Page 73 of Cold-Blooded Creatures

I hoisted her higher. “Wrap your arms around my neck.”

“N— No.” She wriggled in my grasp, but with her words faltering and her punch so weak it barely registered, there was no chance I would let her go.

I was taking her back to the compound, to safety, and making sure she slept through the night.

Taking her arm, he placed it around my neck. “Sleep, pretty birdie, sleep.”

Her bottom lip quivered as she gave in, resting her head on my shoulder. Her fight had resembled an armor, a shell, a surface of water, the rest of her hiding underneath: the mess, the rawness, the secrets I was set on unraveling. Perhaps not tonight, but I would chase the stars off the sky to get her to talk.

I always reached my goals. Whether by paying the asking price, sending Zion and his catch-and-play team, or manipulation.

Like taking her to the seaside.

Paying no heed to the concerned looks of those who walked by us on our way home, I carried her to the upper floors of our central building. The realization had not dawned on her yet that her bedroom was in the same hallway as mine and Zion’s. I shook my head to answer his silent question and passed her bedroom door, heading straight to my own. Whether she wanted to be alone or not, I was not leaving her tonight.

He pulled off the top sheet, and I laid her down on my bed. We unlaced her boots, and I ripped my t-shirt over my head, tossing it on the dark wood floor and crawling under the sheets. Her skin was damp from the tears and wetness coated her in a freezing layer, so I pulled her close, not an inch of space between us remaining. When she tucked her hands to my bare chest, the tiny unconscious move of hers solidified my resolve to not let her go.

Tucking the thin sheet around her, I glowered at Zion. “Get out.”

“No,” he said, and made himself comfortable in the armchair under the window. Red covered his palm, but I knew it would be fruitless to talk him into going to Eislyn or the doc. And even more fruitless to try to clean the black suede tomorrow.

“Do not get blood on my things,” I warned him and tucked the loose corner of my bedsheets around the back of her neck so an accidental draft would not awaken her. I had to erase the dark circles marring her sunken eyes somehow.

I would tie her to my bed if it would do the job.

My father usedto tell me many bedtime stories, but one was my all-time favorite.

Once upon a time, there were three young gods. Their father ate two to keep his power, but the third had escaped. He manipulated his father into expelling his siblings, and together, they challenged the elder gods. The war lasted for years, and the world sunk into chaos. But one final battle changed everything. The three young gods won and decided to divide the world into three realms for them to rule.

The first brother wielded the lightning power of the stars and took control of the skies. The second commanded the armies of the most vicious storms and seduced the seas and the oceans to bend to his will. The third one seated himself on the throne of the underworld, the land unseen, except by the unlucky souls who were born with one foot in their graves.

My father had tried to tell me more about each god, but I never listened, nagging him to tell me more exclusively about the third brother. He had said that he was strict and cruel and would unleash his wrath on anyone who would dare to try to leave the underworld or steal the souls belonging to him. That he had a horde of demons waiting for a flick of his wrist, a sign to attack and rip the disobeying soul apart.

I had no idea if the tale was true, but I had thought it to be so at the time. When you were a child, you believed the stories written in books, certain that nobody would deceive you on purpose.

Something called for this story to resurface from the recesses of my memory as I widened my stance, bending my knees slightly to secure my balance as Zion cracked his neck ten feet before me in our training rings.

The tale felt fitting. Maybe it was the sun peeking out over the horizon, erasing the stars in the sky, its orange edge like the tips of the flames grazing the tree line. Perhaps it was because we had taken Kali to the sea Zion and his sister had been so fond of. Or maybe it was the early morning chill clinging to my sweaty back, or the breeze ruffling my hair, the ends of strands plastered to my nape.

I landed a blow underneath his ribs and he doubled over, gasping for air and clutching his abdomen. He had slapped what used to be a white bandage on his palm, the fabric now deep crimson. At least he did not require stitches this time.

“Stop thinking.” He bared his bloody teeth from two of my previous punches. “It’s boring when you’re away.”

“I’m not away.” I dabbed the sweat on my forehead. “I’m considering how to make you follow a new rule.”

“You’re no fun,” Zion groaned, giving me a pained look. As if even talking about the rules hurt him physically.

I straightened. “It involvesher.”

His nails left pink trails on his skin as he scratched his bare chest. “What is it?”

“No one can touch her besides us, Zion.” I inhaled deeply and sighed just as heavily. “I’m okay”—that was surely the wrong word to describe what it felt like; your pelvis tightening at the view of them together signaled it was more than justokay—“with her being with you?—”

“Aww, are you saying you like me?” he interrupted me. “That’s so sweet. I’m touched.” His grin stretched wide, but as he spoke the words, something else gleamed in his eyes. A hint of seriousness that prevented their corners from creasing fully for his smile to appear genuine.

I fixed him with a dirty look. Or more like a morsel of it. The air surrounding us seemed to pause its circulation as flashes of how he and Kali looked together spun in my mind, and a want to join them, stand at his side, swirled in me.

Something I could not allow myself to take. Not after everything that had occurred years ago. Not after what I had done.