“Don't you want to know why we're watching you?”
“No, I don't think I do. Just don't do it again.”
Oh, yes, I did. I wanted to know very badly. It had to be because of Rune. He was hurting too. There was no other reason for his brothers to be stalking me. But I wasn't going to give this guy the satisfaction of begging for information on a lover whohad chosen to leave me. I'd known Merrick for ten seconds, and he was already rubbing me the wrong way.
Merrick grabbed my upper arm. “Lora, he's not himself.”
I froze.
“He told us about you. About Hermes. He was . . . he likes you. A lot. But we're possessive by nature. He can't deal with Hermes.”
“Yeah, I know. We went over this. We went over it a lot. But I can't exactly break up with the god who gave me immortality.” I looked at him and finally voiced my biggest fear. “He might take it back.”
Merrick's frown deepened. “He can do that?”
“I don't know!” I shrugged off his grip. “But even if he couldn't, I owe Hermes. He saved me in many ways and many times over the centuries. And he's not possessive. He's fine with me having lovers. So, I can't complain.” I paused and took a breath. “Look, I love him. Rune, I mean. I told him that. He still chose to leave instead of compromising. He flat-out said he couldn't. And I still love him. I would end things with Hermes if I could. In a fucking heartbeat. But I can't, and he can't deal with that, so we're at an impasse.”
Merrick's expression shifted during my speech. It went shocked, twitched, and then turned to stone. He took a step back. “I understand. Sorry to bother you.” He walked away.
I watched Merrick go. Merrick and Braxen, Rune's packmates, had spied on me all night. I wasn't going crazy. Yes, I was still a mess because of Rune, but I hadn't been seeingthings. The question was, how much of a mess was Rune that his brothers had come looking for me?
Hope threatened to rise again, but I shoved it down. If Rune got over his possessiveness so we could be together, that would be great. I would be thrilled. I'd put aside my anger over him leaving and welcome him back with open arms. But I didn't want to hope for it. Hope only makes disappointment worse.
I went into the gallery, locked up, then headed upstairs. Hope dogged my heels. It kept churning thoughts in my mind, making me wonder what Rune had said to them about me. Did he tell them he loved me? Was he moping about their house, eating pints of ice cream, and watching romantic movies? Doubtful, but maybe he was snapping at them, grumpy. I could see that. They had gotten worried and come to check out what all the fuss was about.
And found me on a date with another man. Shit.
I didn't bother turning on the lights when I got to my bedroom. It didn't occur to me why I kept things dark until I found myself heading to the window. I stood to the side of the frame and peered out. There, across the street, stood two men. Both blond. One was Merrick and the other was the big guy from the restaurant. Braxen. They were speaking animatedly, gesturing at my building.
“What the fuck?” I whispered.
I watched them argue for a few minutes before Merrick got a phone call, and they rushed to a parked car. Just before he got in the passenger seat, Braxen looked up and light from the streetlamp bathed his face. My breath caught. He was beautiful. Maybe even more so than Rune. His short hair let his looksshine, nothing to distract from his full, sensual lips and sharp jawline. And that body. I thought Rune had the perfect physique, but I liked this too. All that strength on display. Cerberuses were known to be powerful fighters. The brawlers of Hades. Guards of the Underworld. One look at Braxen was enough to confirm it.
I knew he couldn't see me, but I still got nervous when he continued to stare. Merrick must have said something to him because he flinched, then climbed into the car. They sped away.
“Well, at least I know I can still get the hots for another man. Kinda disturbing that it's Rune's brother, but what does it matter anyway? He's not coming back.”
Chapter Sixteen
The scrape of the brush soothed me. I fell into the sounds, smells, and motions of painting. Beside me was a glass of wine, but I'd only taken a few sips before I fell into a meditative state. I was working on the warriors again. The gladiator this time. I knew that much. I saw my hand moving over his face and was surprised to feel affection for him. He wasn't real, just a bunch of paint on a canvas, but I felt as if he were standing before me. As if the brush was my hand caressing his face. Desire shot into my core, and I went liquid.
As I painted, images came to me. I lay beneath this man, legs pushed wide by his broad hands, his thick cock pumping in and out of me. My nipples beaded. A soft moan fluttered over my lips. He was grunting. Bestial. Covered in sweat and dirt. He left smudges on my thigh when he let go of it to grab my breast. Every touch was rough, barbaric, but that only increased my desire. Then he touched my clit with a calloused finger and circled.
The brush clattered to the floor. My back arched, my sex flooded, and I shrieked from the orgasm that took over my body. Balance lost, I fell from the wooden stool and hit the floor. But I was still coming, and the pain didn't register. Instead, I trembled, hands grabbing my own breast and cupping my sex. Rubbing, squeezing, helping my orgasm along.
At last, it ran its course, and I opened my eyes. Staring down at me from the canvas was the gladiator. I swear he was smirking.
“What the fuck?” I crab-walked backward, scrambling away from the painting. But after a few feet, I realized how ridiculous that was. It was just a painting. I had painted it. Oil and canvas. That's all.
I sat up and looked at the other three canvases. The crusader and medieval knight seemed aloof, but my nemesis looked satisfied. Odd. My brain was doing some weird shit. Must be the breakup. It was affecting me more than I knew. Fantasies of gladiators that gave me real orgasms? That was new. Never happened when I was getting over Hermes. I didn't fantasize about anything but cutting off his balls.
Of course, Hermes had been different. He hadn't just left me. He had betrayed me. He destroyed my love for him. Oddly enough, that's easier to get over. It's continuing to love someone who you know cares about you in return that's hard.
But this was bizarre. What was happening to me?
“Fuck it,” I muttered and stood up. “It got me off, whatever it was, and I needed that. So, thank you, Gladiator.” I bent and picked up my brush, then held it up to my forehead. “I salute you who are about to die.” I grimaced. “Or have died. Shit. If you were a real person, I just got an orgasm from a dead man.” I shuddered. “Gross.”
Determinedly, I turned and walked away. But as I washed up at the studio sink, I kept looking back at him. There was something familiar about him. I went to the kitchen and putsome leftover Chinese food in the microwave. Looked back. That's when I realized that I had finished the painting.
