11. Where Screaming Voicemails From Asshat Exes Cannot Ruin A Cozy Morning （And The Empress Begins Doubting This Entire Plan…）
WHERE SCREAMING VOICEMAILS FROM ASSHAT EXES CANNOT RUIN A COZY MORNING (AND THE EMPRESS BEGINS DOUBTING THIS ENTIRE PLAN…)
The blood had long since stopped, and Nemesis was resting peacefully—or as peacefully as the Goddess of Vengeance could—in her bed in the penthouse, and yet, Hera still felt the heat of it on her hands.
She scrubbed her palms under the steady stream of the faucet in the spare bathroom and questioned if she would ever not feel it on her skin. The conflicting emotions of not wanting to ever feel it again and never wanting to stop feeling it tore at her chest, making breathing difficult.
A throat clearing just steps from the ajar bathroom door was a distraction. Hera wondered if it would be a welcome one.
“If you’re here to explain what happened, do so quickly.”
The door cracked a touch wider, revealing Clio’s apologetic face.
“Uhm… Well…”
Hera threw the door fully open, banging it against the wall, and brushed past the muse. In the middle of the kitchen, she stopped, turned around and realized she had no idea why she was where she was to begin with.
The muse stood a few steps behind her, cautiously assessing the situation, emotions fleeting on the chiseled features, the always carefully arranged bob uncharacteristically disheveled, the lower lip split and bleeding.
Hera waved her hand and healed the small cut, not bothering to make it painless.
Clio hissed and brought her hand up, touching the now-whole flesh.
Hera told herself she’d helped because the sight of blood reminded her too much of Nemesis’s bruised face. She chose not to dwell too long on any other reasons. She was absolutely not going soft.
“Speak, Muse.”
Clio bit the newly healed lip, and Hera almost rolled her eyes. Seriously? The muse smiled sheepishly, caught out.
“The security was too much. It’s the truth. We had everything planned out. It was a good plan too. I mean, she’s stubborn and rash, but I did devise a good plan. I have centuries of good plans to draw from. So…”
“So?” Hera tapped her foot.
“So, we should have amended the plan when we were confronted with too much security. We couldn’t foresee the old bastard doubling and, in places, tripling his guards. I guess after the corporate takeover thing, he might’ve wisened up. I don’t know…”
Hera snapped her fingers and halted Clio’s rambling.
“I don’t care about what you don’t know. I care about what you do. Go on.”
Clio bit her lip again before catching Hera’s gaze and hurrying into an explanation.
“I tried to tell her that we should change the plans and return another time. She refused. Said this needed to be done. And I mean, when all things are considered, it did get done. Just… At a cost.”
Hera tsked.
“Yes, of her kidneys, and hands, and face.”
“For what it’s worth, I think she did it for you.”
Hera started, and whatever showed in her eyes must have frightened the muse, because Clio took a sudden step back, her breath coming out in a loud whoosh.
“I didn’t ask her to…” Hera trailed off, her heart beating heavy in her chest.
Damn that woman, Damn Zeus. Damn it all to Hell, let Hades take them all.
Around the corner of the kitchen, the small bear chorus intoned “Hades take them aalllllll!” to the tune of “All By Myself”. Hera set her hands palm down on the kitchen counter and closed her eyes. She needed air. And she couldn’t leave. Not with Nemesis—
“I’m okay.” The voice was hoarse, tired and broken. The face was bruised, drawn and belligerent. Clio perked up.
“Oh, great, you’re up. Well, I guess I’ll be going. These art pieces need to be delivered to Greece, and the plane is waiting for me. Hermes said he’d do the honors, but I have to escort the art.”
Hera tuned out the voice. All she could see were the blue eyes that were too shadowed to decipher the expression in them, and yet she wanted nothing but to find out what was behind them.
“Why did you do it?”
Clio disappeared from the kitchen, and Hera heard her usher the bears out with her.
Which probably resembled herding cats, but if anyone could herd the felines and the bears, it would be the all-capable Muse of History.
She ignored the singing and cajoling. Nemesis took a few more steps into the space, leaning against the counter opposite to Hera.
“We have a deal.”
“I asked you to come back unharmed. No deal is worth getting injured.” Hera grabbed the counter till her knuckles turned white.
