CHAPTER 8
Nearly a week later, I wake from a decent sleep—something that’s rare for everyone these days. Lying on my side, I open my eyes. Griffin is facing me. He’s still sleeping, but as if he senses me watching him, his lids slowly slide open to reveal storm-gray eyes framed by thick black lashes.
I reach out and lightly trace the bridge of his nose. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he rumbles back in a sleep-thick rasp.
Sighing, I start to get up, but he hooks his arm around my waist and drags me back. There’s nothing sleepy or lazy about how fast he moves, or how hard he pulls, and I land flush against his solid chest with an unqueenly “Oomph.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Griffin’s leg pushes between mine, his crisp hair tickling the insides of my thighs. He slides a warm hand up my naked back and then cradles my head in his palm.
I wrap the hand that’s not pinned between us around his shoulder, wiggle closer, and then inhale deeply against his neck. He smells so good to me, like man and mine. I want to lick him. Kiss him. Maybe bite.
I nuzzle the underside of his scruffy jaw, feeling his already impressive erection grow even harder against my lower belly. Griffin groans softly, shifting against me, and desire sparks inside me like flint on steel.
But it’s late. I already woke up once and ignored the light—and all the things we need to do today.
Reluctantly, I stop nestling into Griffin’s big, tempting body and tilt my head back to look at him. “It’s time to get up. We’re leaving this morning.”
His eyes turn shadowed, and he grips me just a little tighter. The tensing of his muscles only lasts an instant. Even quicker is the pain that flashes across his features. He banishes it, exiling it to the place where he’s been keeping the hurt of Piers’s betrayal ruthlessly boxed up. Except when absolutely necessary, he hasn’t spoken his brother’s name out loud once.
“No one said we had to leave at the crack of dawn,” Griffin mutters. His arm relaxes around me, but he doesn’t let go. His callused thumb draws a slow, arching pattern through the hair behind my ear, making me shiver.
Fighting temptation, I twist around and glance out the window. “Dawn cracked a while ago.”
And six days have passed since Piers disappeared with Athena. Five days ago, we started preparing Jocasta and Kaia to hold down the proverbial fort. Two days after that, we heard back from Castle Sinta. Devastation. And worse—understanding. Anatole, Nerissa, and Egeria don’t seem to blame me for the loss of Piers any more than Griffin or the others do.
“Why the sudden frown?” Griffin asks. He untangles his hand from my hair and then gently trails a fingertip along each of my lowered eyebrows. “Is Little Bean bothering you?”
I shake my head. “No. She’s settled. I’m fine.” She didn’t even make me throw up yesterday. Maybe we’re moving out of that phase and into the next, whatever that is. Backaches? Constantly looking for a chamber pot? Waddling?
My frown deepens. Surely not waddling? Not yet.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You,” I answer honestly. “I’m worried you’re repressing your feelings.”
Griffin grunts. It’s kind of a laugh, but kind of not. “That’s your area of expertise. Or it used to be. I don’t repress anything.”
“You’re not talking about Pier—”
Griffin rolls me onto my back and kisses me hungrily. He takes me off guard at first, but then I kiss him back with just as much eagerness and lift my knees, curving my legs around his hips. He slides into me with so little effort that it surprises us both. I bite my lip, taming a wicked smile.
Griffin’s expression is all satisfied heat. He flashes me a pirate’s grin before suddenly pumping up on his arms. He dips his head and catches my nipple in his mouth, pulling on it with hot, wet tugs. Closing my eyes, I arch up into him with a moan.
He starts moving inside me, so slowly at first that it’s decadently sensual. His stubble grazes my skin as he scatters scorching kisses across my chest. Midnight hair teases the hollow of my throat, and I curve my hands around his head. Griffin shifts up. His lips capture mine, and he pushes deeper into me, rocking hard. A rope of pure pleasure pulls taut inside me, making my toes curl and my mind go blank.
