Chapter 50
FIFTY
B efore I blink, we're back in my room at Thea's house.
A little dizzy, I take a step back.
"Oh, Ze..." I struggle not to laugh as I take a good look at him.
His black clothes are thoroughly stained by the melted ice, drops of it dripping down his body and onto the floor. His hair is utterly drenched in sweet ice, his black locks covered in a myriad of shades ranging from white to pink to brown—vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, and all the flavors in between. Smudges of chocolate sauce are on his face too, streaked across his forehead and his cheeks.
There's even a messy dot on his nose—though I have no idea how that got there.
I circle around him, quickly assessing the damage.
Though the front of his clothes is soiled, it's nothing compared to the back, where he took the brunt of the blows.
Those damn people!
Merely remembering that incident makes my blood boil again.
I reach out, brushing my hand over the back of his shirt and noticing the small cuts and tears in the material—he'd been hit. The bowls likely broke against his back and cut into his shirt...and his skin.
Of course, he's likely already healed from it. But that doesn't change the fact that it happened—that he couldn't even enjoy a simple dessert in public because people tried to kill him.
He might be the most hated man in Aperion but... There's just something utterly lonely and heartbreaking about him that makes me want to protect him—show him that he can live his life differently. Because no matter what he's said and done in the past, the undeniable truth is that...he doesn't know better.
He's lived his life as he was conditioned to, only existing, never truly living. For that alone, I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt—give him a chance that no one else seemingly has.
After I'm done with my perusal, I plant myself in front of him, meeting his gaze directly.
He blinks.
"Are you all right?" he inquires slowly.
"I'm fine. But you..." I shake my head. "Let's get you cleaned up," I say as I grab his hand—and get some sticky ice onto my skin—and pull him toward the bathroom. He follows dutifully.
I invite him to sit down on a chair next to the sink while I wet a cloth.
I gently dab the cloth across his face, first wiping the dirt off his forehead before moving to his cheeks and jaw. Lastly, I wipe the little cute dot off his nose.
All the while, he doesn't say a word as he watches me intently, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The purple of his eyes is even more magical this up close, and heat rises up my cheeks when I find myself staring at him, our gazes locked in an intimate embrace.
Clearing my throat, I rinse the wet cloth and leave it in the sink as I turn my attention to the mess on his neck and torso.
"May I?" I murmur in a low voice as I point to his shirt.
He gives me a pointed nod.
Reaching for the buttons of his shirt, I slowly undo them. He helps me by shrugging the shirt off his body and throwing it in the sink.
I swallow.
I've seen him without his shirt before. But that was when he was Ze. Now he is Azerius, and the changes are marked. The same tattoos that are on one side of his face run down his neck and torso, disappearing into the band of his pants.
Almost instinctively, I brush one finger against his collarbone, following the pattern of the tattoos downward. They're all symbols of some kind, ancient runes that remind me of mystical tales from mythology, of arcane knowledge. Some lines are harsh while others curl beautifully around his golden skin, contouring every ridge and emphasizing the pronounced muscles beneath.
"What do these mean?" I ask softly, slowly raising my gaze to meet his unflinching one.
His jaw hardens, a twitch appearing in his cheek.
I continue to trace the beautiful inked lines, allowing myself to touch him as never before. Yet as I reach lower, he suddenly stops me.
"My curse," he states in a rough voice.
"What?" I blink in surprise.
His hand engulfs mine, keeping it immobile. His expression changes, too, the lines of his face becoming harsher, more tense.
He stares at me, a million battles being fought behind his troubled gaze.
"It is how I am bound to the Supremes. You asked me why I let them use me, why I am the sword that delivers their sentences. Whether I want it or not, I am programmed to do their bidding."
"I don't..." I frown.
Bringing my hand to his face, he places my open palm against his tattooed cheek.
"To go against their mandates is to suffer dire consequences," he continues, his breath fanning the inside of my wrist. "But they did not think I would ever be capable of going against them."
"Why?" I whisper.
"Because they did not just program me to be their killing machine. They also stripped me of any emotion that might make me inclined to do otherwise—to think or want something else for myself."
"Then... The condition you were talking about?"
He nods.
"It is my curse."
My eyes widen.
"Then..." I swallow hard, dropping my hand from his face. "When you said my marks were caused by a god, did you mean..."
His expression tenses as he gives me a brisk nod.
"This is a curse?" I repeat feebly, my voice breaking.
"I do not know." He sighs. "It is the mark of a god," he continues, pulling me closer to him. His eyes dip to my neckline as he pulls on my bodice to reveal my dark marks. I gasp at the sound of the material tearing, but he doesn't give me the chance to pull back. He splays his palm over my chest, just above my breasts. Purple particles of energy envelop his hand, seeping into my skin.