“That’s not for you to judge.”
Nemesis shrugged, and Hera saw red.
“Do not patronize me! I waited for you! I couldn’t stand—”
“Were you worried about me, Your Majesty?”
Nemesis’s smile was sly. Hera took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.
Then she took another. Then she realized no matter how many breaths she took, nothing would quiet the anger, the ache in her chest. So she stepped around the counter and touched Nemesis’s chin, turning the battered face towards herself.
She slowly caressed the already deep purple bruise that ran along the sharp cheekbone, then raised on her tiptoes and placed a gentle kiss on it, the skin slowly healing further under her ministrations.
Nemesis blinked, and the ice-cold eyes turned watery just for a second.
Hera’s fingertips touched the angular jaw line, the pain transferring, slowly, gently, lifting off the pale skin and into her fingertips.
She kept a neutral expression. Nemesis watched her closely.
“You need to lie down, you’re weak and clearly hallucinating. I have errands to run.”
She dropped her fingers. Nemesis reached for her, trying to still her hand, but Hera was already at the doorway. She shook her head, and Nemesis remained rooted to the spot, as always heeding every command.
“Be a good girl.”
Hera felt the tears sting the backs of her eyes at the pain crossing Nemesis’ face at her words. She turned on her heel and left. Some things she shouldn’t see. The Goddess of Vengeance, tearing up at being called “good,” was one of them.
Hours later, the twilight bathed the penthouse in golden colors. Hera closed the door behind herself and felt the silence of the apartment settle around her.
She had walked the streets of Manhattan till her feet no longer registered the pavement, till her eyes no longer noticed the surroundings. The pedestrians parted like the sea before her. Nobody troubled her. And yet…
“You’re troubled.”
Hera did not jump up, but it was a near miss. Nemesis echoed her own thoughts in ways Hera found both disturbing and exhilarating.
“You’re still here.”
“The job is not done yet.” Nemesis stepped closer cautiously. As if afraid of Hera’s reaction.
“You’re telling me you have no other place to be?”
Hera chose her words carefully.
“I’m telling you I want to be here. Is that okay?”
Hera exhaled. Maybe that was enough honesty for one day. Between Clio and…
“Is that okay?” Nemesis repeated. She was much nearer now; Hera had missed her approach. The woman did move like a damn cat.
“Yes. Do what you want—”
“I want to do you.” A cool hand was on her skin, mirroring her own gesture from yesterday. Turning her face to look up at Nemesis. They really were too obsessed with chin lifts for their own good, overdoing it for sure.
Hera felt her thoughts spiral before they simply evaporated in a cloud of spun caramel scent as her full lips descended.
The kiss took her breath away. Such a cliché. And impossibly correct. There was no other way to describe it. No other way to perceive it. Nemesis was gentle, and it all but destroyed Hera. Tender lips glided slowly, tenderly over hers, sampling, tasting. Loving—
Hera pulled back sharply.
“No.”
Nemesis watched her attentively. Like one watches a person holding a hot grenade.
“No?” She asked. “No, don’t kiss me?”
Hera tried to lick her lips, her mouth dry, painfully so. Then she shook her head, reaching for Nemesis’s collar, pulling her closer, till they were chest to chest.
“No, not like that.”
Nemesis’s eyebrows lifted in a silent question before a shadow flitted in the enigmatic eyes, and she nodded.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
When their mouths connected the second time, the kiss held nothing of the tenderness. Nothing of the caring worship. It was teeth and tongues and biting, almost searing heat.
Hera felt herself being pushed into the nearest wall, her arms lifted above her head.
Nemesis did not go gently, nor did she spare Hera any of the sensations.
The rough brick against her back, the hot mouth devouring hers, the nails digging into her wrists.
Nothing was hidden, nothing was withheld.
Everything was out in the open. Every cut, every bruise, every kiss, every caress.
When the rough fingers tore her silk thong off, she felt unmoored. Untethered by any restraint. This, this, this was what she wanted. What she needed.
If the wordless thrust of three fingers felt hollow, Hera bit her lip and swallowed the thought. This was what she wanted. And when all was said and done, this was what she was choosing for the time that she still had.