A Message For Iris : (Gods of Olympus Book 3)

by elda lore

  “What’s wrong?” Riordan asked. I looked up at him, his eyes searching for mine, suddenly filled with concern. Strong hands reached for my cheeks, holding my face firmly under his attention. How long it had been since someone worried about me outside of my inner sanctum? How long had it been since someone looked at me as he did? Thoughts drifted off to Ben. He was one of the reasons I knew of love and loss, heartbreak and death. I never got the chance to say good-bye, not properly. Not the way it should have been. Humans weren’t for me, and staring at Riordan, I was reminded of that. A second ping to my phone accentuated the thought.

  “I need to go,” I whispered, slipping past Riordan before he could ask me another question. Still holding my phone, I walked briskly for the back door, exited into the back alley, and headed for my car, another modern luxury. It was much easier to drive the mountain and disappear in privacy. Next to my VW convertible bug was an oversized motorcycle. I hadn’t noticed it this morning, but I had a strong sense I knew its owner. Shaking off the thoughts of Riordan, I raced for the nearest mountain range and a place to enter the other world.

  Stretching like a lazy kitten in the sun, the plush cushion under me felt familiar, and I curled into the comfort. Soft voices floated on the edge of my hearing.

  “Did she sleep here?”

  Violet? Why was Violet at Olympus?

  “I found her asleep in her car. I carried her in here and covered her with a blanket from the back room.”

  Riordan? Why was Riordan here?

  My body arched with delicious thoughts of Riordan’s lips on mine. My thighs hummed as my imagination took over, placing his hands over sensitive skin, spreading me wide and dipping in—

  I sat bolt upright.

  “Iris?” Violet squeaked, racing to me. I turned my head side to side, taking a moment to concentrate on my surroundings. Velvety purple couches. Coffee table with visual samples of tattoos. Riordan looking down at me. Indigo Ink. I was home, but I couldn’t recall getting here.

  Olympus. A message. The night slowly came back to me.

  Find the one whose heart dances with the rain. Let love be his forgiveness.

  The order came directly from my matron, patron of women, wedlock, and children. I didn’t ask questions. I took the message as my mission, but riddles were hardest to fulfill, although this one sounded familiar.

  “What happened?” Violet breathed, brushing back my hair.

  “It was raining. I couldn’t see, and I was so tired.” Lately, visiting the other world exhausted me. However, the season was ripe for travel, and I knew I’d be called upon more frequently.

  “Speaking of rain, did you see the double rainbow this morning?” Riordan asked, and I blinked up at him. His leafy-green eyes glittered in the daylight. He sat next to me, a hand hesitantly rubbing up my back. I shivered with the affection, and he mistook me, instantly removing his fingers. His touch immediately reminded me of my previous thoughts, his palms gliding up my inner thighs, fingers stretching forward. I clenched my knees and brought them to my chest. He didn’t miss the movement, and a slow smile crossed his lips.

  “I didn’t see the rainbow,” I muttered, knowing full-well what produced it. He pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped through some screens. Turning the device toward me, I came face to face with a brilliant arch of color, one on top of the other. It marked my path and reminded me of my mission.

  “Speaking of rain…” I drifted off, looking up at Violet. She took my meaning.

  “I went to the beach this morning.” She winked at me, without giving away more of our secrets in the presence of Riordan.

  “Rainbows are promises of good things to come,” Violet chirped brightly, attempting to change the subject.

  “I don’t believe in rainbows, then,” Riordan muttered. “Too many broken rainbows in my past, I guess.” My brows pinched at his negative comment. He returned to examining the photo on his phone. “Does it look like something is in that rainbow?”

  Swiveling on the cushion, I looked over his shoulder. Studying the image, I searched for what he saw.

  “I don’t see it.” Relieved that I didn’t see myself caught in action, I watched his face as his brows furrowed in concentration.

  “That’s so weird. I thought I saw something. Like someone in the rainbow, but a person couldn’t really be there, could she? Maybe it was a bird?”

  “Maybe you need to cut back on the sauce,” Violet said, motioning with thumb and pinky, tipping her fingers back and forth like she was drinking.

