Chapter 15 #2
I love it, and I toss my hair and flick my wrinkled skirts, dancing carefree and wild. I feel good. Beautiful. Sexy. Happier than I’ve been in who knows how long.
A man comes up to my side and slides an arm around my waist, and I don’t hate it. “Look at this pretty thing,” he coos in my ear, his hands roaming all over me. “Having a good time, love?”
“The best time,” I agree.
He not an attractive man. He’s about my age, but he’s greasy and his teeth are terrible, his skin full of pockmarks, like he’s never taken care of himself. But he’s having fun, and he leans in like he’s going to kiss me, and I figure, what the hell? Why not?
The man pauses, looks like he’s going to say more, and turns his head to the side and pukes in the gutter near my feet.
Laughing, I skitter back, clutching my half-full mug to my chest. “Seems like someone’s been partying too much!”
He recovers, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and manages another smile at me. “As I was saying, I…”
He sneezes.
Violently.
I take another step back, and, suspicious, I look around at the crowd of revelers near me.
My thoughts are muddy and full of chaos—and the need to eat more, drink more, flirt more—but I’m pretty sure that I’m supposed to stay close to Kalos or else I’m going to get a nasty tug that will force me back to his side.
The fact that I haven’t felt that means he’s lurking nearby.
A family ushers their children past, following a jester, and as they move down the street, I see a tall man with stark silver hair and a wrinkled tunic.
Kalos is holding the goat’s lead, and he looks miserable, staring at me with a thoughtful frown.
A sunbeam seems to frame his head perfectly, cascading around him like he’s a glorious saint, and for a moment I’m struck by the beauty of him.
How are people not falling to Kalos’s feet in worship? Do they not realize he’s a god?
The man at my side touches my arm and sneezes violently once more.
Uh oh. That’s not a coincidence.
I duck away from the sneezing man and storm over to Kalos’s side. “I thought you were staying in.”
“I thought you were my Anchor.”
God, this man is so transparent when he’s in a pissy mood about something. Instead of getting angry about it, though, I’m oddly amused. “Are you mad that he’s flirting with me?”
“You’re supposed to be with me.” He frowns as if I’ve disappointed him mightily. “Remember?”
Oh, I remember. I’m feeling light and free and having a good time, though, so I lean in and tap the end of his regal, regal nose. “You’re gonna flirt with me, then?”
One silver brow shoots up. “Are you drunk?”
I loop my arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close as if giving a confession. “Let me tell you a secret, babe. I have drunk maybe five or six beers, and they’ve done nothing for me. Not a single thing. I don’t think I can get drunk anymore. But nothing says I can’t have a good time.”
“Babe?” he echoes, baffled.
“Just ignore that part. I’m feeling happy, and when I’m happy, my tongue gets loose.” I pat the front of his tunic. “Now, do you want to have fun with me or not?”
He eyes me. “If you insist on being out here, then I suppose I must join you. But I’m not going to enjoy it.”
I giggle, because it sounds like I’ve already won this battle. “Perfect. Now is there any way to get that sunbeam off your head?”
“Sunbeam?”
I nod, brushing a stray lock of silver hair off his brow. He’s so pretty, but that hair of his doesn’t want to stay in place. “You’ve got a halo of light around your head. I noticed it when you were in the crowd.”
His gaze flicks to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “I wasn’t aware, and I don’t much care.”
He can’t make it stop, then. Oh well. No sense in worrying about it. I shrug. “I’m guessing no one else has noticed it, then.”
“Just you.”
“Just me,” I agree. He looks so uneasy that it’s adorable. For a moment, I’m struck with the urge to kiss him. I lean in close, toying with the idea. His skin is close enough to touch, and it looks soft and inviting, and I’m entranced with the idea of caressing him. “You think Gental is around?”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Kalos doesn’t push me away, no matter how close I creep. “Have you spent all of our coin on food and drink?”
I laugh. “No. Of course not. But since I’m the one that must eat and drink, does it really matter if I did? I’m only punishing myself if we go broke.”
“I don’t like the thought of you suffering.”
“You don’t like anything.”
“No, I don’t.” His gaze flicks to my mouth again, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.
I wait.
But he doesn’t.
“Pfft,” I say, pushing away from him. “God of Apathy? More like god of crankiness.”
He follows me, holding Dingle’s lead as the goat trots at his side. “You know I’m not actually the god of Apathy, yes?”
A fresh round of music starts, and a man walks past with what looks like a maypole, fluttering with ribbons of pale yellow and white.
Those must be Gental’s colors. I take one as it flutters past and dance along behind the pole-wielder, just because it looks like fun.
I’m all about enjoying myself today. I should be thinking about food supplies and weapons, but I find all I can really focus on is the music, and the next delicious bite of food, and the soft bow of Kalos’s mouth as he leaned close.
I twirl with the end of my ribbon, my wrinkled skirt flaring, and as I turn, I see Kalos following behind the group of people I’ve joined.
