Thanks to Apathy, that is. He didn’t have the energy or the drive because of his Aspect. I don’t think I realized until just now what I’ve been missing out on. I tilt my face towards his in a silent request for a kiss, but he just pats my pussy. “Go to sleep, Elsie. There’s time for more later.”
“You don’t want me to touch you? Make you feel good, too?”
“Later,” he reassures me. “This isn’t about demanding that you touch me. This is just me enjoying you.”
Sounds good to me.
It’s morning.I work a mortar and pestle, crushing leaves and grinding them into a paste. “And this is good for a fever?” I ask Omos, double-checking my work. “I want to make sure before I write it down.”
“Fever and chills,” he agrees, walking away from the table to grab more herbs.
I set down the pestle and take up the quill to write notes down, so I won’t forget. As I reach for my book, something wet drips from my nose. I swipe at it, and my hand comes away covered in blood.
Gasping, I pinch my nostrils shut, but there’s blood gushing down my face, covering my mouth. When I try to wipe it away again, my teeth crumble in my mouth. My face is falling apart. I put both hands on my jaw to keep it in place, but it’s like trying to hold sand?—
“Elsie.”
I awaken with a jerk, a sob in my throat.My hands scramble to hold my face together, pressing furiously against skin and bone.
“You’re all right,” Kalos murmurs against my ear. “It’s just a dream.”
The terrible thing with lucid dreams is that they feel so real. Even now, I can feel the sensation of my teeth crumbling, the blood gushing from my nose, the hot wet feel of it coating my face. Just a dream, I tell myself over and over, until it registers in my head.
“Am I bleeding?” I whisper, touching my mouth repeatedly, expecting to feel blood and broken teeth.
“You’re not bleeding. I’ve got you. Go back to sleep.” He strokes my arm and tucks his chin into my shoulder. “I’m right here.”
I cling to him, breath shuddering. “I fucking hate dreaming.”
“I know.”
His calm reassurance eases me back into sleep, and this time my dreams are quieter.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Iwake up the next morning, sticky between my thighs and smelling like sex. God, how embarrassing. I sit up on the cot and rub my mouth, vague flashes of the nightmare from last night coming back. There’s nothing on my face but a few drool tracks. Kalos isn’t in the monastery, and neither is Omos. It’s probably daylight outside, and when I find a fresh bucket of water by the bathing stand, I know that I’ve overslept.
While I’m alone, I wash up. Twice. I change clothes and soak my nightgown, wring it out, then hang it on the drying rack by the fire, but everything still smells like sex to me. So embarrassing. Omos is going to know exactly what we were up to. I know he said he doesn’t care, but I’ve never dealt with a walk of shame up to this point. I’m a grown adult, but for some reason, the thought of someone knowing that I was getting felt up by a god makes me all giggly and embarrassed.
Food has been left in the covered tray for me, and I eat a hard roll stuffed with honey and cheese. As I polish off asecond one, the door opens, and both Omos and Kalos enter the monastery.
“Hey. Hi there. How’s it going?” I chirp out between mouthfuls. “I must have slept in.”
Omos smiles brightly at me, a bucket in each hand. Kalos holds the door open for him, and Dingle trots in after him. The goat takes one look at me with food in my hands, bleats, and prances in front of me.
“Hello to you too,” I say, and give him a crust, because I can’t resist his cute goat-y face. “What are you doing inside?”
“He needs grooming,” Kalos says. “He smells bad. Plus, I thought he might look nice with some ribbons on. Or a scarf. Come on, Dingle. Let’s go by the fire and warm some water for you.” He nudges the goat and heads over to the fireplace, putting the heavy cauldron on its normal hook.
“Ribbons?” I murmur to Omos, my brows going up.
Omos leans over. “Hedonism. He wants to redecorate the monastery for me, too. Says it needs color.”
Oh. Well. I take another bite of a roll, watching as the monk moves to the sink and pulls a large mass of fresh-churned butter from one bucket. “Do you need help with any chores? I want to work on my medicine book, but it can wait until later.” I gesture at the half-eaten roll in my hand. “I’m going to eat you out of house and home at this rate.”
“An Anchor always eats an excessive amount. You are fueling yourself as well as your god. Eat all you like. Lady Magra will provide more.” Omos wraps the butter in cheesecloth, then squeezes it over the bucket again. “But I wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands when it comes to baking.”
