on his jeans.
“Business?” I ask with a nervous smile.
“More like hobby. Come on.”
We start to walk down the path I just ran up, heading back toward campus. After a minute or two of silence, Damiano clears his throat.
“Who were you talking to, Yelena.”
“Nobod—”
“I’m not an idiot.”
I glance over at him, cocking a brow. “Okay, what were you doing out at night, and what did you hide in the woods that you obviously didn’t want me to see?”
He glances at me, twisting his lips but saying nothing.
“Those questions aren’t the same weight,” he finally growls. “Who—”
“No?” I smile sweetly as I step in front of him, forcing him to stop. “Then how about I throw in a slightly weightier question concerning the black lipstick on your collar.”
His face tenses up, his hand going to the fabric near his neck.
“Huh,” I grin. “Seems we’ve reached an impasse on both subjects.”
He exhales slowly, shaking his head and giving me a searching look. “The longer we're at school together, the more I understand why Uncle Nero and Aunt Milena asked me to keep an eye on you.”
I laugh. Damiano sighs, chuckles, and then ruffles my hair despite my severe protests as we turn and start heading back to Morvaine Manor.
But all the time I’m smiling and chatting with my cousin, I have the unshakeable feeling that there are eyes on me.
Haunting me.
Following me.
Not once blinking or looking away, even when I’m back in my room and sliding under the covers, wondering if it’ll be my dark nightmares or darker fantasies that welcome me to sleep.