Chapter 24 The Wrong Effect #2
I inhaled deeply, nose brushing the warm skin of his neck, and frowned, because now that I was aware of it, the scent was unfair.
“You smell nice,” I informed him, as if he were a candle I planned to buy. “What smell are you wearing?”
“I do not wear a scent,” he said.
“Well, you don’t need to,” I replied. “Because this works.”
His shoulders shook faintly.
“Careful,” he said dryly. “You’re going to make me blush,” he teased, and I laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, echoing through the trees.
It startled me that I could laugh at all in the Badlands.
That laughter could exist somewhere, built from petrified victims and predatory beauty.
But then again, the drug in my veins didn’t seem to care about logic, and neither, apparently, did I.
As we walked, I grew quieter for a moment, the earlier giddiness dimming into something else.
The forest slipped past around us, dark and watchful, but I felt strangely safe held against him like this.
The way someone would feel safe in a locked room during a storm, even if they knew the house was haunted.
“They lied to me,” I said suddenly, my voice small.
His pace slowed.
“What did they say?” he asked.
“That Atlas needed me,” I replied, pouting. “That he was here.”
His jaw tightened, and his body shifted immediately, a predator recalling a threat.
“That was unkind,” he said. No bullshit or fake pity. Just a statement that sounded sincere.
I nodded, my chin pressing into his chest.
“Very.”
He adjusted his grip on me, one arm bracing me more securely, protective in a way that made my chest ache. Because I didn’t understand why he was capable of softness at all.
“You’ll see him again, soon, I am sure,” he said after a moment.
I lifted my head, eyes wide and hopeful, and the moonlight caught on the faint shimmer beneath his skin, turning him almost mythic, like the statues I had seen brought to life.
“Do you really think so?”
“I know so,” he replied.
The certainty in his voice settled something deep inside me, and I sighed, content. My fingers idly traced the strong lines of his shoulder, and then, because the universe hated me, the thought of Atlas came barreling in behind that contentment like a blade.
“You’re not that scary,” I told him, as if I were handing him a compliment he hadn’t earned.
He huffed. “Did you forget what you just witnessed?”
“No,” I said with a huge grin. “That was totally badass.”
He actually laughed at that, the sound rich and genuine, and I beamed up at him. Pleased with myself, pleased with the fact that I had apparently unlocked a hidden feature in the Gorgon King.
Then the laughter faded, and he carried on, steady as stone, as if nothing in this world could shake him. Not even a mortal girl saying the word badass at him like she was giving him a medal.
We walked on like that, the moon guiding us, my thoughts drifting lazily between guilt and warmth. Oh, and an ever-growing appreciation for how unfairly attractive he was. That was until the glow of firelight began to flicker through the trees ahead.
Camp.
“Oh,” I said, squinting. “There are more people.”
“Yes,” he replied. “And no doubt you are about to cause chaos among them.”
I smiled, snuggling closer.
“Probably, handsome.”
He scoffed a laugh, and it was a nice sound.
We weren’t quite there yet, not properly, not close enough for the soldiers’ silhouettes to break into details.
But close enough that I could smell smoke in the air, and the faint metallic tang of sharpened weapons.
Oh, and something savory that made my stomach rumble like I hadn’t eaten in days.
I shifted in his arms, then realized shifting was a mistake because the world swayed again, and my body decided to cling to him like he was the only stable thing in existence.
“This is a very romantic carry,” I informed him, because my mouth was apparently a loose cannon.
“It isn’t romantic,” he replied.
“It is,” I insisted, then sighed dramatically. “Do you always carry women through haunted forests after murdering their kidnappers?”
His step didn’t falter, but I felt the faintest pause in his breathing, as if he was deciding whether to answer me or pretend I hadn’t spoken.
“No,” he said finally.
“Pity,” I murmured. “You should. You’re like really good at it. And if I wasn’t already taken, holy shit would I throw my panties at you… erm… forget I said that.”
“That’s hard to do,” he admitted dryly, making me smirk.
“Then let’s go back to the things you are good at… so top of the list, being super intimidating, sitting on your throne, being bad ass at killing mean dudes in the woods. Looking handsome… Oh, I know, smelling good…anything else?” I said, listing these all off with my fingers.
“I am good at many things,” he said, and the smugness in that sentence was so purely him it made me smile.
“Do you go to the gym?” I asked.
He glanced down at me, brows knitting.
“The what?”
“Do you lift things?” I clarified patiently, as if he were the one intoxicated. “Because you lift me like I’m a feather, and I am not a feather, I am… a person of substance.”
He made a sound that might have been amusement.
“I lift unruly little mortals who get themselves into trouble,” he said, and even through the haze, I felt the flirt in it. The way he could lace a sentence like that with something dangerous and playful at the same time.
I gasped, scandalized.