"Ah," I yelp as the marks burn against my skin, humming as if alive.
Dropping his hand, he nods to me to look at myself. That is when I notice that the black of the marks is now a bright white.
"It is the energy of a god, though I cannot tell you what the purpose was. But I vow to you I shall find out."
Still staring at the changing color of my marks, now slowly going back to black, I nod numbly.
"Thank you." I smile as I bring my gaze to his. "We're quite similar, aren't we?" I chuckle in an attempt to make the situation less morose than it already is.
For years I've been thinking that these marks were merely Sergio's punishment, and so I'd hated them as I hated him. But they're not. Instead, they might be a curse from a god...
"I will not let anything happen to you, Luce," he says quietly. "I will find whoever marked you and I will get to the bottom of it. I may not be able to save myself, but I will save you."
My lips part as I stare at him, his pronouncement ringing in my ears.
Tearing my gaze from him, I wet the cloth again and bring it to his chest to wipe the remainder of the sticky substance.
"Maybe we can both be saved," I murmur.
He takes a deep breath.
"If only that were so..."
"Don't be so negative, Ze. Aren't you the most powerful guy around? I doubt there's anything that can stop you." I laugh nervously.
But one glance at him tells me he doesn't share my optimism.
"There is only a matter of time before the Supremes find out that their curse is weakening. When that happens... I do not want to risk your safety."
"Ze," I call his name in a playful tone. "Are you being nice?"
He blinks slowly before he realizes I'm making fun of him. The corners of his mouth curl up, amusement entering his previously stern features.
"I am...nice," he says tentatively. "I am nice," he repeats, this time more confidently.
Suddenly, it strikes me why he's so adamant about being nice . He's never been seen in a positive light by anyone in his life, has he? I struggle to keep the smile on my face as moisture clouds my sight. Maybe it's better that he didn't have emotions before so he couldn't realize just how godawful his life was, but what about now?
A tremor courses through me as images of him, depressed and alone, flash into my mind. He might appear strong and unbothered to everyone else, but I know better.
He can feel pain.
And it fucking breaks my heart.
Stifling a sob, I swipe the wet cloth over his abdominals, and a hiss escapes him.
"Ze?" I ask, worried.
He grinds his teeth.
"Continue." He nods at me.
I wipe the rest of the smudged ice from his skin until I reach close to the band of his pants, at which point I waver. His stomach is taut and riddled with muscled ridges. That coupled with the black ink and the bronzed, healthy glow of his skin and he looks like the cover model of Men's Health magazine. I might be taken, but I'm not blind. He is a handsome man—maybe a bit too handsome for his own good.
I bite my lip as my cheeks redden. This is inappropriate. I doubt he would appreciate being ogled like this.
"I think we're done here," I announce in a chirpy voice, taking a step back.
Ze raises a brow at me, watching me as he lazily leans backward, his muscles rippling with every movement. And to my everlasting shame, my eyes follow those hard lines.
"You can look your fill," he drawls.
I blink rapidly, my face flaming hot as I realize I've been caught gawking at him.
"S-sorry," I mumble, turning to the sink and rinsing the cloth again—and again. God, can the earth open up and swallow me? This is mortifying!
"Do not be sorry. I gather that you find my form pleasing?" he asks with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Erm..." I stammer. "You must be aware you are a handsome man," I add quietly, avoiding looking at him again.
"But do you find me pleasing, human?" he asks, his breath suddenly fanning my ear.
"Oh," I jump up, turning and bumping into him.
He braces his arms on the sink on either side of me, leaning down to look at me.
"I... I guess so." I attempt a smile.
He stares at me.
"That is good." He slowly nods, his expression pensive.
"I doubt I'm the only one. Didn't you say you have a legion of admirers?" I laugh awkwardly as I try to make light of the situation, though his nearness makes all the hairs on my body stand up. I gulp nervously, a little unsettled by the way he's watching me—like a hawk with his prey in sight.
"I may have... exaggerated," he grumbles.
My eyes widen as I raise my brows at him.
"Those who do chase after me do not do it for me . Rather, they want to tame the God Killer." He sighs, squaring his shoulders.
"Surely you've been told you're a good-looking man before?" I say before I can help myself.
His lips flatten.
"Right...?"
"Not in those terms, no."
"What, then?"
A deep, growly sound erupts from his throat.
"It does not matter," he suddenly says, stepping away from me.
Whatever I said must have hit a nerve, for he turns with his back to me, pacing around the bathroom.
"Uhm, Ze?"
"What?" He pivots, his expression half-feral.
I wet my lips, surprised by this sudden change in him.
"I think you need to get in the shower to remove the sweet ice from your hair."
He glares at me for a moment before his expression softens, his muscles relaxing, not that I'm looking at them— I'm not, really!
