Page 17 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THEA

K rystian and Everett both excuse themselves, leaving me alone with Zaid.

He repositions the ice pack on my face after about ten minutes, and I wince as a shooting pain reverberates through me.

“Sorry.” He blanches. “I know it hurts.”

“Just a smidge.” I place my thumb and pointer finger a millimeter apart, trying to smile.

“Here. Hold this for a second.”

I take the ice pack from Zaid, and he moves to a suitcase on the floor in the room. He reappears a second later with two orange pills in his hand.

“Ibuprofen,” he explains when he catches my dumbfounded look. “It should help with the pain and swelling. Hopefully, we can stop on the way to Aphrodite and find someone to heal you.”

“There are supernaturals who can do that?” I take the pills from him and throw them back, forgoing water.

I know a lot about the world, but there’s still so much for me to learn.

“Certain species are more gifted than others, yes.” His fingers tentatively caress my mottled cheek, eliciting a fresh round of goose bumps. “Fuck, I hate that this happened to you.”

“I’m not too upset.” I capture his wrist, but instead of pushing him away, I pull him closer, nuzzling against his palm. “It means that I’m still here. That I’m alive.”

His gaze momentarily flicks to my lips, which have instinctively parted. Is he going to kiss me? Do I want him to?

The answer to that last question is—yes. One thousand times yes.

My breath abandons me as I lean towards him. The air between us feels both stifled and charged, like waves of electricity are slicing through the air. All of the tiny hairs on my arms stand at attention.

“You’re so beautiful,” Zaid whispers, his tone low and reverent.

I lean in even closer, my stomach moving in riotous swirls, and he lowers his head.

“We’re back!” Krystian doesn’t bother knocking as he pushes open the door, a wide, beguiling smile on his handsome face. The smile remains in place, even as his eyes flick between the two of us. “What’s going on here?”

Zaid backs away hastily, his cheeks bright red, and I pretend the blanket beneath me is immensely interesting.

“You horny dog,” Krystian continues, his shit-eating grin widening.

“Shut up,” Zaid mumbles.

Everett, who’s standing slightly behind Krystian, rolls his eyes and shoulders his way through.

He drops a plastic bag onto the bed beside me.

“Clothes,” he grunts out.

“Clothes?” I arch an eyebrow.

They were only gone for about fifteen minutes. How did they have time to go clothes shopping?

“And food,” exclaims Krystian cheerfully.

I’m glad to see that his usual humor and lightheartedness have returned.

I hated seeing him so…melancholic and depressed.

It made me want to run over to him, shake his shoulders, and tell him that I didn’t blame him for what happened.

I actually had fun with Krys, despite my injury. And the bloodshed.

Krystian hands me a to-go box, a heavenly smell emitting from it. I pop open the lid, and my mouth nearly waters when I see a stack of fluffy pancakes and a side of syrup.

“Oh my god. I think I’m in love,” I moan.

“She’s talking to the food, right?” Krystian asks.

“Definitely,” Zaid says.

“Yes,” agrees Everett.

I ignore them as I dig into my breakfast.

“Where’s Rafe?” I ask around a mouthful of buttery pancakes.

Everett crinkles his nose in distaste. “Chew with your mouth shut.”

“Excuse me if I don’t know the proper way to eat,” I snap, taking another bite. “I haven’t eaten anything in, like, four hundred years.”

Krystian watches me with amusement. “I can’t be the only one who thinks this is sexy.”

“Sexy?” Everett whirls towards Krystian.

“Those cute little noises she makes? The way she licks syrup off her lips? Fuck yeah, it’s sexy. I’m hard as a rock.” Krystian glances pointedly down at his basketball shorts, which are currently tented.

I giggle and lower my head, unsure if I should be proud, embarrassed, or a combination of the two. To know that these strong, proud, sexy men find me attractive…

Yeah, it’s a heady, intoxicating sensation, and one I could get used to.

The men watch me eat, not even bothering to pretend they’re doing anything else. Everett tries to appear disgusted, releasing the occasional grunt and eye roll, but there’s an incandescent heat in his gaze that blazes through me in a sweeping inferno.

Once I finish every last bite—going so far as to lick the takeaway box—I fall back on the bed, feeling satisfied in a way I’ve only felt a few times before. And…stuffed. My stomach feels bloated, and whenever I move, nausea curdles in my gut.

“Ugh. I ate too much. Is this what it feels like to fall into a food coma?” I flop around dramatically.

Krystian chuckles and pats my ankle. “Hang in there, love. You’ll survive.”

“I hate food,” I whine.

“No, you don’t,” Zaid counters with a snort.

He’s right.

I really, really don’t.

“Go get dressed,” Everett instructs, nudging the bag of clothes closer to me. “We need to leave as soon as Rafe returns.”

I swivel my head to stare up at the brooding giant, pushing my lips out in a pout. “You’re not going to let me whine and complain, are you?”

Everett simply folds his arms over his chest and scowls.

