Chapter Three
Dorian
She thinks she won that round in the supply closet.
But all she’s done is show me that the little mouse has a backbone, and that has made me curious.
I’d ventured into the breakroom knowing they’d have some party for her birthday, and I knew it would annoy her for me to be there. Something about getting her to let go of the good-girl mask made the sharp edges in my mind dull. She normally just ignores me, which is better for the both of us, if I’m to be honest.
I’d never looked at her as anything more than a nuisance: a woman gifted by the gods, yet didn’t use her power. I knew the moment she walked up to talk to me on her first day that there was something different about her. That stench of life and death in one body…the Fates had blessed her with that gift.
But they were also cruel, and I’d no doubt that she would eventually give all her life away to save someone. She was pure good, through and through.
Which is why I’d left her alone. Her petite, elven-like face and frame didn’t call to me as a man. I’d break her in two. And her power, combined with the innocence inside her, didn’t make me crave her for my side of the war. It wasn’t worth the effort to try to keep out of the hands of the Hero Society. She would help them as best as she could, but it would either kill her in the end, or she wouldn’t affect anything. So, I’ve let her be, allowing her to play nurse and living out her trivial life.
Until she tried to shoo me away, like I was a fly begging for cake. Her eyes had dilated, and her lips had parted as I licked her fork, and my mind conjured an image of licking that icing off her creamy skin instead.
The desire to taste her drove me wild, and her words made me chase after her, compelled to savor that fight on her tongue.
Now she’s shown me that she can play my game without yielding.
I’m curious, and when you’ve lived as long as I have, things don’t make you curious anymore.
There was still some time—a few weeks before my army would be ready. I wondered how long it would take to bend her to me, to use her body and break in her mind.
For the last few days, following our kiss, she wouldn’t look at me unless we were in front of a patient together. She was trying to move on and forget that her body trembled at my touch, that she moaned into my breath, and her hands had pulled me closer. There was no forgetting that.
“I can feel you staring at me.”
She was checking the unconscious patient’s vitals while I administered his medication. Technically she could have done this all on her own, but I thought tagging along would aggravate her and maybe she would show me her backbone again.
“I’m wondering what noises you make when you come,” I remarked and smirked as her cheeks grew red.
She looked tired today. Her hair was up in that disaster she called a messy bun, her scrubs were wrinkled, and her face looked pale. Well, paler. Even the freckles that covered her face looked dull.
She sighed and finished writing a note in her chart.
“I don’t have time for this, Dorian. Can you go back to being an asshole, thinking I’m an incompetent nurse, and stop with the innuendo?” A plea. I sneered hearing it. Where was the feisty woman who shooed me away, who gripped my hair and made my cock hard?
“Why are you so tired?” I demanded, not liking it one bit that she wasn’t up for playing with me. She peered at me with an expression that said it was none of my business. True, but for some reason I was making my business.
“I just have a lot going on, and you are making it worse,” she told me and then walked out the door. If I wanted to, I could chase her down and demand she tell me what the problem was, but I stopped myself.
I had a plan, and I was so close I could finally feel victory in my grasp.
After looking around and seeing no one else was there, I flashed to one of my many homes.
This one in particular housed my weapons—men and women I’d found in the chaos of their lives and easily won over with promises of a life without fear for people like them. They could be who they wanted to be without anyone saying otherwise. Humans were beneath them. Beneath me.
My hands clenched at the thought of how beneath me they were.
Me, the sole survivor of the demigods.
That familiar taste of anger and bitterness crept over my tongue. I swallowed it down, feeling it burn as it moved throughout my body.
Those with powers that had been gifted by the gods were just that—gifted. They had no blood of the gods running through their veins; they were chosen.
The gods cared so much about the humans that they made sure they could protect them after they perished.
