Chapter Eighteen
Olympia
Ileaned against the peeling paint of the wall opposite the fourth story apartment in the Third Ring. Remaining in the shadows so as not to be seen by any other residents coming and going this late at night, I tapped my foot impatiently and glared into the darkness. Where the hell was he?
I’d spent almost all night observing House Viper from afar, trying to detect weaknesses and mark routines.
The back entrance Pax had given me was a good one but only if no one was in the sitting room or the acolyte’s office.
So far, I’d found that at least one of them was occupied at all times which made sneaking in impossible.
Now it was almost two in the morning and Harrison still wasn’t home from wherever he spent his evening. I was tired and grumpy and nearly about to give up and call the whole night a failure when the sharp ping of boots on a metal grate caught my attention.
My gaze shot down the stairs to find a body moving upward in the shadows.
I pushed slightly off the wall and leaned over the railing enough to make out Harrison’s messy hair and lanky form in the dark.
Sliding down the wall until I was right beside the door, I leaned back and waited until his eyes snapped up to see me there.
The corners of his lips pulled up in a grin as he extracted his keys from his pocket and shuffled toward the door.
“You’re following me now?” he asked as he fumbled with the lock.
“It isn’t safe on the streets anymore,” I replied. “Especially down here.”
“Really? The way I see it, the murderer is up there with you.”
He met my gaze in the dark for a beat before turning the key, pushing open the door, and stepping inside.
“I didn’t realize you were so concerned for my safety,” he called from within. “I’m flattered, beautiful.”
I took that as the only invitation I was likely to get and followed after him, ignoring the nickname and kicking the door shut behind me.
“There’s a symbol painted on the side of your building,” I told him. “Do you know what it means?”
He didn’t turn on the light so it was still dark when he turned to face me.
The silence between us stretched endlessly, the quiet becoming impossibly loud the longer we stood there.
He cocked his head to the side as he watched me, likely only able to see my outline in the pitch black, but I’d passed the Second Trial.
I could see him. His expression was guarded but there were hints.
His jaw was tense, hair disheveled, and there were bags beneath his eyes I hadn’t noticed before.
Something had changed. Something was wrong.
“Where were you?” I asked, unable to hold my curiosity at bay any longer now that the look on his face had my stomach churning.
“The mother of the boy who was beheaded found half a year’s worth of meat at her door earlier today,” Harrison interrupted me. “Beef, I think it was. The good stuff too. I was there when she brought it in. I helped her cut it up and stow it away.”
I didn’t say a word, even when he took a step closer and a beam of moonlight slipped through the window to illuminate his face.
Tendrils of golden brown hair fell just above his shining eyes.
He was watching me with an expression I couldn’t place but that utterly terrified me.
I had the sudden urge to turn and run. I didn’t.
“Why do you want people to believe you’re a monster?” he whispered in the dark.
My breath hitched.
“Because I am,” I replied.
He shook his head, slowly, and his eyes remained fixated on mine.
“I know you sent the food, beautiful,” he told me. “Only you would send a bloody mound of meat as a peace offering.”
I’d brought it to the woman’s door myself after stealing it straight out of Avus’ kitchen.
I hoped it might become one bright spot on a horribly wretched day.
Not that any amount of sustenance could make up for what she’d lost, but I’d had to do something.
I could see, from the set of Harrison’s jaw, he wasn’t going to believe any denial I offered. So I deflected.
“Don’t pretend you know me,” I retorted. “You’ve only known I exist for a few weeks. It’s not like we’re best friends. You caught me breaking into your apartment, for the Geist’s sake. Besides, I saw the way you looked at me at Milo’s dinner, like you were disgusted by me, by who I really am.”
“What I found disgusting was Milo’s dinner,” he said with a slanted frown.
“He’s trying to do the right thing. He married the Lynx girl and secured the succession to form a united front against Cosmo, he’s calling a council to hold a trial for what he did to that boy, he’s extended a hand of friendship to Adrian’s family, he–”
“Why did you come here tonight?” he asked and this time, his tone was low. It rumbled against my ribcage as I reminded myself to breathe and hated myself for it in the same breath.