"You do it for me," he says before he grabs my hand and leads me to the shower.
"W-what?"
He doesn't waste any time as he steps inside the shower, taking a seat on the floor and waiting for me to wash him. He has half a smile on his face, his eyes sparkling as he looks up at me, and I find myself melting a little toward him.
Damn it, why does he have to be cute?
"Okay, I guess I can do that..." I trail off as I glance down at my dress. "Let me quickly change into casual clothes," I say and dash out of the shower. I quickly go back to the room and change into a pair of leggings and a plain shirt. When I get back, I find him fiddling with the settings on the mobile shower head, water spraying all around the shower stall. He's sporting an expression that's a mix of confusion and exasperation as he cannot get the shower to function properly. He's already wet, but not much cleaner than before.
"Let me take care of that," I mutter , taking the shower head and moving behind him.
Leaning back, he rests his weight on his elbows as he tips his head back. As I thread my hand through his locks, he closes his eyes, releasing a deep breath as he pushes himself further into my touch.
"Couldn't you have used those powers of yours to avoid getting hit?" I grumble as I set the water to warm before I place the stream over his hair, getting it thoroughly wet.
"I could have," he answers matter-of-factly.
"Then why didn't you?"
"I did not think of it."
"Why?" I frown.
"I did not want you to get hit." He shrugs, his eyes still closed.
I stare at him, replaying his words in my head until the meaning finally dawns on me.
"You foolish man." I shake my head, applying more force on his scalp and massaging it gently.
He releases a deep sound of satisfaction, something akin to a purr as a shudder travels down his body. He's like a cat. A water-loving, pampered cat, but one with the secret personality of a dog.
Grabbing the shampoo container, I pour a generous amount in his hair, working it up until his entire head is enveloped in foam.
"Smells good... like you," he murmurs, almost sleepily.
"Lily and tuberose are my favorite scents," I tell him.
"Is that what they are called..." he muses. "I shall have to acquire some for myself too."
"What do you usually use?" I ask as I bring the shower head over his forehead, gently rinsing the foam away. He preens, a gentle smile on his face as he sways his head from side to side, chasing the touch of my fingers.
"Plain soap," he murmurs absentmindedly. "I have never cared about scents before."
"No conditioner?"
"I do not know what that is."
"What you apply to your hair after you wash it. It makes it soft."
He suddenly opens his eyes, tipping his head farther back to look at me.
"Is that why your hair is so soft?"
I nod.
"Then you must use it on me too. Whatever you use to wash yourself, I shall have the same," he declares in his usual authoritative voice before he closes his eyes again, urging me to massage his scalp some more.
Since his hair was utterly soiled from the sweet ice, I apply another round of shampoo, working it into a foam before rinsing it again and applying some conditioner to make his hair softer. By the time I'm done, it's not just his hair that's soaking wet. We are, too. His pants are drenched, as are my shirt and leggings.
"Done," I declare, turning the water off and placing the shower head back in its place.
Ze releases a heavy sigh as he gets into a sitting position. Slowly, he turns his gaze to me.
"Thank you," he nods. "Now it is my turn."
I raise a brow at him, not understanding his meaning.
He gets to his feet, maneuvering me around in the shower stall until our positions are reversed. Hands on my shoulders, he pushes me down until my ass hits the ground.
W-what?
"You should take your shirt off," he suggests, already reaching for the hem.
"What are you doing?" I blink in confusion.
"You washed me. I will now wash you."
"But why? I'm not dirty, and these clothes are clean," I point out the obvious.
"I want to," he answers casually.
"But you don't have to," I say as I attempt to get up. He pushes me back down, starting the shower and placing it over my hair, getting it thoroughly wet.
I let out a surprised gasp.
"Your hair is so soft and long," he murmurs as he threads his fingers through my locks. "And it is such an odd color. Sometimes it reminds me of sunburnt sand, while other times it gives off a brownish hue, almost like the ancient rocks that have been eroded by time and the elements."
"Did you just say my hair is the color of a rock?" I ask as I stifle a laugh. I know he meant it as a compliment, but I think we've ascertained that Ze is not the best at giving compliments.
He suddenly stops the shower.
"Is that all you have understood from my words?" He tsks at me. "You are an odd human." He shakes his head at me.
"I rather think I am the only human you know."
"That does not mean you are not odd," he continues in his authoritative voice. "But do not mistake my meaning. I happen to like your brand of oddness. You are welcome." He nods to himself, satisfied.
My lips tremble with amusement, but I fear I may offend him if I burst into laughter. Despite his supercilious demeanor, Ze is quite the sensitive soul, isn't he? I know his words are all well-intended, which is why I'm going to give him a wide berth when it comes to his...unusual proclamations. If there's anyone here who is odd, it's most definitely him!
