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“You’ve had your lunch,” I said. “Now you need to exercise.”
He snorted and, self-satisfied, folded his arms, and looked out the window. “Titans do not need to exercise. We are constantly in peak condition—”
I slapped him across the face. The sound cracked and my palm stung like crazy but I kept my eyes focused on his. “And yet for all your species’ perfection, you didn’t see that coming.”
“You should not strike a superior officer,” he said, eyes turning dark and hard.
“I’m not a member of your crew,” I said. “We made a deal and I expect you to be ready for when you fight.”
He got out of bed and towered over me. On Earth, he would have been a tall man. Compared to me, he was a giant.
And still, I didn’t take my eyes from his. I refused to back down. Not when my life was in his hands.
Those huge, powerful hands.
The space between us crackled with energy.
And, Goddammit, I was turned on by it.
By him.
I cleared my throat and spoke evenly. “If you’re going to stand a chance in beating your crew, you need to be strong. Yes, I know you’re already strong. But you’ve been sick for weeks and it will have had an effect.”
He cocked his head to one side and then—finally—turned away. I blinked and rubbed my eyes. They were sore from lack of moisture.
Still, it was worth it. I won.
And then he took his shirt off.
I gasped and immediately tried to cover my surprise with a cough. My gasp-cough caught my lungs off guard and I choked.
“Are you all right?” he said.
I tried to tell him I was fine but the words caught in my throat. I waved a hand for him to carry on and that I was fine.
“Very well,” he said.
The guy’s body was ridiculous. Titans were these badass gods of the old world, ancestors to the Olympians. I wondered if these Titans had visited Earth long ago and that was how the mythology had come about. If Nighteko was any indication, it was certainly possible.
His entire body was muscle, a solid wall of unbridled power. He was Dwayne Johnson on steroids… on steroids.
My cheeks flushed red and I suddenly felt very stupid for telling him to exercise… I mean, who was I to tell someone to exercise more?
He went into a handstand against the wall and performed a series of push-ups. Impressive, I thought, especially for a sick guy. But he’ll soon fall flat on his ass trying to show how strong he was.
I took a seat and got comfortable.
He got to fifty before I started losing count. He was a machine. He only began to pant once he reached around one hundred.
He straightened up and clenched his hands open and shut. “It appears you were right. I’ve grown a little weak with the sickness.”
This was weak?
“I would have exercised before but the pain was unbearable,” he said. “I couldn’t move without experiencing a bolt of pain through my brain.”
“That’s how I get with migraines,” I said. “I’m lucky though. I get an aura before they attack, so I can take medicine to reduce the pain.”
He looked me over and nodded. “Yes. These migraines sound similar.”
