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But it wasn’t necessary.
My nemesis hadn’t planned anything sinister. She wasn’t even awake.
I cleared my throat.
“Olympia.”
The form on the bed shifted, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously likego away.With a sigh of resignation, I stepped closer, watching the way moonlight transformed her features.
How could one so angelic be responsible for heinous things? It was the Goddess’ greatest joke.
I doubted she meant to fall asleep. She was curled on the very edge of the bed, boots still tightly laced on her feet. No effort had been made to get comfortable. One hand supported her cheek as she snoozed, breath whistling between her parted lips.
My fingers lingered on Amnesia, just in case this was yet another ploy to sever my head.
The smell of smoke lingered in the room, and for the first time, I gazed around the small space, cataloging the debris of our earlier battle.
The old-fashioned wallpaper had been singed, leaving behind decidedlyun-artful marks in the ancient walls. Cloth hangings lay in tatters, having been hit by several licks of flameswirls.
“Olympia,” I called again.
She barely stirred.
Wind gusted through the windows, fluttering the scorched wall hangings. I breathed a sigh of relief as the cool air found its way between my clothes, providing momentary relief from the boggy heat.
On the bed, a lock of curls was wrested from Olly’s cheek, floating haphazardly in the breeze.
I recalled the softness of those curls under the rough grip of my palm, and the shock of her breath as I pulled them tight. The distance between us vanished in mere seconds, and I twined her hair around my finger.
A soft smile played on her lips.
“Zoei.”
The way she breathed my name was acrime.I braced myself as the whisper landed like a lick of flames against my skin—titillating, captivating,rousing.
I was only mortal. A woman burdened with a treacherous ego, a campaign for justice, and a resentful well of misplaced desire. The latter twined around my heart and soul like thorny brambles intent on inflicting the most pain on its victim.
A touch of her curls morphed into a caress of her cheek, soft and supple and freckled. It was cool against my skin, and I watched goosepimples crease her forearm as another burst of wind traveled through the high tower.
I should wake her. Each passing moment was time sorely wasted. I had already scoured the ledger on the hovercraft ride to the tower, placing a red mark next to names that were of interest. There were too many marks on the list, as far as I was concerned. The ridiculous coronation party had been an unnecessary risk—a vain fool’s idea.
I knelt beside the bed, the pad of my thumb lingering on the highest point of Olympia’s cheek.
“Olly?”
Her scent swirled awake before she did, throbbing around us with the firm beat of her heart. I copped a deep lungful, holding it in my chest as her eyes blinked open, adjusting to the low light in the room.
With my back to the window, I was probably nothing but a dark shadow to her. Yet her gaze lingered on me, and I heard the click of her throat in the quiet room.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” she murmured, voice hoarse with sleep. “It’s best if you don’t.”
Something about those words struck me like the scrape of a matchstick.
“You’re in no position to tell me what to do,” I returned, letting my fingers trail down her cheek to her jaw, and her neck. The dagger wound was pink and slightly wet. I pressed in, watching her eyes crease in pain.
“I thought we had a deal?” she said, strain audible in her tone.
“For now,” I agreed.
