Unhinged

by Chani Lynn Feener

  “Well duh,” she laughed. “It was gross. We were all stuck in there while the janitor cleaned it up. That’s what you get when you come to school feeling crappy. Why didn’t you just go to the nurse? She would have sent you home.”

  “Yeah,” he shifted closer, bumping her playfully with his very solid shoulder. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see you. We had English together seventh period.”

  She smiled, a warmth flooding her chest. It was easy with him, simple. She could be herself without having to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. “We didn’t start dating until eighth grade,” she reminded him. “Sixth grade you were into Hazel Banks.”

  “The cheerleader with the pigtails?” He blew out a slow breath. “That’s a world of no. Too bossy. I mean, we were twelve. Who cared if the cheer squad wasn’t ‘peppy’ enough? What’s that even mean, anyway?”

  “You are such a liar!” She wrapped her fingers around the curve of his bicep, in a familiar move. “You talked about her all that year! I couldn’t get you to shut up. It was ‘Hazel this’ and ‘Hazel that’. If the fact that she was blonde and mean wasn’t enough, your interest made me hate her.”

  “That was kinda the point,” he admitted, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You were trying to make me jealous?” How had she never realized that before?

  “I had to do something. That summer you dragged us all to the beach just so you could check out Chris Logan.”

  Chris had been her first crush, but it had only lasted a few weeks at best before she’d gotten over it. The only reason it had even started was because Micah had introduced them and she’d thought that the guy must be cool.

  He glanced down at where she still had her hand, a wistful smile tugging at his full lips. “I always loved it when you did that. It feels…intimate, somehow, even though it’s just my arm.”

  “Everything about us is intimate,” she told him quietly.

  “You see me, Spence.” When she went to pull back he stopped her with a hand over hers, holding her in place. “That wasn’t a ghost joke. I mean it. You’ve always seen me, the real me. After I puked that day you came straight to the nurse’s office to sit with me because you knew how much I hate being alone when I’m sick.”

  “That’s because you’re a pansy,” she said playfully. “You freak out that something terrible is going to happen to you and no one will be there to call the paramedics. Worry wart.”

  “Apparently not enough of one,” he glanced away.

  She cupped his cheek and turned him back to her. The pad of her thumb danced against the smooth skin under his left eye. She could feel him there, see him there. And yet…he somehow still remained just out of reach.

  But not for long, she reminded herself. Not forever.

  She knew he was referring to the accident; that he probably thought about it often. They hadn’t talked about it, and she wasn’t sure if she was really ready to do so now. But if he needed to she would. She’d do anything for him.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she rested her chin on his shoulder. For a second she smelled him, that hint of spice, before the scent fled.

  “We shouldn’t have been out there so late,” he said. “If I hadn’t insisted we go, neither of us would have been on that bridge. I wouldn’t be dead and you wouldn’t have to go to the Underworld in—” he glanced over at the clock on the nightstand “—about five minutes.”

  “It could be worse,” she surmised. “At least the Underworld part could be. Hadrian isn’t what I expected him to be. He’s annoying, and sometimes callous, but I haven’t seen him torture anyone or anything like that.”

  “You’ve only known him for three days,” he pointed out. “You can’t be sure of anything about the guy. He’s bad news, Spence, don’t ever forget that. He’s the God of the Dead. What did he say to you anyway, to make you so upset last night?”

  She frowned up at him. She’d been sure to keep out the parts of their walk where he’d gotten just a little too close for comfort.

  “Oh, come on, daisy,” he gave her a droll stare, “as if I don’t know you well enough to figure out when you’re unnerved. I didn’t press it before, but now I’m asking. What happened?”

  “He just…He was being a dick,” she mused. “Egging me on and stuff. I have a short fuse, and now that he knows he pushes my buttons every chance he gets. He’s big on invading personal space, like he needs to prove he’s the powerful one or whatever.” She shrugged, but didn’t look his way. “No big.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Micah shot up so that he was kneeling in the center of the bed. He glowered down at her. “There’s no way you’re going back there. Not tonight, not ever.”

  “Come on, Micah,” she heaved, sitting up as well. “It’s not like that.”

  “I don’t care what it’s like, Spencer. It’s not happening anymore. He’s Hades! For all we know this whole thing is just some elaborate game he’s orchestrated to pass the time! He could get bored at any moment and kill you down there. No way. At least here we’re together. We have—” he reached for her and this time his hands went through her like they were made of smoke.

  “You were saying?” She eased closer. “This is the only way. I don’t want to live the rest of my life mourning for what we’ll never get to have. If you come back, if he brings you back, we can have it.”

  “Daisy,” he deadpanned, “you’re not going back there.”

  “You don’t get to make that call.” She got off of the bed and grabbed her red leather jacket from the back of her desk chair.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “You’d do it for me, Micah.”

  “If our roles were reversed, of course. But they aren’t, and you aren’t. It isn’t safe. I didn’t want you to do this from the get go, remember? What would Syd and Quinn say if—”

  “They were here? If they knew? About which part? The part about you being a ghost? The Underworld? Or that their new bestie is really the Ruler of the Dead? I can’t tell them and you know that. They’d never believe me.”