  “I don’t drink.” The sharpness to Riordan’s tone startled me.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “Why not?” Violet asked.

  “Violet,” I hissed. “That’s rude,” I added as I spun to face her, my forehead wrinkling with displeasure.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered under her breath, clenching her hands in front of her. She stood from her seat on the coffee table.

  “It’s okay,” Riordan sighed, swiping his hands through his flopping bangs. “I had an accident. A bad one. I abused the privilege, so I don’t indulge anymore.” He tried to make light of what was obviously a difficult experience and decision.

  “I’m sorry,” Violet said, waving a hand, and walking to the front counter to prepare for the day.

  “Is that what happened to your chest?” I asked softly, turning my back on Violet so Riordan knew he’d only be answering me. “I couldn’t help but notice the scar.” Painful images of Riordan being pinned to a hospital bed and split open like a dissection made me wince.

  “Something like that, yes.” We stared at one another a moment, leaf green wavering in the violet beam of my own eyes. He offered nothing more, and the front door came alive with a rap on the wood. Violet opened it to find the glass repairman, and all questions of Riordan’s past were excused for the moment.

  Find the one whose heart dances with the rain. Let love be his forgiveness.

  What did that even mean? Who could it be? As I sat at the table that evening, intending to work on more letters, thoughts filled with memories of Ben Mitchell. Blond-haired, blue eyed, all-American, he was the quintessential image of Abercrombie. College co-ed, rugged and clean-cut, underneath his Midwest exterior was a curious man with a taste for the unusual. That’s how we met. A hidden gem in the Windy City, named A Cult Bookstore, catered to the unusual interests of otherworldly reads and such. I had been browsing the bookshelves and squatted to look at something on a lower shelf. Deep in thought, I didn’t realize someone was behind me. I stood up too quickly, bumping into said person and found myself plastered to the bookcase to prevent from falling.

  “Well, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to take someone against a bookcase,” he muttered under my ear, his breath warm on my skin, and a thrill ran through me. We clicked instantly, until it became apparent Mummy and Daddy had no interest in Ben dating someone with bright ink and no background. I couldn’t share with him where I was from, and our torrid love affair soon became his dirty little secret—until I couldn’t be quiet any longer. We fought and made up until Ben found another woman, more to his parents’ liking. There was no future for us, but I thought I loved him, and more than a year later, the pain of his rejection still stung. My chest pinched with the recollection.

  A white bag suddenly appeared on the table next to me. Deep in thought, I hadn’t heard anyone enter the office. I started and looked up to find Riordan standing beside me with his bare arms crossed, accentuating his ink.

  “Have you eaten today?” His brow pinched with concern, reminding me once again that it had been a long time since someone cared for me directly. He reached for a loose wisp of hair as he had done the night before, and hitched it behind my ear. “You look tired, Iris.”

  He wasn’t one to talk. The black and blue of his eye shone brightly. The swelling of his nose had subsided, but it was discolored as well. Helping himself to a seat next to me, he opened the bag, pulling out two Styrofoam containers. Each conta
ined soft tortillas filled with long strips of fish covered in coleslaw. I inhaled deeply, feeling my lids close with food pleasure. My stomach softly rumbled.

  “Eat,” he demanded, pushing one open container toward me. I took the first bite, and my mouth had a party. I hadn’t eaten all day, actually—too busy with customers and now onto a night of letter writing. Riordan watched me, more so watched my mouth, and then he spoke.

  “Want to tell me why you were sleeping in your car this morning?” My shoulders slumped. How could I explain? I’d never told Ben what I did. He thought I was an art student, and I tattooed, of course, but other than the basics, my secret was like our affair—hidden.

  “Not really,” I sighed, reaching for the bottle of water Riordan provided.

  “Were you out partying?” His voice held an edge of concern, not scorn. I shook my head, biting into the succulent taco to avoid the conversation. I hummed in delicious praise of my food, and we fell silent for an awkward moment.

  “I didn’t know it could storm here like it did last night,” he added, not seeming to let the prior night rest.

