Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Atalanta slumps back onto the couch, her legs splaying wide and releasing me. She blinks down at me with something like awe. “You… I…”
I kiss her thighs and then move up to kiss her stomach, her breasts, her throat. “I feel the same.”
She wraps her arms around me and we hold each other like that while our heartbeats return to normal. I enjoy this closeness as much as I enjoyed the sex. She’s mine. She’s always been mine in a way, but it finally feels real. No more restraining ourselves for the better good. No more denying our feelings oh so carefully so we don’t risk becoming too happy. Gods forbid. “I love you so fucking much, Atalanta.”
“I love you, too.” She strokes a hand carefully over my braids. “But it’s not just us.”
I sigh. “No, it’s not just us.” No matter what else is true, it never will be again. We’ve both made sure of that in our own way, giving in to the attraction Circe wields the same way the earth wields gravity.
29
Hecate
It’s as if by speaking of her, even indirectly, we summon Circe. Or at least the reminder of her.
A cry sounds from the bedroom. It’s so lost and alone and full of despair that I’m on my feet before I make the decision to move. Atalanta is at my side as we rush down the hall and through the bedroom door to find Circe tangled in the sheet, her body taut with remembered panic, her head thrashing against the pillow. She’s clearly in the grip of a nightmare and terrified out of her mind.
Atalanta and I share a look of perfect understanding. Neither of us knows what the future holds, but we saved Circe from the river and we’ll be damned if it takes her now, even in the dreaming world.
We climb carefully onto the mattress, one on each side, and take her hands. “Circe, baby, wake up,” I say softly. I don’t know if this is a nightmare or a night terror, but I don’t care if common knowledge says not to wake someone up; I’m sure as fuck going to do it. Just…softly. “We’re here.”
“You’re safe,” Atalanta matches my careful tone. Maybe she should look ridiculous kneeling on the bed in nothing more than my too-tight shirt, but to me she just looks like mine. Come to think of it, I probably look ridiculous, too, naked and clearly well-fucked. It doesn’t matter.
Circe gasps and jerks into a sitting position, her green eyes going wide. Her chest heaves as if she’s been running—or fighting for her life. Tears slide down her cheeks. “I… Fuck… I can’t breathe.”
“Yes, you can.” I press my free hand to her back and Atalanta does the same to her chest. “Inhale, baby.” She gasps. “Slower. I’m going to count to three for you; match your inhale to the count. One…two…three.” She shudders in a breath to my count. “Good, now exhale the same way. One…two…three.”
It takes a few minutes, but she slowly calms down enough to fully register where we are and who we are. Circe gently pulls her hands from ours and wipes at her tears. “Gods, this is embarrassing.”
“Actually, it’s PTSD.” Atalanta sits back on her heels. “There are some extremely effective therapy techniques for dealing with it, and they don’t include bringing down the regime of the Thirteen and killing a bunch of people in Olympus.”
Okay, not the angle I would have taken. I give Atalanta a sharp look that she returns unrepentantly. Right, I stroke Circe’s back. “You’re safe.”
“I’m really not.” Her breath hitches a little on her inhale, but she ignores it and searches my face before turning to Atalanta. “Antigone is dead, isn’t she?”
We share another look over her head, but this time, Atalanta ignores my silent command to keep things soft right now. She nods slowly. “Yes. She and the others who were on the bridge. I’m sorry.”
“It’s my fault,” Circe whispers.
She looks so fucking lost in this moment, nothing like the commanding woman I’ve come to expect. She looks like…like the Circe I knew so long ago. Magnetic, yes, but a woman who always felt so deeply, who loved with everything in her. She wasn’t romantically involved with Antigone—I’d stake my life on it—but she cared about her the same way I care about Eros and Dionysus and Hades. The loss I felt when Eros died…and I didn’t even consider myself directly responsible for his death the way she clearly does about Antigone.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. And I am. I’ve never been able to stand the thought of the world giving Circe more scars on her soul. This time she may not be a victim of anyone but herself, but it doesn’t change the fact that I hate seeing her in pain. “Circe—”