His eyes were closed, his dark-blond hair mussed on the pillow, his muscular chest bare in the dim light and his jeans riding low on his lean hips. He was the picture of sex and sin and salvation, and though she wanted nothing more than to roll him to his back, climb over him, and do to him what he’d done to her on that couch at Delia’s house, she couldn’t. Not just because she knew he deserved a moment of rest, but because with every second she stayed in this castle, her anxiety inched up and the desire to claw her skin off grew that much stronger.
Sighing, she looked back up at the ceiling. After getting her situated in this room—this massive, fancy, way too expensive suite—he’d rustled up some dinner for them to share, then disappeared to do she didn’t know what. She’d assumed he’d gone to talk to the queen, or maybe the Argonauts, but she hadn’t wanted to ask. Not just because it wasn’t her business, but because that bandage he’d returned with, the one covering the bend in his right arm, indicated he’d gotten some kind of injection or given a blood draw. And knowing the people here were messing with him physically was too much of a reminder of what Zagreus had done to him. It was also an in-your-face red flag that this whole soul mate thing was way more involved than Cynna had first assumed.
Skata. She pressed her fingers against her closed eyelids and breathed deep. She was in over her fucking head. Way past the point of reason. She’d let good—no, really hot, mind-numbing—sex color her thinking and derail her common sense. Forget about the fact she couldn’t stomach being anywhere near Isadora. Every second she stayed with Nick pushed her that much closer to falling head over heels in love with the male. And though he’d said he needed only her, she knew in the center of her chest the kind of need he was talking about wasn’t love. It never would be. Not when a part of him would always belong to his soul mate.
Fuck it. She tossed the covers back and carefully slid from the bed. Finding her jeans, she pulled them on, then spotted her boots and the lightweight jacket she’d tossed over a chair earlier. When he’d come back from doing gods knows what, Cynna had already been under the covers, pretending to sleep. If he’d used his god powers and figured out she was faking it, he hadn’t said. He’d simply gone to take a shower, come back, and climbed in next to her. Then fallen asleep while she lay there, continuing to suffer.
Well, she was done suffering. She couldn’t help him anymore. She’d been stupid to think she ever could. Crossing the floor as quietly as she could, she told herself not to look back. But her chest grew tight as she pulled the door closed softly behind her, and a lump she couldn’t quite swallow took up space in her throat as she headed down the long corridor searching for the ornate staircase she’d walked up earlier.
Columns flanked the hallway. A thick, expensive carpet ran the length of the wide corridor, and closed double doors led to other rooms…probably other bedroom suites. Though she knew they were in the same wing as before, they were several floors up, and she couldn’t help but wonder who was sleeping on the other side of these doors, past these walls. Was the queen’s room somewhere close? Or did she have an entire floor all to herself?
Skata. Stop worrying about her and just get the hell out of here.
She passed three arches that opened to some kind of common living area. Just as she went by the last column, a sound drew her feet to a stop. A voice of some kind.
She peered into the dimly lit room. Several couches were arranged in front of a dark fireplace, and one lamp near the black windows was illuminated, but she couldn’t see anyone. The room looked empty and quiet. Just when she was sure she’d imagined the sound and was about to leave, a gurgle drifted to her ears. Almost…a coo.
Brow lowered, she stepped farther into the room and came to a stop when she spotted the baby wearing pink footie pajamas, lying face-up on a blanket spread out in the middle of the carpet.
The baby spotted Cynna and cooed again, then kicked her legs in the air several times as if she were excited, reached for her feet, and grabbed both with her chubby little hands.
Apprehension slid through Cynna. She looked right and left, searching for the owner or parent or whatever you called the person who took care of a baby like this, but the room was completely empty.
The baby continued to stare at Cynna, cooed louder and swatted her arms and legs in the air faster. Then she opened her mouth and blew a raspberry that echoed all through the hall.
Cynna stepped closer until she was standing over the blanket. She didn’t like kids. Didn’t like babies, especially. They were loud and messy and so demanding.
“What are you doing out here all alone?” she said aloud. The baby didn’t answer—of course she couldn’t answer—but for some strange reason, that didn’t stop Cynna from asking.
The baby kicked her legs and blew another raspberry. Then stretched her arms up as if reaching for Cynna.