—and a goat is shoved into my arms.
Dingle bleats, kicking and squirming as Kalos steps forward to confront Gental. “You can’t have this one,” he says, his voice biting and brusque. “She’s not for your harem. This woman is mine.”
Gental blinks, the movement slow and delicious and inviting, and I’m tempted to wriggle out of my panties and tossthem at him shamelessly. He turns that mega-watt blue gaze to Kalos, and a smile breaks across his perfect face (and makes my knees weak). “I didn’t know you were here, friend.”
“That is how I liked it,” Kalos shoots back, ever acerbic.
My gaze flicks between the both of them. Gental oozes sensuality and beauty and warmth, like you’d want to both curl up in his lap for a hug or lick his prostate for hours. And then there’s Kalos, who’s prickly and annoying, his beauty one of icy disdain instead of the warm openness of Gental. His features aren’t perfect like the blond god. His nose is a little too big, his chin a little too sharp, his eyes hard. But when he turns to look at me, and there’s a hint of possessiveness in the flint of his gaze, it makes me weak.
I clutch Dingle against my chest and stare, open-mouthed, as Kalos returns to my side.
The god leans in close. “He doesn’t touch you,” Kalos says, voice low. “No one touches you butme.”
That might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. My knees go weak.
Dingle squirms out of my grasp and I barely manage to hold on to his lead. I just keep staring at Kalos like I’ve never seen him before. Did…did he just fight another god for me? Staked his claim like I’m his territory?
Why does that make me so unbelievably horny?
“Take the goat,” I say, and hand him the leash.
He glances down, barely grabbing the rope as I drop it. “What?—?”
In the next moment, my arms are around his neck, and I fling myself against him. I plant my mouth on Kalos’s and kiss him, because I might die in the next moment if I don’t.
He’s stiff against me with surprise—he wasn’t expecting that. He remains utterly still as I nibble on his mouth, tasting him. For a moment, he's utterly stiff, but I'm determined. Itwine my hand in his hair, slanting my mouth over his. Then…his lips part under mine, his hand going to my waist. He clutches me against him, his grip shockingly tight, as if he'll die if he lets me go.
I gasp in surprise and pull back, staring up at him.
What…just happened between us? What did I justdo?
His expression is completely neutral. "Not here,” he says, voice flat. “Not now.”
I put my hands to my mouth, mortified. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Let’s just return to the inn before Gental changes his mind,” Kalos says in that strangely stilted voice. “Come on. We’ll come back out for supplies when the festivities have died down.”
Humiliated, I nod and walk with wooden steps back to the inn, all the fun in the day gone. What am I doing? I’m losing my damn mind is what I’m doing.
Why on earth did I kiss the god of disease?
Chapter
Sixteen
I’m absolutely mortified as we return to the inn. It’s like with every step, my head clears a bit more. I realize I’ve been prancing about in the streets, acting like a fool. I took cups from strangers and drank them. I flirted with men. I drooled over Gental.
I freaking kissed Kalos.
And he hated every second of it.
I’m not sure which part is worse—that I’m disappointed that he hated my kiss, or that I did it in the first place.
Like a naughty child caught in the act, I hang my head and turn meekly back to the inn. I trudge up the stairs and into our room down the hall, and sit on the edge of the bed, my hands folded.
Kalos is silent as he shuts the door behind us and releases Dingle. The goat does a happy little prance, then heads to our packs in the corner and settles down atop one. No doubt he’s tuckered out from all the celebrating. I wish I was. I wish I could just close my eyes and go to sleep and pretend this day never existed, but I’m too wide awake.
I’m absolutely wired with mortification.