All I can feel is him, and all I want is more. Wings beat in my chest, unfurling with near-violence. Griffin speeds up, winding me even tighter. Release quivers just out of reach and then hits like a sudden storm.
Griffin stills and then pulses deep within me. His groan is long and low. He leans his forehead against my shoulder, holding himself rigid for a moment before dropping like a stone.
I croak something incoherent, and Griffin rolls off me, landing heavily on his back. He gropes for his pillow with one hand, sliding it under his head. He snakes his other hand underneath me, circling my shoulders and tipping me onto my side. He pulls me tightly against him. I wriggle my head up onto his shoulder and then drape my leg across his thigh, smiling up at him. He smiles back and then closes his eyes.
I blink in surprise. “You can’t go back to sleep.”
“Yes, I can.” To prove it, he settles his body more firmly into the mattress.
“But…there are things to do. Realms to run.” A journey to undertake.
His free arm flops across his eyes, blocking out the light from the east-facing window.
I stare at him in shock, not seeing much more than his slightly parted lips and stubborn jaw. After a while, his breathing slows.
I watch him, not at all sleepy, a niggling sense of unease overtaking pleasure. I’m completely aware of the fact that he just distracted me with amazing sex, and I let him. His focused blast of activity on his sisters’ behalf over the last few days, his ability to find a smile here and there, especially for me, and very intense lovemaking are only masking the truth.
Griffin isn’t getting past what Piers tried to do to us, to me, to him. If there’s one thing that proves it, it’s that he’s not the one pushing us to get out of bed today—or any day at all.
* * *
I leave Griffin asleep in our room and make my way down to breakfast, only to find that breakfast is over, and there’s no food. In fact, the dining room is completely empty. My stomach rumbling, I poke around the still largely unfamiliar palace, walking the dim, torch-lined corridors down a level toward where the main kitchen should logically be. I quickly get lost in the labyrinthine underbelly of Castle Tarva and have to ask servants for the right way not once, not twice, but three times.
Stupid sense of direction. I wish I had one.
Thinking I finally smell food, or something, I find myself foiled again when I pull up short in the doorway of the cavernous kitchen. In the middle of the room, Flynn is leaning toward Jocasta, his massive hands braced on the solid wooden worktable between them. Loose and wild as usual, his auburn hair reflects the light from the fire blazing in the hearth. Across from him, Jocasta is tipped forward as well, her hands wrist-deep in some kind of stewed herbs from the smell of it. They’re glaring at each other.
“You think I can’t handle the responsibility?” She pulls a handful of dark, limp leaves from her bowl and starts vigorously ripping them up.
“I didn’t say that. Don’t put words in my mouth, Jo.”
“Then say what you mean.” Even from the shadows of the hallway, I see her blue eyes flash and her expression tighten with a mixture of annoyance and frustration.
Flynn pushes off from the table with a scowl. “I’m saying you don’t have to do everything alone. Find an advisor you trust.”
“How should I know who to trust?”
“Ask Cat to meet people with you. She’ll know who’s lying, and what their intentions are.”
Jocasta shakes bits of damp herbs from her fingers, flicking them back into the bowl. When most of her concoction is where it s
hould be again, she picks up an already stained cloth from the table and then wipes her hands clean. “Cat’s leaving today.”
“And that terrifies you.”
Jocasta’s head snaps back up, sending a blue-black curl swinging against her jaw. Flynn makes a hesitant, almost imperceptible move toward it, but before his intention can become clear, Jocasta impatiently shoves the loose lock behind her ear. “Why do you say that?”
His hand drops, curling into a slack fist. “Because everyone relies on Cat. When she’s around, we all have this ridiculous sense of security, like no matter what’s happening, or who’s swinging a sword, or throwing fire, or whatever terrifying person or creature is coming at us, she’ll fix it. She always does.”
Oh. My stomach crashes to my feet. For once, I’m pretty sure the queasiness isn’t due to Little Bean.
Is that how everyone sees me? Is that what I am to them? What they expect?
