Chapter 4 #2
Nonetheless, the goddess had been the first to concur with Envy on their unsuitability. Since they can’t be compelled to feel things they don’t—yes, they’re aware of the irony—this crew has cobbled together an alternative.
Cue this mission.
Motes drift through the atmosphere, the sight fascinating Andrew. “The air smells different here,” he intones to Love. “And the texture, the pigments, the light.”
“Dust in this realm has the iridescence of gemstones,” she whispers. “Try and catch one with your tongue, and it will taste like a fresh snowflake.”
“I’d rather taste you.”
Under her breath, Sorrow grouches to herself. Meanwhile, Anger grins at the marveled expression on Merry’s profile, her avid features soaking in the setting.
And fucking fine. Envy might be peeking in Sorrow’s general direction whenever she’s not paying him notice.
As such, he catches the goddess tilting her head. “This place must be a stunner to someone who grew up thinking magic existed only in books.”
“It’s mesmerizing,” Andrew replies. “Or mostly it is.”
“Mostly?” his provoked audience repeats in union.
“Mostly,” he echoes with an amused quirk of the lips. “I’d still say magic is everywhere. In my world and yours. They’re just different shades of the same thing.”
Envy’s flummoxed. Yet Sorrow nods like she understands better than he does, as if he’s ignorant.
Inadequacy pinches his flesh. What the hell exactly does she understand?
“Your confidence puts us to shame,” Anger compliments.
But Andrew flashes a wry grin. “Why wouldn’t I be confident?
” He gestures toward Anger. “Just because I’m surrounded by a broody alpha with a sharper jawline than any of my characters.
” Then he motions to Malice. “Another god with the smirk of a shadow-daddy serial killer.” Then he waves at Envy.
“And a god who looks like he stumbled off a catwalk.”
Clearly, this hunky specimen doesn’t give himself sufficient credit.
If Andrew were unattached, and if partners with testosterone did it for the man, Envy would have jumped Andrew’s toned ass long ago.
Well acquainted with male-on-male rapture, Envy suspects the man’s tongue tastes like aged wine—rich and flavorful.
To say nothing of his human cock and the savory strings of cum that would pour from the crown.
All right. Perhaps Love once shared this tidbit with Envy over a bottle of cabernet. In any case, it confirms what Envy had already guessed.
He loses track of time, as do the rest of them, silent deliberation lulling the group into reluctant slumber. Envy refuses to rest, dismissing Anger’s offer to steer. For once, he wants to be the leader, guiding them where they need to go.
From a brook, to a canal, to a river. The passage expands, changing flow and depth. The mellow tide licks the boat’s hull, the sound hypnotic. It drowns out his thoughts for a while, until a splash snaps him out of the haze.
Envy’s head loops towards the disturbance.
A slender finger dips into the water, creating rings that dance outward and spread like a contagion.
With the skirt fanning out, Sorrow steeples her limbs and hooks one arm around her knees as she toys with the water.
The action makes her look younger, which resurrects memories of their upbringing, which also resurrects a particular incident in their past.
Words sharper than chips of glass. The sort that forms scars.
An ugly god is easy to spot.
Condemnation. Like a flea, Envy shakes off the recollection.
Earlier, he’d spied on Sorrow as she counted the arrows in her quiver. He knows why, as they all do. Though Envy might grasp more about her lost arrow than everyone in this boat.
What would Sorrow say if he told her?
The wind teases her hair, concealing half of the goddess’s countenance. Absently, he leans over to get a better look. When that fails to expose more of her features, the effort produces a disturbing crick in his neck.
Goddammit. Why does he always do this? Either this female has cast a toxic spell on him, or he has an obsessive staring problem.
Despite having objectified Andrew earlier, this goddess is the sole reason Envy wouldn’t actually jump that human, even if Andrew were unattached.
For the life of Envy, he can’t stop staring at Sorrow, interacting with this female, and claiming things from her that don’t belong to him.
Him, a god who’s never had difficulty turning the other way first, leaving every deity in his path frothing at the mouth. For some misbegotten reason, this goddess has robbed him of that ability. And he hates her for it.
“Narcissus loves the water,” she muses, her tone as weightless as chiffon, unlike the customarily burlap scrape of her voice.
The delicate sound is foreign to Envy’s ears, stupefying to the point where he loses track of the subject. “Who?”
Abruptly, Sorrow grunts. “Stars. Forget it. You’re hopeless.”
He’s what?
While Envy searches high and low for a witty comeback, she continues agitating the water’s surface. “He was the son of a river god and a nymph. Everyone worshipped his perfect looks and wanted a piece of the pie, but that only made him scorn them.”
“I know who Narcissus is,” he murmurs. “The assessment sounds only half accurate. I lap up admiration with a spoon.”
“Are you saying you’re not the least bit vexed that deities are merely interested in your cheekbones? That’s all you want to be known and appreciated for?”
“I flatter myself on being a connoisseur of envy. As such, I’d say you’re jealous because our people never looked at you with the same ravenous inclinations.”
Her finger pauses, then vacates the river. She swivels his way, wiping those unkempt tresses from her face. “No. What I want is for others to look at me and see the truth, not some flamboyant charade. I don’t have to pretend for anyone.”
Discomfort gnaws on Envy’s skin. He abandons his lazy sprawl against the pole, stalks across the deck, and squats before her. “So what makes you such an expert on Andrew’s subtext?”
The goddess’s lips quirk. “Aww, poor wittle gawd. I wasn’t aware that his speech about magic was subtext. Or do you need the gist spelled out for you?”
“Frankly honey, I hardly need you to translate for me. Your mumbling and grumbling, moaning and groaning, cursing and whining, has always been tedious enough to comprehend.”
As quick as switchblade, Sorrow flips him her middle digit, the fingernail glossed in the same ominous shade as her lips. “Can you comprehend this, motherfucker?”
Envy chuckles without humor. “You lack originality, not to mention makeup that suits your skin tone.”
“Now that you’ve listed your priorities in a mate, we can rest easy.
Our chemistry, or lack thereof, is evidence that this legend is bogus.
I’m condescending, crude, and gruff. I don’t blush.
I don’t pine. And I don’t mourn the loss of your dick, much less the flash of your pearly whites.
” Leaning forward, she hisses in his face.
“Make no mistake, I tick none of your boxes, and I’m positive you wouldn’t even know what my own boxes are. ”
His retinas crackle like something that’s been set on the burner for too long. “Oh, I’ve located a couple of them.”
To his annoyance, she rolls her fucking eyes. “I repeat, I don’t blush.”
Envy’s lips curl. Challenge accepted.