Done with his explanation, he shampoos my hair just as I'd done for him, carefully massaging my scalp.
My eyes flutter closed as a sigh escapes me. That does feel so heavenly.
He washes my hair thoroughly, rinsing it before adding a thick layer of conditioner.
He's so good at this that I can't help the way my body relaxes, sleep courting my lashes. I'm lulled into such a deep sense of comfort that I barely realize as I lean back against his legs, slowly falling asleep.
But it was too good to be true.
The jet of water hits me in the face, making me scramble in surprise. The shower head is right above my face as he sprays me.
"What are you doing?" I sputter, bringing my hands to wipe the moisture from my eyes.
"You cannot fall asleep yet," he tells me in a stern tone. "I am not done."
I blink at him, not understanding.
"Does it matter if I'm awake or not? You can continue what you were doing." I wave my hand at the shower.
"It matters." He gives me a decisive nod. "You need to be awake to judge my skills."
"What?"
"It is my first time washing someone's hair. I am sure I did a good job, of course, but you need to be awake to be able to assess my skills."
I stare at him as I rub my eyes.
"You did well, Ze," I add weakly, but no sooner are the words out of my mouth than a brilliant smile appears on his face. Oh, dear. He just wanted to be praised.
"Worthy of a bonus point?" he asks sheepishly.
I shake my head at him, once more stupefied. Even when I think I have him all figured out, he surprises me again.
"Fine. You've got your bonus point," I say.
Just as he rejoices at his meager bonus point, I take advantage of his lack of awareness to grab the shower head from him, spraying him in the face just as he did to me.
Take that! See how it feels to be sprayed unawares.
He jolts back, a look of surprise crossing his face. But it's soon replaced by a huge grin as he charges at me, wrestling me to the ground in an attempt to get the shower head from me.
Water sprays everywhere. On the walls, the ceiling. On his body, on my body. Even outside the shower stall.
Water is everywhere. So is the laughter echoing in the room as I try to keep him from gaining control of the shower head, spraying him with it whenever I get the chance. When he finally wrestles it from me, I take advantage of the shampoo container within my grasp and squirt a few drops in my hand, rubbing my palms together until it foams. Holding my hands near my face, I blow the foam into his face, rendering him immobile for a moment as I slip from under him and run out of the stall.
"You will pay for this, human," he thunders, his lashes covered in foam.
Yet how can I take him seriously with bubbles clinging to his hair?
My stomach hurts from too much laughter, and though I try to get away, I'm always looking over my shoulder, even more amused by the sight he poses. Black pants and white foam, he is the epitome of scary cute.
He realizes it, too, and to my greatest surprise, he doesn't take himself seriously as he strikes a pose, his stance that of a foam warrior ready for war.
I double over from laughter, giving him enough time to catch up with me. One last attempt to get away, and I enter the bedroom, my feet slippery as they meet the wooden floor.
"Oops," I squeal as I teeter back and forth. But then he's suddenly there, at my back, holding on to me.
Of course he's not being helpful out of the kindness of his heart as his foam-filled hands cover my neck and arms, roaming around until I'm just as bubbly as he is.
"Stop it, Ze." I giggle, moving my head from side to side to avoid getting foam on my face.
"You started this," he rasps, a playfulness in his voice unlike any I've heard before. "Do you surrender?"
"Never," I call out.
"Oh, you will." He chuckles, leaning down to rub his cheek against mine, transferring some of the bubbles from him to me.
I squeak aloud, a sharp noise that is half scream, half giggle.
He wraps his arms around my midriff as he continues to assault me with his foam-filled cheek until we're both two bubble warriors engaged in a spumy battle for supremacy.
His laughter echoes in my ear, a warm, fuzzy sound that I've started to crave more and more.
But as the sounds we make become louder and more intense, the door to my room suddenly bursts open, Thea, her mother, and father standing in the doorway and staring at us in shock.
Both Ze and I freeze, his body still wrapped around mine, our faces glued together—or, rather, bubbled up together.
"I... I thought something happened to you. There was a loud noise and..." Thea stammers.
"We should have knocked," Maros adds awkwardly.
They don't move, though, quietly staring at us.
"Maybe we should leave," Rhea murmurs quietly.
"I do agree, love." Maros nods.
"That would be for the best," Thea agrees robotically.
But no one makes an effort to move.
It's only when Ze gets his bearings together that he shuts the door in their faces with a flippant wave of his hand.
"I hate people," he mutters under his breath. But as his gaze meets mine, his eyes widen slightly. "Not you," he quickly amends. "You are not people."
"Really?" I ask, amused. "What am I then?"
"Mine," he answers simply, unflinchingly.