Page 25 of The Gods Forbid

I turned toward my cabinets in search of bowls, which had the lucky side effect of covering up the heat marring my cheeks, formed by a fresh wave of that pesky little fear. “You made it for both of us, unless you were planning on starving yourself again.”

I was just about to reach up on my toes to grab bowls when I felt heat at my back.

“Those days are over,” Sebastian said, reaching over me to grab the bowls himself. My fingertips dug into the marble counter, holding on for dear life as I tried to restrain the urge to flee like a cornered animal. Sebastian leaned down slightly, speaking close to my ear. “Since you asked so nicely.”

I ducked under his arm and backed toward the stove. No one in their right mind would willingly stay that close to the object of their fear. I needed to manage it, now, if I had any hope of following through on my promises.

Sebastian kept a fairly neutral expression as I reached a hand out, silently asking for him to pass over the bowls. For him, that apparently meant a slight smile that made it look like he was restraining a full, taunting grin.

I filled both the bowls with soup, proud of myself for maintaining steady hands, then turned back with every intention off passing of Sebastian’s food and fleeing.

“I’m just going to eat this in my room,” I explained, when Sebastian looked at me expectantly.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he said, blocking my escape route with his arm. I was thankful for my reflexes, because without them, I would have barreled straight into his arm, which I imagined would feel like hot iron across my midsection. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude not to eat with the chef?”

“I don’t believe I’ve heard that expression before,” I said, my head turning up to meet his eyes as I spoke.

“True nonetheless,” Sebastian said, his grin splitting wide. He nodded toward the far end of the counter towards the stools nestled under the marble. “Sit down on that chair and eat with me or not at all.”

I followed his gaze to the chair on the far left. The one with the best view of the sunsets we got earlier than most other places in our world or of the flashes of brilliant color that danced across the night sky on occasion. The one with the slightly worn wood and fabric. The one that was my favorite.

“I’ll sit on whatever chair I want,” I grumbled, feeling exposed and vulnerable. I knew he was observant, but how much of me was he seeing in that artist’s stare of his?

“Sure,” Sebastian said, leaning close. It was only through years of practice shoving away my fear that I was able to stay still, to let his face come mere inches from mine. “But that one’s your favorite.”

“Whatever.” My voice really wasn’t made to grumble at someone. I hated that he threw me so off-kilter that was what I’d resorted to. The thought had my resolve kicking back in, unwilling to bow to anyone, let alone a god. No matter how terrifying. “I’m reading, though. I’m tired.”

And it would give me some much needed solace from his presence.

“Fine by me,” Sebastian said, shrugging a shoulder. He jerked his chin over to the bookshelves at the far end of my living room. “Care to share a title from your library?”

“Go ahead,” I said slowly. “I told you, what’s mine is yours.” If I got more comfortable around him, the fear would go away. I just needed to know him.

“Except for that room behind the studio,” Sebastian said over his shoulder, walking over to the shelves.

I sighed deeply. I knew he would be like a moth to a flame with that. I could only hope he was able to resist the urge to peek inside. It wasn’t anything particularly private, but it was my space. “Yes.”

As Sebastian sauntered back to the kitchen, a worn book in his hands, he was sporting a grin that told me he was actively restraining the urge to ask me about it. I focused my energy on my food and my book, trying to ignore the fact that I could still feel him sitting right next to me.

I curled my legs up to my chest, resting my book against my thighs so I could alternate between supporting the book while reading and keeping my place when I stopped to eat. Once settled, I leaned over and took a bite of the soup.

A shocked sound dropped from my lips before I could catch it.

“If you say thank you, I’m walking right into that room to see what you’re hiding,” Sebastian threatened, not even sparing me a glance.

“I wasn’t going to say thank you,” I shot back. If anything, I was going to ask him where on Jupiter’s green earth he’d learned to cook like this, but decided against it. He got volatile when I complimented him, which risked me responding and descending into madness right alongside him.

Sebastian hummed in disagreement, a low vibration that felt like it moved right from his chest to mine, but remained silent otherwise.

I wasn’t sure either of us spoke a word aloud for the rest of the night. I also wasn’t quite sure how long we’d sat next to each other, slowly alternating between eating and reading.

It was odd for me to lose track of time like that, but there was something in the feeling of someone else in the room with me, no matter how unsteady he made me, that tricked my brain into turning off for a second. To twist a normally mundane part of my day into something … something I couldn’t quite name.

Chapter 8

Sebastian

One would expect to sleep soundly after spending a month on a bed that forced you to fold your legs at an odd angle and in a cell that clanked loudly with whips of wind and forced long-repressed memories from the recesses of your mind.