  “You haven’t lived here very long, have you?” I asked. He shook his head, and we fell into silence again. Intending to switch subjects, I asked another question.

  “Why do you only ink in shades of black?”

  “I like the finite color, and yet there are so many variants to the shade. You just need to look closely.” I looked up to find his gaze hovering on my hair. “I’m more of a dark, rainy day kind of person than a bright ray of sunshine like you.” His gaze lowered to my exposed arm, and my skin prickled as if his eyes kissed me with only a look. I wanted his mouth on me again, but I shut down that thought.

  “So, you’re a pluviophile,” I teased, watching his puzzled expression. “A person who takes comfort in the rain.” His brow rose as his lips puckered.

  “Without rain, nothing grows; embrace the storms of your life and learn from them.” He smiled too broadly, and I laughed.

  “So philosophical.” I tilted my head. “Maybe you should answer a letter or two.” My eyes shifted to the work at hand. Violet had been to Bottle Beach that morning. A new batch of letters filled our in-basket. The other women would be here soon.

  “Nah, I just read that somewhere. It’s bullshit.”

  I laughed again, but there was a hint of seriousness to his tone. He didn’t believe he could learn from a storm in his life, learn from his favorite color—black.

  “Without darkness, we could not appreciate light, I guess. Then again, we all need a little rain to appreciate a rainbow.” I winked.

  “Why must you be so cheerful?” He teased in mock horror, as his eyes roamed my ink-covered arm.

  “No point in only looking at the dark side of life,” I sighed. One of the darkest moments of my existence was the memory of Ben. Learning he wanted another woman was a testament to the lie of his love. That discovery could have drowned me. Finding out Ben died shortly after telling me this truth, nearly did drown me. But I rode the wave and settled here.

  “Where did you come from?” He guffawed again. “Did someone sprinkle happy dust on you as a child?”

  “Something like that,” I laughed, shrugging it off, as he came too close to the truth. “Actually, it just comes from within. Inside me.” I tapped my chest. “I feel cloudy and black and constricted when I let certain thoughts get to me. It takes too much energy to remain bitter, so I let it go.”

  “If you start singing a Disney tune, we can no longer be friends,” he laughed, nudging my arm with his elbow, and taking a bite of his fish taco.

  “A negative mind will never result in a positive life,” I stated.

  “How very philosophical of you,” he said, raising a brow, impressed with my intelligence.

  “Nah, I read it on Pinterest,” I replied and leaned over to bump his shoulder with mine. He burst into hearty laughter, like that rain pattering on pavement, and it rumbled over my skin making me smile.

  We finished eating, chatting over lighter topics, like designs and his history in graphics. He’d worked for some big firm in Chicago and hated every minute of his confinement, as he called it. He wanted to be free to design what he pleased. He also wanted to live a more casual life than the society he was raised in.

  “So you’re a society brat,” I teased.

  “More like a rebel with good cause.” He smiled weakly, and I could tell we’d circled back to things he didn’t wish to discuss. As we gathered crumpled napkins and closed Styrofoam lids, Riordan turned to me.

  “You have something…” He wiggled a finger in the air around the corner of my mouth. “Here.” His thumb came forward, and he swiped at the juncture of my lips. Pressing toward my lips, I opened my mouth without thought and sucked on the tip of his thumb. His breath hitched as I lingered. Cupping my jaw with his other palm, his eyes focused on my mouth around his thick digit. I slowly released him, setting my lips on the pad for an instant before pulling back.

  “I’m sorry if I took advantage a few nights back.” His voice was suddenly like gravel in a bottle, the tone low and rumbling softly over my lips. “But your mouth is…”

  I swallowed while I waited, but hardly a second passed, and his lips were on mine. The kiss was ravenous and consuming, the connection instantaneous. My arms enveloped his neck, and his hands gripped my hips, yanking me forward in my seat. Our mouths moved in unison, sucking and tugging in equal measure. My fingers combed through his hair at the nape of his neck, and he moaned against my lips. A little tug on the short hairs, and his head shifted, forcing his mouth to open and his tongue to meet mine. My body was guided upward until we stood pressed against one another. I couldn’t get close enough to him, wanting to absorb him into my skin. His darkness was like a cool summer rain, one that refreshed as it nourished the earth. The dark façade did not fool me. Riordan wanted sunshine; he just didn’t know how to obtain it. Something held him back, but nothing held him back from kissing the sunshine out of me.

