Gatlin walks over, removes the pen, closes her computer, then easily scoops her into his arms. She doesn’t wake. Instead, she softly sighs and curls into his body, nuzzling his chest. A twinge of envy hits me. Gatlin smiles at her, then crosses over to the couch to gently lay her down. Wisps of silky dark hair fall across her face. Gatlin slides a finger across her cheekbone to sweep them behind her ear, then pulls the throw from the back of the couch to cover her. It’s clear he’s done this a lot. Maybe every night he’s been here with her? They’ve obviously gotten closer.
Hawthorne’s sharp inhalation is loud in the quiet air. He takes a half-step forward, then stops.
My own hands clench with the need to pull her into my arms, but I hold myself back.
Gatlin stares down at her. “She’s determined to find the panels and fix this mess. Even talked about getting the other ones from the vampires.” He glances up at us, his brow furrowing in a mixture of frustration and anger. “Whether you forgive her or not, she needs our help. I know you’re both hurting, but we can’t leave her to face this alone. I’m going with her on Hera’s quest, but she needs your help too. So, get your heads on straight before I knock some sense into you both. Hear me?” We both nod. “Good. I’m going to bed.” He stalks out, leaving us with the sleeping Phaedra and a hell of a lot of feelings twisting us up inside.
10
PHAEDRA
When I wake on the couch the next morning, I smile. Gatlin’s obsessed with taking care of me and making sure I get enough sleep. It’s nice. Nobody has done that for me since I was a child, and right now, I need to know someone cares and I’m not alone in all this.
“Good morning.”
I shoot into a sitting position and see Hawthorne fiddling with the pomegranate on the floor beside the couch.
“Good morning,” I rasp, watching him use his magic to grow the pomegranate into a tree. “Impressive.”
His power slides over me like a warm caress, and the kinks in my neck disappear in an instant. How did he know? Or was it my own body absorbing his magic?
“Not really,” he says in a dissatisfied tone. “Hera’s a goddess. She’s not going to be impressed by a tree.”
“Depends on the tree,” I say as I rise and make my way over to sit in front of him. “Thank you for doing this. It means a lot that you would still help me. And I know it doesn’t mean anything personal. Or fix things between us.”
His sea green eyes study me closely. “I…” He stops, then begins again. “It took a long time for me to feel settled in this world. I was used to being surrounded by family and friends. Here, loneliness ate at me, devouring any contentment. It wasn’t until Jamison, Mathias, and Gatlin came along that the burden of it eased. But a piece of me felt empty. It wasn’t until you came along that I began to feel complete. Like I could be happy in this world.”
A tear rolls down my face at the hurt in his eyes, and he reaches over with his thumb and swipes it away. “I endured so much because of what you did in the past, but that’s not what hurts the most. I let down my walls. Opened up to you. Shared my darkest days. I could see the loneliness in your eyes. Hear it in your voice. It make me feel connected to you.”
He rubs a hand down his face. “I’ve never fallen for someone like I fell for you. Yet the whole time, you were hiding who you were, keeping a part of yourself distant from us. I felt blindsided. How do I believe anything you say is real?”
Pain rips through me at his words, and a few more tears slip down my face. This time, he doesn’t wipe them away. “You’re right. For three thousand years, I kept myself hidden, separate from everyone, including the men I dated. The only thing that kept me going was finding my sister.”
I swallow hard. “Then you four came along, and I suddenly found myself yearning for something I didn’t know was possible. A future.” Unable to help myself, I reach over and pick up his hand. “I’m truly sorry I didn’t share my past. What started ashabit became this mountain of fear and denial. The longer I kept it from all of you, the worse it became. I knew when you found out, it would be the end. So, I tried to protect my heart.” He slides his hand from mine, and I reluctantly let it go. “But in the end, I failed. I didn’t even know how much I cared until all of you were gone.”
He says nothing. For several long minutes, we stare at each other in the bright morning sun until I can’t stand it. Why should he believe me? Discouraged, I drag a hand through my hair and rise.
“I’m going to take a shower.”
On the way out the door, I run into Gatlin, whose sharp eyes trace the tear tracks on my cheeks. His hand reaches for mine, but I step to the side and continue out the door. If he holds me, I’ll fall apart. I take the stairs two at a time until I reach my bedroom. Not wanting them to hear me cry, I quickly strip and step into the shower. There, I let the tears flow. Sometimes all that is left is a good cry.
Exhausted,I fall asleep after my shower. A soft knock on the door wakes me, but it takes a minute to pry my gritty, swollen eyes open. I roll over and glance at the clock on the nightstand. Lunch time. With a groan, I slide from the bed, open the door, and find Jamison standing on the other side.
His steel-blue eyes coolly assess my face, but he doesn’t comment on the obvious. “Lunch will be ready in five.” One of his hands rises as if to touch me, but it never makes contact. Instead, he stares at me for a minute before turning on his heel and leaving.
I’m so tempted to skip lunch, but I know if I don’t show, Gatlin will come up, drag me downstairs, and force-feed every bite to me. I close the door and turn toward the bathroom, hoping my hair doesn’t look too crazy from falling asleep with it wet.
It’s worse. Three sexy men in my house, and I look like a train wreck. Turning on the tap, I quickly wet my hair until it’s falling straight down my back, then twist it into a knot. That will have to do. I splash cold water on my puffy face, hoping it will miraculously deflate before I see them.
Downstairs, the murmur of voices stops the second I get close to the kitchen. All three of them are standing together, their eyes trained on the door.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, slipping past them to get a glass of water.
“Hawthorne found the elf we saw with Mercer,” Jamison informs me. “He’s Osian, the Elven councilmember’s, youngest son.” He pauses for a second. “We’re not sure if he spotted him or its sheer coincidence, but he requested a meeting with Hawthorne for the day after tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Do we need to pack weapons, or is this a friendly meeting?”
All three of them share a look.
