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“You’re not beige,” I said, horrified. “You’re the furthest thing from beige. I-I noticed you—god, this is fucking embarrassing—but I noticed you at the compound because… you were the only one there who actually looked like a real person. You weren’t standing in line like the rest of them, and you were glaring at me like you’d rip my balls off if I went near you, and it… You looked… real.”
Squirming with embarrassment, I cleared my throat and added, “And I, um, I liked your hair. And your freckles. You looked interesting.”
She snuffled a tiny laugh, face still buried against my chest. Which was probably a good thing—I wasn’t sure I wanted to look at her while I humiliated myself like this by admitting I’d been instantly drawn to her.
“There are other members there with red hair. Well, I wouldn’t call my hair red. More like a boring ginger.”
“It’s not boring,” I said immediately. “And I know, but… I didn’t notice any of them. I noticed you.”
She was quiet for a minute, but I felt her clutch the front of my onesie tighter. Eventually, she rasped, “I was kind of annoyed when I saw how handsome you are.”
I froze. Beryl thinks I’m handsome? Ignoring my pounding hearts—fuck, I hoped she couldn’t feel them—I let out a weak chuckle. “Um… okay.”
“Only because I knew they would all be falling over themselves to become your mate, and I didn’t like the thought of some demiurgus going in there and taking advantage of their devotion.”
I cringed. “Fuck. Not my finest moment.”
She shook her head, still buried against me. “I get why you went there, Greid. And being out here, seeing how normal demiurgus are… I mean, I’d always believed it anyway, but never really got to see it. I can understand how it… doesn’t really seem believable from a distance that there are a bunch of humans living up that hill just waiting and desperate to become a demiurgus lover. Treating you all like you’re gods.”
“It was a mindfuck,” I admitted. “I knew about the cult, obviously, but… yeah. I didn’t really think it would be like that. I thought it might just be, like, humans who are super fascinated by our kind and want to study us or something. Not… you know. The sex stuff.”
She snorted. “Yeah.”
“I did try and tell the old man that we’re not, like, mystical god-like sex demons. I’m pretty sure I even brought up pooping.”
Beryl burst out laughing. “Well, I mean, everybody poops.” She poked me lightly in the ribs. “Even mystical god-like sex demons, apparently.”
I grinned, then realised I’d buried my nose and mouth in her curls at some point. Jerking my head back up onto the pillow, I tightened my arms around her to pull her even closer.
Was this weird? That we were still lying like this while just talking? Should I let her go and apologise for not doing it sooner?
But then Beryl let out a long sigh and snuggled closer. One of her curls tickled my chin, and my eyes slid shut as I breathed in her warm scent.
If she still wanted me to keep holding her like this, I’d sooner have all my limbs torn off by wild animals than willingly let go. This might be the only chance I got to be this close to her.
I was going to cling to it for as long as possible.
Chapter Twenty-One
Beryl
As I stared at Greid’s sleeping face the next morning, just inches from my own, I finally let myself admit it.
I liked him. As more than a friend.
I really liked him.
I really, really liked him.
How could I not? How could anyone not? He was just… wonderful. There was something seriously wrong with Agma for her to have walked away from him.
I couldn’t bring myself to be too mad about that, except for righteous anger on Greid’s behalf over how she’d made him feel silly and small for the things he enjoyed. Over her attempts to try and change him.
But the fact that she was no longer in his life? Yeah, no. I wasn’t mad about that. At all.
I’d accidentally fallen asleep tucked against him. He’d just been so warm, and he’d smelled so good, and he’d made me feel so much better after my embarrassing crying episode. And now that I was awake, I felt embarrassed all over again. Greid was too polite to have woken me up, so he’d probably just endured lying there until he’d eventually fallen asleep himself.
I resisted the urge to trace his interesting features as I watched him sleep—which, yes, was a creepy thing to do. I wanted to feather my fingertips over the little spikes along his hairline to see if they were as sharp as they looked. I wanted to trace the flat slope of his nose and the curve of his mouth, which was slightly parted around his deep breaths, showing a peek of his sharp teeth.