He snags a bouquet of flowers from someone as he walks past and offers it to the goat at his side.
Our eyes lock and he lifts his chin, as if saying that I can continue to dance and party. He’ll follow me.
He’ll follow my lead.
I love that. I twirl my ribbon and dance next to the other women in the street, and somewhere in the distance, Kalos follows behind, because I don’t feel that terrible pulling sensation at any point.
I dance and I flirt and I laugh, having the best time as more women join, taking up the ribbons next to me.
We crowd the streets, more than a dance troupe but less than an army, and the music plays and the sun shines down and it’s just the most glorious, wonderfully fun day I’ve had in such a long time.
Our group moves through the streets, and it seems like we dance for so long that I’m surprised when the maypole is shoved into the ground in the center of a plaza, and the women all around me drop to their knees like puppets with their strings cut.
I blink in dizzy surprise as the music stops, and all the swirling ribbons and music end and I’m just standing alone in a plaza as a man moves through the group.
A man with a sunbeam that haloes his head like one of the saints of old.
This must be Gental. I realize this even as the god-Aspect glides through the plaza, larger than life, and stops before each woman.
He caresses her chin, tilting her face up and studying it for a moment before nodding.
The delighted woman looks ecstatic, even more so when she is one of the lucky few given a ribbon garland by the man walking a few steps behind Gental.
His Anchor, I suspect. He’s an elderly man, his face round and pleasant and sweet.
He carries a goblet of wine in one hand and an armful of ribbon garlands in the other as he trails behind Gental, looking as if he’d like nothing more than to follow the god all his life.
And who can blame him? Gental notices me standing and turns the full force of his gaze upon me. I’m used to gods, used to feeling that strange vibe that tells me that they’re something unique, because I feel that unusual vibe on Kalos at all times.
But Gental is… different.
Just looking at him makes me… tingly.
He’s beautiful, reminding me of the old renaissance paintings of the gods.
Apollo, I decide, because he’s got thick blond curls and a strong nose and a pouty, sinful mouth.
He moves towards me, the pale-yellow robe rippling like silk around his legs, and he extends his hands toward me in a welcome.
His eyes are bright blue and warm, surrounded by thick lashes.
Now I see why all the women in the city are throwing themselves at him. I step forward, fascinated—
—and a goat is shoved into my arms.
Dingle bleats, kicking and squirming as Kalos steps forward to confront Gental. “You can’t have this one,” he says, his voice biting and brusque. “She’s not for your harem. This woman is mine.”
Gental blinks, the movement slow and delicious and inviting, and I’m tempted to wriggle out of my panties and toss them at him shamelessly. He turns that mega-watt blue gaze to Kalos, and a smile breaks across his perfect face (and makes my knees weak). “I didn’t know you were here, friend.”
“That is how I liked it,” Kalos shoots back, ever acerbic.
My gaze flicks between the both of them.
Gental oozes sensuality and beauty and warmth, like you’d want to both curl up in his lap for a hug or lick his prostate for hours.
And then there’s Kalos, who’s prickly and annoying, his beauty one of icy disdain instead of the warm openness of Gental.
His features aren’t perfect like the blond god.
His nose is a little too big, his chin a little too sharp, his eyes hard.
But when he turns to look at me, and there’s a hint of possessiveness in the flint of his gaze, it makes me weak.
I clutch Dingle against my chest and stare, open-mouthed, as Kalos returns to my side.
The god leans in close. “He doesn’t touch you,” Kalos says, voice low. “No one touches you but me.”
That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. My knees go weak.
Dingle squirms out of my grasp and I barely manage to hold on to his lead. I just keep staring at Kalos like I’ve never seen him before. Did…did he just fight another god for me? Staked his claim like I’m his territory?
Why does that make me so unbelievably horny?
“Take the goat,” I say, and hand him the leash.
He glances down, barely grabbing the rope as I drop it. “What—?”
In the next moment, my arms are around his neck, and I fling myself against him. I plant my mouth on Kalos’s and kiss him, because I might die in the next moment if I don’t.
He’s stiff against me with surprise—he wasn’t expecting that.
He remains utterly still as I nibble on his mouth, tasting him.
For a moment, he's utterly stiff, but I'm determined.
I twine my hand in his hair, slanting my mouth over his.
Then…his lips part under mine, his hand going to my waist. He clutches me against him, his grip shockingly tight, as if he'll die if he lets me go.
I gasp in surprise and pull back, staring up at him.
What…just happened between us? What did I just do?
His expression is completely neutral. "Not here,” he says, voice flat. “Not now.”
I put my hands to my mouth, mortified. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Let’s just return to the inn before Gental changes his mind,” Kalos says in that strangely stilted voice. “Come on. We’ll come back out for supplies when the festivities have died down.”
Humiliated, I nod and walk with wooden steps back to the inn, all the fun in the day gone. What am I doing? I’m losing my damn mind is what I’m doing.
Why on earth did I kiss the god of disease?