Chapter 17
Charisma
“Iassumed that you would be happy about the changes,” Eros said later that night after he let me in. Tonight, he was dressed in fine linen, the crisp fabric a welcome change from yesterday’s lack of clothes.
I shook my head as we ascended the stairs. “It’s your house, Eros. If I say I don’t like the floor, would you change it?” I gave him a look but received a contemplating stare in return.
“I could arrange that.”
“No,” I said, stressing the word. “The right answer is no.”
The entire conversation seemed to bewilder Eros, and his eyes squinted as if trying to make sense of it all. “I am having trouble understanding. Why is it considered wrong to appease you, mortal?”
I stopped in front of the library door, remembering his promise of a quiet reading time while he finished his book. The notion was so appealing that I immediately agreed, even before he could finish proposing it.
“Why would you even want to please me?”
My shoulders dropped, and something in Eros’s eyes shifted. As a person who was supposed to be in love with him, I’d be a fool not to appreciate his willingness.
He cleared his throat. “I express my appreciation by offering gifts. I’ll strive to avoid making you uncomfortable again, but you should try to understand that everyone shows appreciation in their own unique way.
” Eros tilted his head to look down at me.
Rather than being judgmental, he sought to clarify that his intentions were not to cause harm.
“I am having some trouble discerning your love language. Perhaps if you were to share it with me, we may then communicate effectively if you do not understand mine.”
I couldn’t stop a huff from escaping my lips.
Love language. My cheeks heated as I tried to find the answer to his question but came up empty.
Instead of revealing how clueless I was about the topic, I gave a half-hearted reply to his inquiry.
“My love language is doing something because you want to, not because I asked or joked about it.”
I didn’t even wonder about the sheer absurdity of a god knowing the term “love language”. If I had been in the right state of mind, I would’ve probably laughed at the sound of the words slipping from his lips.
With a twist of my wrist, I threw the door open and stepped inside, followed closely by Eros. I took a deep breath, letting the smell of books fill my lungs.
In the dim light, I frowned at the wooden table in the center, a few open books scattered across its surface.
I could’ve sworn it wasn’t there yesterday.
My steps echoed as I approached and effortlessly recognized the titles, unlike upon entering the library the day before when nothing was familiar. If anything, I knew them too well.
I fished a book off a shelf and traced its cover with my fingertips. “Where did you get these from?” My question filled the silence as I flipped through the pages.
“Earth.”
“This is my favorite book.” I took a deep breath in when I noticed scattered notes in my writing. My head snapped to Eros. “Is this my book?”
“Yes.”
My heart started beating faster in my chest. I had already figured out the answer but couldn’t help myself from asking. “And how exactly did you get it?”
“I obtained it from your home.”
My heartbeat slowed, a muffled drum against my ribs, as if it might cease entirely at any moment. “My house? You’ve been to my house? Why?”
Eros stepped closer, a slow twinkle dancing in his eyes. “You indicated that my communication style was overly formal, and I believed that acquiring these books would help me moderate that.”
I took a deep breath, my fingers shaking as they let go of the book, landing with a thud on the table. Eros had been at my shack. Where my mother was. “My mother. Is she all right? Have you seen her?”
He hesitated, then moved to gather the books into a pile. “I am unable to disclose that information.”
I hurried to him, catching him by his elbow and sensing his warmth. I needed to know.
“Please.” Tears swelled in my eyes and unlike other times, I didn’t fight them away.
When it came to my mother, pride was the last thing on my mind.
“I need to know,” I almost begged. “In the forest, I had a hallucination where my father killed both of us. I know it was just part of the trial, but I still need to know she’s alive and well. ”
I squeezed his arm, my knuckles turning white.
The weight of the world seemed to press down on me like a suffocating blanket.
The memory of the vision, so vivid and raw, clawed at the edges of my mind.
The metallic tang of blood, the chilling stare of my father’s—it was a nightmare I couldn’t shake.
Eros’s expression was unreadable as he witnessed me losing myself inside my head. He reached out, his palm covering mine, and his thumb brushing against my knuckles in a silent gesture of comfort.
“Yes,” was all he said.
