Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 161535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 808(@200wpm)___ 646(@250wpm)___ 538(@300wpm)
I’m afraid of happiness because it might be entirely too fleeting.
When the sun gets high, guilt arrives. I should be helping Omos with the chores or working to convince Kalos to help the villagers. I could be cleaning. Doing laundry. Cooking. There are a million things that need to be done every day, and sitting in a field of goats and moping doesn’t help the situation. Plus, I now smell like goats, and the stink is getting to me. I get to my feet and brush my skirts off, then pick a purple flower close by that the goats haven’t yet eaten. It smells nice, and I tuck it behind my ear, heading back toward the monastery.
Omos is in the shade of a nearby tree, churning away at making butter. I veer toward him, duty calling, but he waves me away. “I’ve got this handled.”
“I don’t mind helping.” I approach, eyeing the covered buckets of milk he still needs to churn.
“Nonsense. Go entertain that god of yours. I enjoy the butter churning. It lets me think.” Omos gives me a cheery smile and churns even harder, liquid splashing up against the lid of the churn.
Either I’m terrible at butter making and Omos is too polite to point it out, or he just wants to avoid being inside and alone with an oversexualized Kalos. “Right. I’ll just head inside, then.”
I fill a bucket of water at the well, determined to wash and get rid of my goat-y smell, and carry it inside. Kalos hasn’t left the bed and rolls over as I open the door, smiling at me. “Well, well. Look what the Fates dragged in.”
“Oh hush.” I fill a pitcher with the fresh water and leave the bucket by the cooking area. I remove my shoes and leave them by the door. “I smell like goat and I’m going to clean up a bit. Do you want to wash up, too?”
“Are you volunteering? If so, the answer is yes, I would love for you to wash me.”
I snort, but I can’t resist a smile at the hope in his voice. “Nice try.”
Moving to the washbasin, I pour a bit of the water into the bowl and soap a hand-towel. It’s not a full-blown bath, but I’ve learned that those things are a bit rarer to come by in this world, especially when one must lug buckets of water and heat them, and must figure out what to do with the dirty water after the fact. A quick wash-up will do for now. Rolling up my sleeves, I wash my arms with quick strokes and do my face and neck, and my cleavage. I bend over and hitch my skirts up to do my legs and bare feet, and when I straighten, Kalos is watching me with an intense look on his face that makes me blush.
He’s making it very, very clear how he feels. I wonder how long this will go on. Omos has mentioned in hushed conversations between us that sometimes the gods are affected only for a short while, and sometimes they’re changed forever. I try to recall if there was ever a time Kalos was more of a jerk than usual and conclude that perhaps arrogance has stuck around the entire time. Does that mean I’m going to have horny, arrogant and apathetic Kalos for the rest of the time here?
If so, good lord.
I put my shoes back on and pour the dirty water outside. When I return, Kalos is still in bed, his tousled silver hair falling across his forehead. I gesture at the large ceramic washbasin. “You want me to pour you some water so you can wash up, too?”
“Are you saying I’m a dirty god?”
“I am not saying anything of the sort. Quit trying to make everything sound filthy.”
“I’m not trying.” He grins. “It just naturally sounds filthy. Have you decided if you’re going to make love to me yet?”
I’m tempted to stay by the washbasin and keep the distance between us, because it’s easiest. It’s safest. But I find myself crossing the room toward him, where he’s lounging in bed—my bed. I sit down on the stool again, and at some point, he’s moved it closer to the bed. Instead of being a safe distance away, my knees brush the edge of the mattress. Kalos reaches over and takes my hand in his. At the touch of his skin—feverishly hot—my mind goes blank.
He plays with my fingers, tracing my fingernails and running a finger along the center of my palm. “You’re avoiding me, Elsie.”
“I’ve been thinking. That’s all.”
“And did you decide anything?” He looks up at me from under the fringe of his lashes, and my pulse skips a beat. His forefinger traces a circle on the heel of my palm.
I consider my words carefully. “I know you said we can just have casual sex. That it doesn’t have to mean anything. The problem for me is that you might not have feelings…but I do.”