  My skin hummed and fingers tingled. I wanted his clothes off and that refreshing sensation to wash over me. Twisting so my backside hit the edge of the table, one hand released my hip and reached behind me for the hard surface while the other remained on my side, guiding my core to find the hard length of him. A rippling sensation spread through me, like glitter blown in the wind. I shimmied, encouraging him to get closer, desperate for the friction needed to make the summer rain a full-blown storm. My back was almost to the wood surface when the faint sound of a gasp and a cry came from behind Riordan.

  “Not the table!” a female voice screeched.

  “Don’t clear the table,” a feminine voice with a Hawaiian lilt barked.

  “Baby number three was conceived on a table.” The teasing tone of Lorna sent Riordan reeling from my lips, and he yanked me upward as he returned us to a vertical position. His head fell to my shoulder, as ragged breaths blew over my neck.

  “I can’t face them yet,” he muttered into my skin. One of my arms was still over his shoulder, my fingers wrapped in his hair.

  “I…” I didn’t know how to respond to him or the women inevitably staring at our precarious position. Peeking around his broad shoulder, I saw the horrified look of Molaiha, worried we’d clear the table of our haphazard letter organization, while Violet’s eyes beamed with excitement. Lorna only shook her head with a knowing smile. If she got pregnant on a table top, she surmised where things were leading with Riordan. My heart raced with the thought. I wanted him so much my core nearly ached.

  “The shop’s closed,” Violet finally mumbled, signaling the end of one job and the start to another.

  “I think Iris needs rest tonight,” Molaiha scolded, knowing I hadn’t slept much last evening.

  “Yes, rest,” Lorna added, winking at me. I smiled sheepishly. Caught making out with a man I’d only met a week ago, and a new employee was a bit embarrassing.

  “Let me take you home,” Riordan offered, but I shook my head.
My body hummed for his, but we’d been caught in the nick of time, I decided. I didn’t have time for fooling around, most of all with someone who worked for me. I had messages to deliver. I had sketches to draw. But looking up at Riordan, I realized I had a mouth to kiss, and so I changed my answer.

  8

  Riordan

  She said “Yes.” Not in so many words, but her body language screamed for mine. Her arm still wrapped around my shoulder. Her fingers still splayed in my hair. Her heavy breathing caused her ample chest to drag softly, teasingly, over mine. Slowly, her hand slipped down my arm, and I pulled back only enough to say, “I think I can move now.” I’d been so stiff that my zipper was ready to unzip itself. As if it wasn’t already obvious where things were leading, I didn’t need to turn and show three additional women the full package. My breathing finally under control, and my dick taking a painful break, I could walk with my head up as another body part cooled down. But I couldn’t fully release my touch from Iris. My hand moved quickly from the small of her back to her hand, slipping my fingers between hers, the connection instantaneous, the heat overwhelming me. A strange sensation prickled over my skin as if her warmth actually seeped into me.

  I led her from the room as she tried to speak, calling out directions to her friends. The dismissive waves and teasing tones of “We got this” encouraged me to move forward. My feet shuffled briskly, but I was ready to full-on sprint to my bike. We wouldn’t make it her house with naked images consuming me. I dragged her into a tattoo room and kicked the door closed.

  “I can’t wait,” I muttered, seeking her mouth the second the door blocked out all light from the hall. Fumbling in the darkness, I twisted us, so her back hit the wall.

  “Iris, I need—” Her fingers found the edge of my jeans, cutting off my speech as she worked quickly to unbutton and unzip me. Springing back to full length the second her mouth found mine in the dark, I hated that I couldn’t fully see her, but the warmth of her was the only light I needed. Hands hastily skimmed and sketched over heated skin. I reached for the hem of her skirt, tugging the tight material upward.