I take that as a no.

Sighing, I throw myself off the bed, grab the clothes bag without looking at it, and head to the connecting bathroom. Once inside, I lock the door and dump out the contents Everett bought me.

I expect to see either extremely frilly, obscene clothing I wouldn’t be caught dead in…or a hideous outfit a grandma would wear.

The clothes are, surprisingly, cute. Modern. Stylish.

And in my size.

I slide on a pair of hot-pink panties, trying not to blush at the prospect of Everett—freaking Everett—picking them out for me.

The jeans go on next, and I can’t help but think they fit like a dream, molding to my curves.

There are a couple of different shirts, as if he wasn’t sure which one I would prefer, and a bra.

A bra that fits me perfectly.

What the fuck? How did he know my bra size? I don’t even know my bra size.

I choose the pink shirt, then I dig through the rest of the bag and pull out a hairbrush, some hair ties, a toothbrush, and toothpaste.

I never had to do any of this stuff before. I was always just…clean, with perfect teeth and perfect hair. I didn’t even have to brush it if I didn’t want to; the strands cascaded in perfect waves down my back.

That’s certainly not the case now. I’m sporting a serious case of “rat’s nest” on the top of my head.

After a few minutes of painstakingly combing out all of the snarls and then brushing my teeth, I deem myself presentable. There’s nothing I can do about the black and blue bruise on my face, however.

I enter the room to see the rest of the guys finishing up their own breakfasts.

“How did you know my bra size?” I ask Everett bluntly, dropping my dirty clothes on the bed.

Krystian chokes on his bite of eggs, and Zaid’s face turns crimson.

Everett simply arches an eyebrow, unamused. “Excuse me?”

“Is that, like, your superpower?” I query. “Can you look at any woman and be able to tell her exact bra size?” I gesture towards the open window, where an eighty-year-old woman is staggering along the sidewalk. “What about her? Can you tell me her bra size?”

“Yes, Ev. Tell us her bra size.” Krystian’s lips twitch up in amusement.

Everett rolls his eyes and ignores us both, focusing back on his food.

I realize that, out of all the guys, I know him the least—which is saying something, because I barely know the others.

It’s obvious that Everett is a shifter, but what type eludes me.

A wolf? Dragon? Tiger?

Everett freezes with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth.

“What?” he demands, glaring up at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Just trying to figure out what you are,” I confess, shrugging.

“And how’s that working for you?” He snorts derisively and refocuses on his food.

I contemplate him carefully, taking in the broad expanse of his shoulders, the scruff on his jawline, and the tattoos coloring his skin. “You’re a dragon, aren’t you?”

“No.” Everett doesn’t even look my way again.

“You’re totally a dragon.”

“I’m not.” He shakes his head and takes another bite of his food.

“You are.” I turn towards Krystian and Zaid, who are watching the exchange with amusement. “He’s a dragon, isn’t he?”

Krystian winks. “I don’t shift and tell.”

“You don’t shift at all,” Zaid points out, but I notice that he doesn’t confirm or deny my theory either.

The guys finish their meals in silence then spend only a few minutes packing up. I hold on to my bag of supplies, feeling inexplicable warmth in my chest whenever I glance in Everett’s direction.

He bought this for me.

Despite his feelings for me, and his obvious distrust, he still went out of the way to purchase these items, knowing I needed them.

My heart swells, and before I can stop myself, I hurry to Everett’s side.

“Thank you,” I whisper, keeping my voice low so the words are just between the two of us.

I expect him to blow me off or ignore me, the way he usually does, but instead, he appears uncomfortable and grunts out, “You’re welcome.”

We exit the room, and I’m surprised to find Rafe leaning against the “borrowed” car, something clenched tightly in his hand.

“Rafe? Where have you been?” I wonder, skipping towards him.

He extends the object for me to see.

My brows shoot upwards, and my heart picks up speed, ricocheting against my rib cage.

It’s…a bouquet.

A bouquet of severed fingers, all of them contained with what appears to be a piece of intestine.

“Is that…?” I can barely breathe past the stone wedged in my throat.

“The men who hurt you,” Rafe explains gruffly, thrusting the makeshift bouquet closer to me.

Tears burn my eyes.

“Dude,” Krystian breathes in horror.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Everett bellows.

I ignore them and take the proffered digits with a wide, beaming smile. “I love them.”

Silence.

And then…

“You…love them?” Zaid ventures hesitantly.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” I bounce on the balls of my feet as I study each finger individually.

White, black, brown…and all coated in a layer of red.

“You get her nice clothes, and she asks if you have the power of detecting bra sizes. You get her severed fingers, and she practically swoons,” Everett mutters to himself, his tone acerbic and bitter.

“You’re a little messed up, aren’t you, love?” Krystian says lightly.

He doesn’t sound perturbed by the prospect, though. If anything, the heat in his eyes builds until it’s a blazing inferno that sets me aflame.

“She’s perfect,” Rafe counters gruffly.

I preen.