54. Greer
Greer
A knock on my door drags me from my thoughts, and I know who it is before I pull it open. The familiar scent of burning embers and oak slips through the cracks. Atlas stands with one arm propped against the frame, towering over me, his head hung low.
When his gaze lifts, the carefree spirit that traveled at my side through Solace is gone. There are shadows in his expression. Dark circles make caves of his eyes.
I step aside, and he walks into my room without a word as I close the door behind him.
“How is Perame?” I ask, resting my back against it, terrified that if I take a step closer, I’ll slip back into that vulnerability he so easily stirs.
“Awake.” Relief courses through me at that single word.
“And her magic?”
He shakes his head, dragging a hand through his thick red hair. “We’ve yet to get that far.”
Atlas crosses his arms over his chest, which tightens his tunic over his rounded shoulders. The fading sunset streams through the room, and he glows like the flames he wields. A fire that doesn’t fade in the darkness—it comes alive.
When I woke up beside him in the cave, I almost gave in to him.
Into that ever-burning flame he stokes inside me.
I lay there while Atlas remained asleep, watching his chest rise and fall.
I soaked in the glow of the sunrise bathing over him, and I let myself think for a moment I could explore what he awoke with his kiss.
With his touch.
And then I climbed out of the bed and got dressed, leaving those thoughts behind.
Atlas was right; Fae like us aren’t built for love.
We’ve learned the hard way how it can be used against us.
We’re warriors, and after our time together, we might be friends, but I refuse to give in to those errant thoughts that danced while I watched him sleep in the cave. Anything more is dangerous.
I look away just as the sun dips below the trees. “I hear we’re leaving first thing in the morning.”
“Greer.” My name pulls my gaze back to him, and he’s frowning. “About our trip—”
“It was a mission, Atlas.” I brush him off, pushing off the door and busying myself around my room. “Emotions get tangled when the possibility of death sits on the horizon. We enjoyed ourselves for one night because we both thought we were going to die the next day. That’s all. We have to move on.”
“You don’t mean that.”
I glance back at him. Hurt hardens his expression. There’s always a breaking point; we all have them. Between his sister and my words, I sense Atlas is on the brink of his. But he doesn’t flinch; he doesn’t leave.
Stubborn, egotistical male.
His resolve is too strong, and if I’m not careful, he’ll be the one breaking me.
I roll my shoulders back, straightening my spine. “Don’t tell me that in all your battles you haven’t found yourself in random beds to take your mind off things. It’s what we do to disconnect from the fight—from all the death. We had fun. It was a nice distraction, but that’s all it can be.”
His jaw ticks.
“If you came here thinking I’d just fall back into bed with you—”
“Gods, Greer.” He drags his hand over his face, grunting his annoyance. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Well then maybe you should go. I need to get ready for the ceremony.” I tip my chin to the door.
Atlas’s hands fall to his sides. He’s so broad he overwhelms my room. I can’t see past him. I can barely breathe with his scent flooding my senses.
“My sister almost died,” he says finally, ignoring most of what I’ve said as he steps closer. “Do you think it hasn’t crossed my mind how easy it would be if I didn’t have to feel that? If I didn’t have a godsforsaken weakness like her?”
I shrug, feigning indifference.
He takes another step closer, and heat flushes my skin. “But then what’s the point of any of this? What’s the point of even being here if I don’t give a crap about anything?”
I try to stand firm, arms crossed over my chest as he paces the room, not stopping until he’s directly in front of me. Atlas tucks a tight dark curl behind my ear, dragging a finger along the silver-winged cuff that decorates it.
“I’ve spent as much time sharing beds as I’ve spent in battle,” he says, and I hate that it makes my stomach ache. “Not one of them brought me to their doorstep the next day. Not one of them made me feel the need to explain myself. Not one of them meant anything close to you.”
He traces my jaw with his fingers, leaning in and daring to kiss my forehead.
I almost shove him off—punch him for having the audacity to do that. But I’m frozen when his hot lips press to my skin. My eyes flutter, and I breathe him in.
Atlas steps back, but nothing cools this endless burning.
“I just thought you deserved to know what you mean to me, considering what we’re walking into tomorrow.” He turns to leave, and I’m aching to stop him.
My fingers twitch, and I want to shout for him to stop. To stay. My throat burns, but none of it comes out. Silence stretches, and I let him leave. But those eyes—violet-flecked galaxies—stay with me long after the sun sets and my room turns dark. Long after he’s gone.
No one has meant anything close to him either. And that’s why it’s better we stop this now.