Harrison took another step forward, out of the moonlight, and every muscle in my body tensed. Even without enhanced hearing gifted by the gods, I was sure he heard my intake of breath.
“The Bexleys haven’t taken Milo up on his offer to visit him on the First,” I said, breathing through my nose so my voice wouldn’t shake and betray me. “He invited them to his wedding and they didn’t show. It’s disrespectful. I wanted to know–”
“So why aren’t you on the Second?” he inquired, stepping closer yet again.
I fought against the urge to back away. I did not back down from anything or anyone, especially some self-important Third Ringer.
“You’re their friend,” I argued, though it sounded weak even to my ears. “You would know–”
“I know you’re well aware of where to find the Bexleys. If you truly wanted to know why they haven’t taken your cousin up on his offer, you would’ve gone to them and asked or, more likely, snuck in and tried to find out yourself.”
My lips snapped shut. He was right and we both knew it.
My heart rate ticked up as the silence settled between us again and I waited for the accusation that would be my undoing.
“Which can only mean you’re here,” he started slowly, taking another step in my direction, “for me.”
His step brought us nearly face to face.
Warmth flooded me as I realized he was only inches from me now.
I could feel the ghost of his breath against my skin and knew he could see me.
Even in the dark, he was close enough to capture every twitch of my expression which I fought to maintain as neutral.
He was near enough to notice the way I wasn’t breathing, how I leaned subconsciously toward him, and the slight flush working its way up my neck and into my cheeks.
I thrust both hands out against his chest and shoved him hard, backward, away from me. He stumbled back a step but righted himself too easily, too quickly. His lips spread into a wicked grin as the moonlight caught the gleam in his eye.
“That's all you’ve got, First Ring?” he taunted as he approached.
“Fuck you,” I snapped.
“Promise?”
He leaned in, closer than before, and dipped his head.
I reared back, doing everything in my power to maintain that disgusted expression, to eviscerate the butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
He watched me still, eyes sweeping over my face, searching for something.
I wasn’t sure what. But he waited. Lips parted only a breath away from my own, he stalled.
He was going to make me do it. He was going to make me admit I wanted him. He was going to make me beg for him.
Asshole.
When he moved, I should have expected it.
His eyes had given me every clue as to his intentions.
I should have turned away before this, should have taken my leave and left him in the apartment I’d only wanted to see his safe return to, should have reminded him of why I’d been avoiding him, of all the reasons he shouldn’t do exactly what he was doing.
But I hesitated and that would be my downfall.
His lips crushed mine in a searing kiss that scattered my brain and sent all thoughts of escape flying from my mind.
His hand found the back of my head and held me there, fingers tangled in my hair.
He pressed his body against mine, neck craning down to reach me, and I couldn’t fight the fire igniting in my veins.
It was a perfect fit. Every curve of my body fit flush against his.
As his lips worked against mine, I savored the taste of him on my tongue, achingly familiar and utterly new.
He kissed me hard, but I didn’t mind. The bruises on my lips felt like they belonged there, branded into my skin where they would remind me of this moment, of him, for days after.
He pushed me back several steps until my back collided with the wall so hard a painting came half unhinged, swinging back and forth against the plaster.
I bit his lower lip and he groaned before pushing himself even closer to me.
I had a brief moment of panic when my brain managed to connect two thoughts together long enough to realize we shouldn’t be doing this.
Everything I’d ever known, ever been taught, had warned me against this.
He didn’t care about me. He didn’t understand me.
He couldn’t love me. But love wasn’t what fused our lips together and had us nipping at and shoving one another.
There was a rage simmering beneath the surface, a confused mixture of lust and hate for everything the other stood for.
He’d watched someone from my ring behead a boy from his.
He’d been hostile toward Milo’s effort to build a friendship between our friends, our families.
He hated my ring and everything it stood for but, like me, he couldn’t stay away.
I knew there’d been something drawing me to Harrison.
Now that his lips were on me, trailing from my mouth down my neck to my collarbone, I could see what that was; pure sexual tension.