Atlas doesn’t fight me, just nods softly as I wipe myself down and slip on my pajama pants. The only thing that sucks about living in the west tower is having to walk so far for a glass of water.
We should really invest in some bottles.
I head down the steep staircase, my heart still thudding from the intensity of the orgasm I just experienced. After only receiving and giving oral for the past few months, coming likethisis pretty overwhelming.
So much so that I’m a little slow in understanding my surroundings, which is probably why it takes me so long to realize I’m sweating more than normal.
As I open the door at the bottom of the staircase, something uneasy ignites in me. I feel unsettled. I feel watched.
But as I step out into Hall W4, I see no one.
I dohearsomeone, though. Coming from the room Atticus now occupies, I can hear shuffling, as if he’s awake and walking around.
And fuck, who turned on the heater in the middle of spring?!
The sound of something shattering resonates through the hallway, and I jump, startled.
Before I can think better of it, my hand closes around the doorknob of Atticus’s room. It is significantly warmer than the one that leads to the west tower.
The last time this happened was… certainly not.
Or could it be? I shove the door open, prepared for the worst. For a 7-foot-tall demon and a naked, abused Atticus.
Instead, I find the man himself standing by his window, right next to a broken snow globe.
“Atticus?” I call softly, hesitant to enter the room and have him yell at me. “I heard something shatter. You alright?”
He doesn’t respond at first; he only continues to stare out the window. But then he lifts his hand and makes a dismissive motion.
“Fine. Leave,” he replies, his tone monotone and distant.
“Are you sure you’re—”
“Leave. Now.”The words hit me like a truck, angry and foreign.
Of course it sounds like Atticus, because itisAtticus, but I’ve never heard him speak this way. Not even when he was angry.
“Fine. Jesus.” I pull the door shut behind me, the hall dropping a degree or two once it’s firmly closed.
That was… that was odd.
Atticus has never been my biggest fan, that much is true, but he’s never been so mean before. And the heat… the energy in that room…
No. I’m projecting. I’m so terrified that the demon is going to come back for Atlas—that my being alive means that I failed, that I’m projecting my anxieties onto Atticus.
Plus, I’m exhausted and weak from an epic orgasm, so of course I’m overheated.
I step away from Atticus’s door and head for the kitchen to grab Atlas a glass of water.
By the time I return to our room, he’s lying on his back, naked and covered in his own release. It makes me smile.
This is exactly how I found him that first night, so many months ago. Back before I showed him how good it could feel to be loved the right way, back before I died for him.
It’s one of those full-circle moments.
One in which I’m reminded of just how much I love him. So much so that I find myself belonging to him, just as thoroughly as he belongs to me.
“You’re water,” I offer quietly, and big eyes turn to peer up at me, a little startled and then completely relaxed.