Then it hits me—again. Of course it is. I’m Elpis. Unbreakable. Unshakable. Possibly going to vomit…
I breathe again, forcing steeliness on myself like a warrior donning armor. But it’s an act, a disguise. Inadequacy haunts me like a completely justified ghost.
“Kaia and I will muddle through” is Jocasta’s only response.
“You don’t have to ‘muddle through,’” Flynn says. “Ask them to stay a few more days, and get yourselves some people to help you. People you can trust.”
“If Griffin and Cat thought we needed help, they would have suggested it. They obviously have more confidence in me than you do.”
Flynn’s jaw hardens. “You’re putting words in my mouth again.”
“Am I?” Jocasta smiles vaguely and without humor. “I guess you talk to me so little, I’ve started to invent.”
Flynn freezes, staring at her. Emotional conflict makes him shut down completely. With Jocasta, anyway. He’ll get into a roaring good fight with me.
“Cat and Griffin—they listen to people. Take advice,” he finally says in a low, almost toneless voice. “Cat was Griffin’s advisor at first. In a way, she still is.”
If you ask me, Griffin’s the sage one, but Jocasta eventually nods, conceding the point. “I’ll think about it,” she says.
“Thank you.” Flynn seems to relax. “Get yourself a guard as well,” he adds.
“I can take care of myself.”
“I could take care of you better,” he mutters irritably.
Jocasta grips the edge of the table like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Or like she might heave the whole thing up and over in a fit of rage. One or the other. I can’t tell. When Flynn realizes what he just said, or rather how it could be taken, he pales until his shock of bright-red hair is his only color.
“I mean…” He clears his throat, looking up, around, anywhere but at her. “I mean you’d be twice as safe with a warrior guarding you. Me. Or someone else.”
Jocasta slowly uncurls her fingers from the table. “Someone else?”
Flynn frowns. “I’m leaving today. I won’t be here. You fought well in the arena, but we were all there. That doesn’t mean you’re ready for this.” He waves his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “Everyday danger? The insidious kind? It doesn’t always come at you with a sword and a snarl. You might not see it coming.”
That vague smile is back on Jocasta’s lips, the one that speaks of utter disappointment. “So that’s what you want? Some man following me around day and night? Sleeping outside my bedroom door? Taking walks with me? Guarding me in the bathhouse?”
Flynn doesn’t answer. He’s too busy grinding his molars to dust.
“Well, I won’t do it,” Jocasta says. “I’m in a fortified castle and don’t plan on leaving it. There are plenty of guards, high walls, and beyond them, there’s a constant, swelling crowd that seems to genuinely love us. I’m not in any danger.”
Flynn scoffs. “There’s always danger. And it’s most dangerous when you don’t expect it. You can’t let your guard down, Jo, especially while we’re away.”
Jocasta pushes the soggy, herb-soaked cloth farther down the table, wiping up a spill. When there’s nothing left to keep her busy, she finally looks up at Flynn.
“Don’t worry about me. Worry about yourself.” She shifts from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. “I certainly do.”
Flynn leans in, his hands braced on the table again. Their eyes meet. “You do?”
Jocasta swallows so hard I can see it from here. Softly, she says, “You know I do.”
Flynn’s gaze drops to her mouth. Jocasta’s lips part, and her tongue darts out to wet them. He targets the movement with his eyes, tilting his head slightly and suddenly looking like a hungry and very focused predator. She sways toward the man she’s loved for so long, slowly closing the distance across the worktable. Flynn doesn’t back off for once, and I start to feel like the worst sort of thrill seeker, because my heart is pounding for them, and I can’t look away.
Do it. Kiss her. Claim her. It’s all she wants.
Flynn’s head drops a slow inch. Jocasta tilts hers up.
This is finally happening!
Bellanca charges into the kitchen through a side door. Flynn and Jocasta jump apart. I jump, too, my hand flying to my chest where my heart starts kicking like a deranged donkey. Everywhere Bellanca goes, she goes like a bloody tornado. A bloody flaming tornado.
