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He’s a dog, large, like a small horse, his body covered in thick coarse fur, his eyes a burnished gold as he looks at me. People, or their silhouettes, move around him, passing through him, like he’s not even there. But he’s the most real thing in the room, staring me down with his molten gaze.
Find me.
I hear his voice, although his jaw doesn’t move. The words echo in my head, as loud as if he’d spoken them directly next to my face.
“Katydid!” Livvie’s irritated voice snaps me back into the real world, and the noise washes over me like a wave. I gasp, colors blinding me and for a moment I see double, the world overlaid by the smoky black and white reality of the underworld. I shake my head, blinking, and the club comes back into focus, the neonlights above the bar flashing red, green, and blue. And in the middle of it, Cyrus, Cerberus, is gone. “Are you with me? What the hell did Angel give you?” I turn to Livvie and this time, when she scowls, she’s not mad at me. “Angel, what the fuck!?” She turns on him, and yeah, the whole world is tilting under me.
I look upward, except it’s downwards, and it’s rushing toward me.
The floor hits me, or I hit it, and the pain registers in a flare for a moment before the real world and the shadow world both, fade away entirely and all that’s left is the inky blackness of nothing.
A cool weton my face, the surrounding silence, and the softness under me, is welcome after the hard introduction I had to the club floor.
My face hurts, and my shoulder—
There’s a rustling sound, and I move, pain flaring along my side. An involuntary groan escapes my lips.
“Don’t move--“
My eyes open, and I’m not in any room I recognize.
But the scent in the air is familiar.
“Where am I?”
“My room,” Hadrion says, and the wet thing that was on my face, a damp cloth, moves across my forehead. “You fainted. Rather spectacularly. Made quite the scene.” He looks worried, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face.
“Oh.” I’m... in his bed.
I go still, looking down, and realize he’s undressed me, down to my bra and panties, and the sheet is tucked carefully around me. I glance over my shoulder. The pillows are plump, the comforter smooth, and the whole bed smells like him, that and fresh linens. I feel like I’m drowning in him, and it steals the air from my lungs. His room is... quiet, is the word I’m looking for. Recessed lighting overhead is dim, the floors a rich dark wood that gleams in it, and there’s little furniture in here beside the bed and a low dresser along the far wall. There’s not even a mirror.
I glance over at him, where he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, watching me carefully.
“How’s your head?” Worry creases his forehead, and he leans in. He’s so close...
It’s like a punch in the chest, a tight squeeze, and an ache between my legs, all at the same time.
“I couldn’t put you in your own bed,” he says quietly, like he’s explaining himself, “you were in such a dead faint. Shay thought she might need to summon the paramedics. She was very upset. You scared us.”
“You’re worried about me?” The question sounds stupid the moment it comes out of my mouth, but there’s something aching and empty inside of me that needs to know that he cares about more than the key hanging around my neck.
He lifts a single eyebrow and says nothing, and my face burns.
“Of course,” he says, his tone neutral. “You’re my guest. And...” His voice trails off and his golden eyes are intent on mine.
“And?”
He leans forward and for a moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
I hope he’s going to kiss me. I have to fight my body hard to keep it from shivering as he draws nearer until he’s inches from my face. His hand comes up, and my eyes start to slide closed—
“You are the bearer of the key,” he replies, and I try not to let the disappointment show on my face. So he’s worried about me because of the key. Not me, not really, not... because he feels the way I do, when we’re together, like something inside of me is screaming, trying to break free, clawing and scraping at my heart.
“Right,” I manage, and clear my throat. “I should--“ I need to get up, get away from him, because my heart is absolutely breaking and I feel like...
I feel like I want to cry. My nose is tingling, prickling.
“No,” his voice is sharp, and the authority in it stops me, my mouth hanging open, “you should stay here, and rest.”