“Ssshh… Don’t say that out loud,” I whispered, pressing my hand to his mouth like I could physically shove the words back into him. “People will hear you, and then I’ll get in trouble.”
“Nh wn wl…”
“I’m sorry, what? You’re mumbling.” I said loudly. He glared at me before shaking his head, my fingers falling from his lips.
“I said… no one will dare scold you,” he said, and the confidence in it made me blink, because it wasn’t kindness, it was authority. It was the certainty of a man who had never been told no inside his own realm. It was also a little protective over me too. Mmm, that was nice.
“Aster’s going to be pissed off,” I mumbled.
“Well,” Theron said, and I could hear the smile in his voice even if I couldn’t see it. “Lucky for you, I am king, and what I say goes.”
I stared at him, then burst into giggles, because that was ridiculous and also, somehow, very comforting.
“So, you won’t let him shout at me,” I said, like a child trying to negotiate bedtime.
“No,” he replied, and the ease of it made something warm bloom in my chest. I leaned in closer and sniffed his neck again, because apparently that was my new hobby.
“What cologne is that again?” I demanded, even though he had literally just told me he didn’t wear any. “You smell like… like expensive secrets.”
He exhaled, and this time he definitely laughed, low and breathy.
“Stop smelling me, woman,” he said without any real conviction in his tone.
“No, I like it, and I’m investigating,” I replied, making him scoff.
“And pray tell, what have you concluded?” he asked, tone dry.
“That you are very pretty,” I said, then patted his shoulder like I was proud of him. “And that it’s unfair.”
He hummed, amused.
“Unfair,” he repeated.
“Yes,” I insisted, then squinted at him. “Also, you need a crown.”
He slowed by half a step.
“No.”
“Yes,” I said again, and because my hands had opinions, I fumbled along my tunic until my fingers found the lace on the side. I tugged it free and held it up between us triumphantly. “See, I can make you royal.”
“Alexandra,” he said, and the use of my full name hit like a cold splash of water, except the water was warm and the drug laughed in my bloodstream. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to knight you,” I announced.
He went still and replied firmly, “No, you are not.”
“Yes,” I said, as though we were negotiating a treaty, then leaned back in his arms as far as I could manage and tapped the lace against his shoulder like it was a sword. “I hereby pronounce you… Sir Handsome of House Smells Nice.”
There was a beat of silence that felt unreal, like the forest itself paused to process the audacity.
Then Theron’s chest shook, and he laughed properly, the sound breaking loose like it had been held back for centuries.
I grinned up at him, delighted with myself, delighted with the fact that I had made the terrifying king laugh like a normal man.
“You are insane,” he said, still laughing.
“And you… are welcome,” I replied, closing my eyes for a second because even the act of being pleased with myself was exhausting.
The main part of the camp came into view slowly, not all at once but in fragments.
Flickers of orange firelight caught between tree trunks.
The outline of tents like dark shark teeth against the ground.
The scent hit me next, smoke and leather, metal and earth, and that same warm, savory smell I had smelled earlier, that made my stomach rumble even though I was still floating somewhere between giggling and dazed.
Theron didn’t slow. If anything, his hold tightened subtly as we passed the outermost line of guards.
His presence changed the air the way weather changed before a storm, the soldiers knowing his authority and adjusting accordingly.
Heads turned in our direction, silhouettes rising in half-alert movements.
Hands hovering near weapons before stopping as quickly as they started, because no one moved against him, not even on instinct.
I blinked at the nearest soldier, who looked very much like he had been minding his own business until a king returned from the woods carrying a mortal girl like she was a stolen treasure.
“Oh,” I whispered, leaning closer to Theron’s neck again. “They’re staring.”
“Yes,” he replied in a tone that suggested this was the most obvious thing in existence,
“Because you are in my arms.”
I considered that, then nodded solemnly, as if this made perfect sense.
“I’m a very carriable person,” I announced.
His chest rose, a breath that might have been a laugh if he had allowed it, and he stepped forward again, moving deeper into camp.
I could feel eyes following us, not just soldiers now, but servants too.
Figures slipping between tents and supplies, and even half-asleep men who lifted their heads blearily and then went very still as they realized who was walking past.
It should have made me embarrassed. Instead, it made me feel like I was the main character in a very strange play, and the worst part was that my brain found that delightful.
“Do I look royal?” I asked him.
“You look,” he said, pausing as if he were searching for the right word, “Compromised.”
I gasped, offended, then laughed, the sound bubbling out of me.
“That’s a rude way to say pretty,” I told him, and he finally let out a low chuckle that vibrated against my cheek.
“You are pretty,” he conceded. “You are also going to be a problem.”
“Good,” I murmured happily. “I like being problems.”
And wasn’t that the truth, because right in front of us was…
Aster storming from his tent.