“What in the Underworld is that awful smell?” Bellanca waves her hand in front of her nose, looking at Flynn and Jocasta like it’s probably them. Then she storms over, peers into Jocasta’s bowl, and scowls. “What’s that?”
“It’s going to be a sleeping draught,” Jocasta says tersely.
Bellanca wrinkles her freckled nose. “Who for?”
“For me,” Jocasta answers from between gritted teeth. She’s usually friendly to Bellanca, or at least neutral, so I know her crossness comes from being interrupted before her first kiss ever, and that from the man she’s been waiting for for years.
Bellanca huffs. “You can’t be that stupid.”
Flynn’s brown eyes narrow. The look he turns on Bellanca is truly terrible, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
Jocasta takes a slow breath, her expression suddenly such a careful mask of politeness that I have no doubt she’s erupting underneath. “Excuse me?”
“Why would you want to sleep that heavily? Only an idiot would do that.” Bellanca looks genuinely confused. As usual, she’s oblivious to anyone’s reaction to her…forthrightness.
“Do you suggest I sleep with one eye open?” Jocasta asks coolly. “Or possibly not at all?”
Bellanca reaches between them and grabs an apple that somehow escaped the splattering of herbal sludge. “Good idea.” As she straightens, she knocks Jocasta’s bowl over, giving it a hard enough shove to dump it on the floor. The earthenware vessel shatters into tiny pieces, hopelessly contaminating the concoction.
Jocasta’s mouth drops open.
Bellanca winks. “Eyes open.” She crunches into her apple as she moves backward in a tinkle of gold bangles and a froth of sky-blue skirts.
Flynn steps after her, his voice lowering in pitch. “Did you just threaten her?”
Bellanca stops halfway across the kitchen, looking increasingly surly. She dabs a fingertip to her lips, wiping off a drip. “I’m trying to protect her.”
“Do you know something?” Flynn growls, stalking forward until they’re only a pace apart.
Bellanca takes another bite and then shrugs. “I know lots of things.”
“Like what?” Flynn demands.
“Like potions such as that one are better left alone.”
Jocasta stiffens. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not likely to overdose.”
Bellanca shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Then what do you mean?
” Flynn asks, menace still heavy in his voice.
“Good Gods!” Bellanca rolls her eyes. “I was just trying to help. I’m going to change and pack.” She takes another bite and then throws her apple at Flynn, hitting him square in the forehead.
I slap my hand over my mouth, stifling a gasp. Laugh. Gasp-laugh. I can’t believe she just did that!
Stone-faced, Flynn wipes apple juice from his brow. Jocasta stares in horror. Bellanca whirls on her heel and then stomps from the room, going out the same way she came in—fast and flaming.
As soon as the Tarvan woman is out of sight, I back away from the open door before dissolving into fits of quiet laughter. Soon after, I hear Flynn and Jocasta do the same.
* * *
Jocasta doesn’t ask me to stay and help her find an advisor, so I don’t offer. I don’t want her to know I was eavesdropping, but more importantly, I want to show her that I have faith in her and her decisions. I won’t rattle her confidence just before we leave by asking if she needs my help. Besides, I agree with her. As long as they stay within the castle grounds, I think she and Kaia are perfectly safe.
We’ve all gathered in the courtyard, those of us who are riding out today and those of us we’re leaving behind. It shouldn’t be a dangerous journey, or long, but goodbyes are always hard.
Behind me, I hear footsteps and the creak of leather and turn from watching Griffin and Carver give last-minute instructions to their sisters. Kato drops my saddle onto Panotii’s back.
“I can do that,” I say, reaching to help.
He brushes my hand away. “I know you can.” He bends down to tighten the girth.
No one lets me lift anything anymore, but I don’t argue about that. Straps, however, I can handle, but Kato’s broad back is blocking my attempt to help, and there’s not a Satyr’s chance in Tartarus he’ll move out of the way. He finishes, tugs the stirrups into place, and then jiggles everything to make sure it’s secure.
Heart on Fire Page 9