  “They might.”

  “They might not.”

  “Spencer…”

  “I can’t lose them, too, alright?” she lamented. “I just…I can’t risk that.”

  “Baby,” he shifted closer to the edge of the bed so that he sat right in front of her. “What do you think is going on right now? You’re pushing them away. Even I can see it and I’m stuck here. I want to come back just as badly as you want me to, but not if it means that you suffer in the process.”

  “I’m suffering now,” she said.

  “You didn’t die with me.”

  “Who says I didn’t?”

  He froze, hazel eyes widening for a split second before he shot to his feet. “That isn’t funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  “You aren’t dead, Spencer. Stop acting like you are.”

  She started, thrown by the harsh tone in his voice. She opened her mouth to throw back some sort of retort, when someone cleared their throat on the other side of the room. She ground her teeth when she spotted Ferris standing their idly rocking back and forth on his heels.

  “Hate to break this up,” he said, “but your ride’s here.”

  “I can see that,” she mumbled back, then turned to point at Micah. “We aren’t done with this.”

  “Ditto.” He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t try to stop her from walking over to the Ferryman either. Hopefully he’d realized that she was going to go through with this no matter what he said against it.

  She barely registered the trip, and waved bye to Ferris when he told her he was leaving her alone to wait for Hadrian. She was back in the room with the balcony, and without much thought she made her way outside to the railing. Her eyes scanned the beach and the river. Across from it, the fog had been lifted and she could make out some of the souls.

  This wasn’t at all what she’d been expecting from the Underworld, she thought for what
must have been the thousandth time in the past few days. More fire and brimstone had been what she was going for when she’d decided to find a way here.

  Maybe Micah was right though and she was just jumping the gun. She’d only been here twice before, not enough time to see everything there was to see. She had no doubt there were parts of this world that were as terrifying as all the stories said. Probably even worse.

  What did that say about Hadrian then? That he’d chosen here, a place directly across from Elysium, for his home? She recalled the way he’d watched the souls the night before. It hadn’t just been wistfulness in his eyes, but something more.

  “They’re beautiful,” and just like that, he appeared on her left out of thin air, “aren’t they?”

  Startled, she jumped a little, lifting a hand to her chest. She glared at him, and knew he noticed when the corner of his mouth curved up ever so slightly. He didn’t however turn to her, instead gazing out over the river at the same souls she’d just been looking at.

  “So at peace, so happy,” he went on. “No troubles, no worries. They have everything they could ever want, and they have it for eternity.”

  “You’re a god,” she stated. “I’m sure you have everything you want, too.”

  He grunted, then finally faced her. “I debated whether or not to even bother with you tonight, you know? You were really rude before.”

  “Me?” she gasped. “You’ve got to be joking!”

  “Actually, I’m not.” He twisted into a small circle and began walking backwards towards the doors that led inside. “My other plans fell through last minute, however, so, lucky you...we get to spend time together after all.”

  “Joy,” she spit back, though she followed, making sure to keep a good amount of distance between the two of them.

  Tonight he was wearing all white. T-shirt under a pea coat, skinny jeans, and boots. It was a huge contrast to his dark hair and equally dark eyes. His pale skin seemed to glow like alabaster, making him appear eerily more like the god she’d expected than the guy she’d gotten.

  “You like the color white,” she supplied, and then tensed up when she realized what she’d done.

  His silent laughter was obvious. “Is it not to your liking?”

  “My liking has nothing to do with it,” she said before she could help it. “Though I will admit that it’s not what I imagined you to wear. More, black and red, if I’m being honest. And definitely not a jacket. This is Hell, right? Isn’t it notorious for being hot?”

  “This isn’t Hell,” he corrected. “It’s Hades, or the Underworld. And it can be whatever temperature I like. Certain parts are hot enough to melt steal instantly, and others are so cold that molecules freeze in place. Not really the ideal locations to live.”

  They’d reached the center of the room and he tipped his head back towards the ceiling. He pondered over something before extending his arm out towards her palm up.

  “What?” she asked, shifting on her feet.

  “Take my hand so we can get going.”

  “Going where?”

  “I already told you.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  He heaved a sigh of annoyance. “Last night I told you I’d show you the other rivers. There are five in all, and you saw the Lethe already. That leaves four more.”

  Part of her was curious about it, and the other was curious about him. It was the latter that worried her.

  Then again, how did one go about turning down the God of the Dead? It wasn’t like she had a ton of stuff to do while she was here, other than hang out with him and explore.

  Mind made up, she stepped forward, but right before she was about to take his hand, she pulled back.

  “On one condition,” she said, and when he lifted a brow, she took that as a signal to go on. “I get to choose the next river.”

  He thought it over and then smiled, giving a single nod of his head. When she slipped her hand into his, his heat engulfed her. She was shocked by how warm he was to the touch.