“Yes, as in she’s all right? And alive?” I pushed, teeth sinking into my bottom lip.
“That concludes what I can divulge. I trust that is enough.”
I nodded, freeing him from my grip and taking a step back. I never imagined that a simple yes could be the source of such profound comfort. I took it as confirmation that my mother was alive, the weight of the hallucination lifting like a heavy cloak.
“Thank you,” I managed to whisper, the twitch of my fingers easing.
I pushed the thoughts away. She was safe and well; that was all that mattered.
The worries that once plagued my mind had dissipated, replaced by a sense of calm.
With each breath, I felt a load lifting off my shoulders.
I knew that challenges would inevitably come my way, but for now, I was holding tightly onto this moment.
Eros stuffed the books into the library and retrieved my favorite, glancing down at it with a frown. “Humans seem to speak without contemplation and with minimal effort.”
I let a small smile move across my lips.
“That is not entirely true. It’s just that some types of speech are used for different occasions,” I explained, and Eros watched me carefully as if making notes in his mind.
“But I don’t think you can fully understand that, so it would be best to learn it as a new language.
When I study a new language, I like to know how to cuss first.”
Eros frowned, his lips twitching. “May I inquire the reason for that?”
I approached him and I found myself wanting to kiss him hard for telling me about my mother’s well-being.
He smelled like the color red, I noticed, sensing the similarity for the first time. Strong, imposing, beautiful, and intriguing.
“Well, to be prepared. You never know when you need to cuss someone.” I shrugged, enjoying the befuddled expression on his face. “How do you cuss here?”
He thought for a moment, then he spoke as if the words had always lingered on the tip of his tongue, ready to be said out loud. “By the gods, may you end up in the Underworld and—”
“No, that’s absolutely horrible.” My laughter, a sound both unexpected and involuntary, filled the space.
Eros gazed at me, drinking in the sound of my laughter for the first time, and savoring the moment as if it were a fine wine savored after a tiring day before he allowed his own lips to curve into a smile.
“You will frighten no one if you talk like that,” I continued, wiping the tears from the corner of my eyes. “An actual threat sounds something like this: if you don’t listen to me, I’ll cut off your dick, feed it to Hades’ dogs and make you watch, while I tear your limbs off piece by piece.”
Although I hardly ever cursed, I found that picking up curse words in a new language while watching TV was surprisingly more simple than learning other phrases, so it became routine whenever I studied a language.
Eros’s face contorted, his eyes widening in surprise before he shuffled his feet.
“You imagined it, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Was it bad?”
He glanced at me as if I had grown a second head. “Yes. I shall admit I don’t like the word cut being placed next to male genitals.”
I snorted. “Like any other man,” I pointed out. “Now, your turn. Threaten me.” I knew it shouldn’t have sounded as sexual as it did, but I couldn’t take it back now.
With a dangerous look in his eyes, Eros leaned against the bookcase, trapping the book between his chest and arm as he let his gaze travel down my body, recklessly low.
“If you don’t . . .” he began, picking his words carefully, “button your shirt, then I will ensure there will be no shirt for you to wear tonight.”
My lips parted, shuddered breaths rolling past my tongue.
I fixed him with my eyes, searching for any change in expression to communicate that he was joking, but Eros remained stern, unmoving.
A warm shiver traveled from the tips of my toes to the place between my thighs.
I instinctively squeezed them together, and he didn’t miss the movement, his eyes landing right on the place hidden under the oversized shirt. How did the conversation get to this?
I tried to deflect, to laugh it off but his unwavering gaze, that intense and possessive look, had trapped me.
Each flicker of my eyes, the deep inhales I took, the way my fingers fidgeted with the hem of my clothing—he saw it all.
He absorbed it and analyzed it. The room itself seemed to shrink, and my attempt at nonchalance crumbled under the weight of his scrutiny.
A gulp made its way down my throat. “That was . . . a good try.”
It would be a first for me to be at a loss for words, and his next words didn’t help me regain them either.
“A threat,” he corrected.
How could a man look at a woman like this? Like he was ready to tear her apart with one single blink? He was the God of Love.