Page 9 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER NINE

THEA

“ I look ridiculous,” I bemoan, studying myself in the motel’s mirror.

The pants Krystian let me borrow are four sizes too big and have to be secured around my waist with a belt. The shirt is just as large, practically dwarfing my petite frame. I’m wearing seven pairs of socks—not all of them clean—and even that isn’t enough to keep the tennis shoes on my feet.

Krystian presses his lips together to keep from laughing. “You look…nice.”

I flip him off.

We reconvene with the other two—Rafael has showered and changed into a leather jacket and blue jeans, while Everett is still dressed in the clothes he wore before—and walk down the street to a diner.

It’s surprisingly busy for this time of day, though we only have to wait a few minutes before getting a seat.

The air smells of burnt coffee and hot grease, a comforting perfume that I can’t help but inhale greedily. I could smell things in my incorporeal form, but not very well. Every scent was diluted, sometimes impossible for me to detect. But this… This is something else entirely.

Red booths line the windows, their seats cracked and mended with duct tape. The Formica countertops have been scrubbed clean but bear the soft, permanent dull of a thousand elbows and hot plates.

A single waitress with a name tag that reads Darla moves between the tables with a wearied grace of someone who has done this for years, refilling cups without asking and smiling at familiar faces.

From the jukebox in the corner, an unfamiliar song plays, the music warbling slightly as the machine clings to life.

I excessively rub my hands against the booth, my smile growing.

Everett, who is sitting across from me, scowls. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Have you felt the texture of this booth? It’s like…silk.”

“Vinyl,” Zaid corrects, his blush sharpening when I glance in his direction. “What you’re feeling is called vinyl.”

“It’s amazing.” The two of us share a secret smile, but the moment is interrupted by the arrival of the waitress.

Her eyes widen when she takes in my guys—errr, the guys. She licks her lower lip and begins to twirl a bouncing red curl around her finger.

“Hello, darlings. Haven’t seen you guys here before.” She leans forward slightly to offer a better view of her cleavage.

“We’re just passing through.” Krystian smiles tightly, and I have a feeling the waitress is swooning at his British accent.

I know I am.

Trying to ignore the grating sensation I feel all the way in my teeth, I point to the menus in her hands.

“Can we get some menus, please?” I’m not even sure I’ll be capable of eating, but I’m determined to try.

You only live once, after all.

Well, you only come back to a living body one time, after all.

“Oh.” She seems flustered, the guys’ presence addling her brain.

She passes each of the guys a menu before handing one to me last. She once again leans far enough over the table that I see the lacy edge of her bra.

“Here you go.”

The fury inside of me lights like a match.

Ugh. Is this what jealousy feels like?

I hate it.

“Thank you.” I take the menu from her, scowling when our hands accidentally brush.

“I’ll be back to take your orders.” She hesitates a second longer, her gaze sweeping over the table once more, before she sashays away.

Only when she’s gone do I huff and fold my arms over my chest. “Can you believe that woman?”

The audacity of flirting with the four guys when they’re obviously here with me.

“You don’t like it when people flirt?” Krystian’s mouth curves, and my gaze tracks the movement.

“It’s rude.” I scowl.

Everett snorts. “You seem like the type that enjoys the attention.”

“Huh?” That one sound comes out on a whoosh of air.

“Thea,” Zaid begins softly. “You do realize she was flirting with you , right?”

“With me?” My voice comes out high-pitched.

“Anyone with working eyes would flirt with you,” Krystian points out with an eye roll.

Wait…what?

“But…but… I thought she was…” I gape at the four of them—Rafael and Everett sitting across from me, Krystian beside me, and Zaid at a seat pulled up to the edge of the table.

“I can kill her if you feel uncomfortable,” Rafael suggests, his voice monotone.

Kill her?

“Of course not!” My lips curve into a wide smile. “I’ve never had someone flirt with me before. OMG! This is amazing!”

“Did she really just say OMG?” Everett asks Zaid, sounding incredulous.

“Let her have it,” Zaid responds.

The waitress returns a few minutes later, her cheeks still red and her chest heaving.

On closer inspection, she appears to be in her late twenties.

She’s pretty, I suppose, with reddish-orange hair coiled in tight, corkscrew curls and freckles on her nose and cheeks.

I’m not particularly interested in women, but when in Rome, do what the Romans do. Or whatever.

I hold the woman’s gaze and sensually lick my lips.

Krystian begins to choke on his water.

“Darla, is it?” I purr, leaning slightly on the table. The oversized shirt does very little to help my figure, but it’s the thought that counts. “I think we should rearrange the alphabet to put U and I together.”

Zaid blushes, Everett turns his face to keep from laughing out loud, and Krystian facepalms himself. Rafael? He simply glares at the innocent human waitress, who seems at a loss for words.

“What the fuck are you doing, love?” Krystian asks.

“Flirting. Duh.”

His white eyebrows climb up his hairline. “Are you interested in Darla?”

I find it kind of rude that we’re talking about her when she’s standing right there, but I answer Krystian regardless.

“Not really. But flirting’s fun. And I think I’m pretty good at it.”

“You’re not,” Everett snaps.

He seems grumpier than usual.

Zaid turns to the flustered waitress and says, “We’ll have one of everything on the menu, please and thank you.” When he notices my gobsmacked expression, he explains, “Supernaturals need more calories than the average human.”

As Darla hurries away to put our order in, I call out, “Text me! Actually, text Krystian. I don’t have a phone, but he probably does.”

Krystian chuckles and drapes an arm over the back of the booth—and consequently my shoulders.

He leans in close to whisper against my ear, “Are you trying to set me up on a date, love?”