  “Where to, Spencer?” he asked softly, intently. She got the distinct impression she’d somehow pleased him but she didn’t have the slightest clue how or why.

  Racking her brain for the names of the rivers she’d read in her dad’s books, she decided on the one that had initially stuck out the most to her. The river which Charon—or Ferris—was said to row souls across in order to get them into the Underworld.

  “Acheron,” she told him. “I want to see Acheron.”

  His grip tightened. “As you wish.”

  Traveling with him didn’t feel anything like it did with the Ferryman. Instead of that tightening feeling, there was one of openness. Almost like being lifted from her body and sent soaring through the air. Like being free. There was also a slow burn that traveled all over her, but the nice kind, like when you just slip into a hot tub and your body is still adjusting.

  The only complaint she had was that the sensations vanished too quickly, and before she could really enjoy them, she blinked open her eyes to find herself standing in a completely different place.

  They were on another shore, this one looking more like the bank of a river actually would. The only thing was the grass was a deep red color that reminded her of blood. The blades grew thick and wild out of the ground, curving around her boots to the point that she felt like her feet were almost swallowed up.

  The water of this river seemed so still, almost like it wasn’t moving at all, and the other side must have been forty or so feet away. She couldn’t tell how deep it was from where they stood, but she didn’t want to risk getting any closer. She wasn’t sure if this river—like the Lethe—had any nasty properties she should be wary of.

  As if able to read her mind, Hadrian stepped around her and towards it. “For a girl who had enough guts to enter the Underworld while still alive, you sure are a scaredy-cat.”

  She was just about to reply when she saw what he was about to do.

  Hadrian dropped his jacket to the ground, then reached over his shoulders and tugged the white tee off in one swift move. When he turned back to her, his fingers were already working on the button of his jeans while he carelessly toed off one of his boots.

  “Come on,” he called. “The water’s fine. Literally.”

  She was afraid if she so much as opened her mouth, an embarrassing strangling noise would be emitted, so she kept her lips tightly shut. She wanted to turn away, to look somewhere—anywhere other than at him—but not even another god would have had the willpower to do that.

  He was all smooth skin and ridged muscle. The plains of his torso emphasized by the eight-pack he was sporting. She’d never even seen an eight-pack before. His chest was shaved, showing off silky flesh. The only bit of hair on him was the thin, dark happy trail that led from his navel down, disappearing under his pants.

  She couldn’t help it. She gulped. And then burned bright red when it became blatantly obvious she’d been staring, and he’d been watching her do it. The sound of the zipper practically ripped across the air.

  “Keep your pants on,” she croaked, finally able to tear her gaze away. She stared off into the distance, not processing a single thing there.

  “Have you taken a swim in wet jeans before?” came his reply. “Not fun.” He was teasing her. There was a clear challenge in every word he spoke, despite the fact he hadn’t actually issued one verbatim.

  She shook her head.

  “Come in.”

  There it was. “Not gonna happen.”

  “Why not? Scared? What do you think is going to happen to you, Spencer? Do you think I’ll drown you?”

  “Of course not,” she shot back. The surprising thing was, she meant it. He hurting her hadn’t even crossed her mind.

  “Well then,” he’d moved closer now, his voice coming from only a few feet away, “come on.”

  She turned to tell him to back off, but anything she’d been about to say died in her throat the moment she laid eyes on him.


  He was so close now, barely a breath away, hovering over her. He’d left the jeans on like she’d asked, but had removed the shoes and now stood barefoot before her. He had a straight jaw line, one that gave him an almost rugged touch to go along with the sleek cat-like eyes and the wicked mouth.

  She hadn’t been kissed in a long time.

  Where had that come from?!

  A little panicked now about her own thoughts rather than his, she backed up a step. “Nope.”

  The next thing she knew, his arm was wrapped around her waist and he was hoisting her up over his shoulder. She screamed, and reached to grab onto something to steady herself, but because he wasn’t wearing a shirt, ended up touching his bare back instead.

  Ignoring—yeah, right—the pangs of heat she got from skin to skin contact with him, she tried pushing herself off to no avail. The whole time he casually walked them towards the river as if she weighed no more than an apple, and her own wants mattered about just as much as one.

  “Put me down! Hadrian! Put. Me. Down!”

  “Sure thing, Spence.”

  Too late she realized what he was planning on doing, and she had just enough time to suck in enough air for one last scream. Of course, she never got to let the scream out.

  He twisted their bodies as they dropped, sliding her down from his shoulder and against his chest at the same moment. His arms tightened around her, keeping her in place as his back took most of the blow from the surface as they impacted.

  Water surrounded them, surprisingly warm. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and was clinging as if for dear life. A second later when they broke the surface she gasped, flinging twisted tendrils of her hair out of her face so that she could glare directly at him.

  He was laughing, grinning from ear to ear and watching her. For a moment they remained like that, and she had no idea that she was smiling too. But then it hit her, along with the fact that he was still gripping her waist in his large hands.

  It was too much, the solid feel of him against her body, the light pressure from his long fingers at her sides. The whoosh of his breath across her chilling cheeks.