Page 22 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THEA

I move through the house in a perpetual daze, my mind spinning and questions tumbling over one another.

What the fuck happened to the dagger?

Why is it embedded in my skin?

How did it happen?

What will happen to me?

I walk into the dining room, the scent of garlic and simmering meat sauce immediately filling my senses.

Everett stands at the counter, dishing up the spaghetti with his usual efficiency. His broad shoulders tense slightly when he notices me enter. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s pissed that I’ve interrupted his perfect routine or because I’m the one walking in, but I try not to let it faze me.

I have more important things to worry about.

Instinctively, I touch my side, directly over the intricate dagger tattoo.

“Dinner’s served,” he says, his voice rough, as always.

He doesn’t look my way as he slides a plate in front of me, the pasta already covered in a bright-red sauce. The garlic bread is golden, crisp, and tempting. My mouth waters, and all thoughts of daggers flee.

Everett watches me intently, studying my every move, something unspoken hovering between us.

He doesn’t like me, but he goes out of his way to take care of me—like making sure I’m fed and buying me clothes. His silent, unacknowledged kindness brings an unexpected lump to my throat.

“Looks delicious.” I force a smile, taking a seat at the table.

His eyes narrow suspiciously, but before he can comment, Krystian races into the dining room, his eyes alight with mischief.

“Holy crap. I was seconds away from eating my own hand.” He grins at me and winks. “Or Thea, though I’m not sure she’s ready for that.”

“Um, is this topic up for discussion?” I ask innocently, twirling spaghetti around my fork.

“Of course,” Krystian replies at the same moment Everett bites out, “No.”

Zaid and Rafe enter as well and claim seats on either side of Krystian, leaving the space beside me for Everett.

Zaid smiles tentatively. “I swear Everett would be a gourmet chef if he didn’t have to hunt down monsters.”

Everett rolls his eyes, but… Is that a blush staining his cheeks?

I squint, certain I’m imagining things, and Everett glowers at me. “Eat your damn food, and stop staring at me like a damn creeper.”

Rafe peers down at his plate with an intensity that’s borderline unnerving. It’s like he’s mentally dissecting the meal. Or maybe planning something—like shoving the noodles up Everett’s asshole, something I would pay to see.

His eyes meet mine for a brief second, and a cold shiver races down my spine.

“Eat your food, little bird,” he orders, his voice taking on a dangerous edge.

I nod quickly, pushing my fork through the pasta once more. The tension in the air is thick, and I find myself caught between two extremes—Everett’s silent care and Rafe’s unsettling energy.

Zaid and Krystian are definitely much less intense than the other two.

“You okay?” Zaid asks softly, his eyes glimmering with concern.

I wonder what made him think that, then I realize it’s because I haven’t taken a single bite of my food.

For the first time since I’ve arrived on earth, I’m not hungry. My stomach is in too many knots.

“Just thinking about what Aphrodite said,” I fib, waving my fork in the air for emphasis.

He gives a small nod, not pressing, but his eyes linger on me. I can tell he doesn’t quite believe me, but he doesn’t know what to ask next.

The conversation drifts, Krystian pulling it back to something lighthearted, talking about some ridiculous prank he pulled on Rafe the week before.

Rafe, of course, isn’t amused, but there’s a slight curve to his lips that I catch when he thinks no one is looking.

Zaid listens intently, while Everett simply scarfs down his food like a man possessed.

I can’t help but think how quickly my world has changed. Just a day ago, I was trapped in that damn room with no hope of ever escaping. Now, I’m here, surrounded by four men who are so vastly different from each other, yet each one pulls me in some way.

Krystian’s carefree nature is a balm to my tattered soul, while Krys’s intensity reminds me that I’m more than anyone can comprehend.

Rafe’s madness is magnetic, though I’m not sure I’m strong enough to survive the pull towards him.

Zaid is the safe harbor I never knew I needed, but Everett…

Everett is something else entirely. His gruff exterior belies a certain protectiveness I don’t know how to interpret.

It’s not as if he’s giving me any clarity, either.

Krystian continues talking, his voice cheerful, and for a moment, I allow myself to envision a future where I’m not a tool of death.

Where I’m not a prisoner. Where I’m not isolated from the rest of the world.

But in the back of my mind, there’s this constant nagging reminding me that nothing good lasts.

Either they’re going to get sick of me—a silly girl who doesn’t know what she is or where she came from—or I’m going to be ripped away from them.

I brush at the dagger tattoo yet again.

As the evening wears on, laughter fills the room—easy and familiar—but my thoughts are a jumbled mess.

Rafe calls me “little bird,” and maybe that’s all I’m meant to be.

Caged and isolated.

Perhaps there’s a reason I was locked away in the first place.

And maybe once that reason comes to light, the guys will wish they never helped me to begin with.