Immediately, a vicious pain burns through my chest, and a growl escapes me.

“No,” I hiss.

“No?”

“No dates for you. No dates for any of you.” I say this to the rest of the men who are staring at me, a range of emotions on their faces. “Not when I’m around. It’s just rude.”

“Rude?” Everett gawks in disbelief.

“Everybody knows there can only be one woman per friend group. Duh.” I’m totally lying, but hopefully they don’t know that.

By the looks on their faces, they totally do.

“You’re a vicious little thing, aren’t you?” Krystian’s fingers lower to absently fiddle with a few loose strands of my hair.

“I would be less vicious if I were in clothes that actually fit me.” Quickly, I try to change the conversation.

Before I can come up with something, however, Everett speaks.

“So what did you mean before? When you claimed you were a reaper?”

“Exactly what I meant.” I shrug. “I’m a reaper.”

“How do you know?” he presses.

“How do you know you’re a shifter?” I counter, then I turn towards Rafael. “How do you know you’re a blood fae?” I look at Krystian next. “Or you’re an elf?” I face Zaid. “Or you’re a wraith?”

“And you said when you’re not reaping souls, you’re kept in a prison?” Zaid asks gently.

It’s evident he’s taking over the interrogation. I don’t mind, though. Anything is better than being yelled at by Everett.

“I don’t really know what to tell you guys.

I woke up in a room with no windows or doors.

No way for me to escape. Sporadically, my chest will begin to ache, and I’ll be transported to a death scene.

I’ll reap the soul then return to my room.

I’ve never been able to communicate or touch the living world before.

” A pang lights along my heart, more vicious than ever before.

I really, really don’t want to go back to that existence.

The guys exchange eloquent glances with each other.

“That’s… That’s not normal,” Zaid confesses, and I don’t know if he’s speaking to me or the others.

“No, it isn’t,” Everett agrees with a growl.

“Do we talk to Ares about this?” Krystian asks.

Ares? As in…the God of War?

“What would he know about it?” Everett scoffs. “We’d be better off talking to Hades.”

“You want to talk to the god who imprisoned Thea for who knows what reason?” Zaid deadpans, giving Everett a cold stare. “How the fuck would that help us? He’ll probably just send her away again.”

Panic rakes down my spine, and I tighten my grip on the table, my knuckles bleaching white.

“Please.” I can barely get the word out past my numb lips. “I don’t want to go back there. Please.”

Zaid’s expression softens. “You won’t.”

“But if she was locked away, then it was probably for a reason—” Everett cuts off with a pained hiss, his gaze darting to his hand.

Which now has a butter knife protruding from it.

“She won’t go back there,” Rafael tells Everett, each word soft and concise.

Violence swirls in his brown gaze—the color so dark it almost appears obsidian.

“Motherfucker.” Everett reaches for the blade.

Before he can grab it, however, the waitress returns to our table with plate after plate of food that four other staff members have to help her carry. Quickly, Everett lowers his hand so it’s out of sight.

“Here is…one of everything,” the waitress says, dropping down the first plate.

We end up having to slide a second table over to fit all of the dishes.

When she’s done, she stands back and regards the feast. “Did y’all want anything to drink?”

“Chocolate milkshake, please,” I blurt. “And a coke. And a hot chocolate. And a water. And a glass of milk. And a?—”

“Four chocolate shakes for the table, please,” Krystian interjects smoothly. When I stare at him, betrayed, he says, “Too much sweetness will make you sick, love.”

“All right,” Darla agrees with a nod. “Anything else I can get for you?”

The last is directed at me, punctuated by a flutter of her lashes.

“Do you have any popcorn?” I smile widely at her, and she blinks, seemingly dazed.

“Umm…”

“Of course they don’t have fucking popcorn,” Everett snaps, reaching for a burger.

“We’ll get you popcorn after dinner,” Zaid reassures me.

If I were closer, I would totally kiss him.

The waitress leaves, and the guys divvy up the meals while Everett wraps his hand in a cloth napkin, though the bleeding has already stopped and the wound has started to heal.

Rafael slides a plate in front of me, then he adds a variety of items onto it—tiny slices of chicken, what appears to be a fried dish, a pancake, some pasta, half of a sandwich, and a salad.

“For you,” he tells me gruffly, and my heart soars, a trill of sensation lighting along my spine.

“You don’t have to eat it all,” Zaid says. “If you don’t like something, you can just leave it.”

“One of us will eat it if you don’t,” Krystian adds.

I nod, though the food in front of me already consumes my attention. I have no idea where to even start.

Krystian, noticing my dilemma, waves his fork at the pancake.

“Start there. That’ll be your breakfast. Then move on to the cheese curds, sandwich, and salad. That’ll be your lunch. End with the pasta and chicken to represent dinner.”

I beam at him. “You’re not just a pretty face, you know that?”

“Oh, I totally am just a pretty face.” He winks and leans in even closer until I can feel his breath against my cheek. Shivers ripple down my spine at his proximity. “But I have other talents as well.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I shift slightly on the seat—desperate to alleviate the ache between my legs—and then cut into the pancake. Just before I can take a bite, however, Everett leans across the table.

At first, I think the bastard is trying to steal my food, and I contemplate stabbing him like Rafe did, but he merely pours a strange brown liquid over the pancake.

At my look of disbelief, he grumbles, “Syrup makes it taste better.”

Oh.

Hesitantly, I bring the bite to my lips. It certainly smells incredible—now even more so with the syrup on it.

I realize all of the guys are watching me, their food forgotten in front of them.

“Go on,” Krystian encourages.

At my hesitant look, Zaid nods once, a smile tipping up his lips. “Trust us.”

I take a bite.