Fine. Fine. What obnoxious, irresistible thing could I do to her today? Swimming had been hilarious. Her outrage, her refusal to look at me like I was some forbidden painting of temptation. But then… the kiss. Gods above and below, that kiss. She had kissed me. Not out of duty. Not out of routine. But because she had wanted to. I needed that again. The problem was, how?
I stroked my chin, pacing the kitchen like a general plotting a campaign. I needed a grand gesture. Something dramatic enough to irritate her, charming enough to make her slip.
Ideas:
Option one: Candlelit dinner. Absurd amounts of candles. Fire hazard levels. Bonus points if I pretend it was her idea.
Option two: A scavenger hunt. Lead her to me striking a pose with a rose clenched between my teeth. Romantic. Ridiculous. Very me.
Option three: Poetry. Gods-awful, swooning, dramatic poetry. In six languages, just to prove I could.
Option four: Ballroom dance. Snap. Music, chandeliers, tuxedo. I hold out my hand like a smug bastard. She'd hate it. Perfect.
Option five: Jealousy. Who though? Luxor? Too funny. Yara? Risky. Maybe flirt with everyone else and see if Annie notices.
Option six: Kidnapping, but romantic. Steal her away to some hidden pocket of my realm, whisper nonsense until she admits she likes being there.
Option seven: Just tell her I want her. Direct. Honest. Sincere.
um... excuse you? My super power brain... what was that last option? Absolutely not. I'd rather explode. I needed just enough annoyance to bait her into kissing me again. Decisions, decisions. I grinned, cracking my knuckles. "Alright, Arbor, my chaos house, what are Annie's favorite books?"
With a soft whoosh, a pile of novels appeared. I flipped through them. Masked stalker. Broody fae prince. Another fae prince. Mafia man. Dragon rider. All tall. All tattooed. All dark and brooding. Predictable. I studied myself in a mirror I snapped into existence. "Tattoos," I muttered. Easy.
Lightning veins split down my arms. A trickster's mask glared and smirked over my collarbone. Sigils rearranged themselves across my back. Tiny watchful eyes blinked on my hands. The broken chain tattoo shifted restlessly along my skin, sometimes whole, sometimes shattered. Not bad. The chain was always there. I just never let anyone see it. I rolled my shoulders, smirking. "Alright, my literary goddess, let's see if I can be your type."
Arbor's lights flickered. The mirror warped, then snapped back. The floor creaked. Judging me.
I scowled. "Betrayal."
The chandelier dimmed, mocking. "More brooding? A deeper scowl? Should I whisper about my dark past?"
The fireplace flared. Then dimmed. "Oh, now you're mocking me."
The windows rattled. Laughter. "Don't forget, I built you!"
The chandelier flickered like it didn't believe me for a second. Fine. Time for the ultimate cosplay. Snap. Outfit change. Black Henley, tight enough to be sinful. Sleeves pushed up, forearms veined like I'd just crawled out of some mortal gym ad. Dark pants, boots heavy enough to scream "emotional turmoil." Leather cuff. Silver ring. Tousled hair.
The fireplace crackled in laughter. "Shut up," I muttered. "This is sexy."
The chandelier blinked twice. Doubt. "Alright, alright, predictable."
A chair leg rattled in agreement. "Whatever. She'll still drool."
A door slammed somewhere in the distance. "Yes, that's a yes. Thank you."
I admired myself again. Something was missing. Arbor knew it. The fireplace dimmed, then flared, and a silver chain necklace appeared on the table. "A necklace? Really?"
Floor creak: Yes. I sighed, clasping it around my throat. Candles flared up dramatically. Approval. I smirked at my reflection. "Ridiculous," I admitted. Then grinned. "But in a good way."
The chandelier flickered again, laughing at me. I rolled my eyes. "Alright. Time to go ruin Annie's morning."
I pranced into the "beach" space like sin incarnate. Broody masculinity wrapped in perfection. Annie was sprawled in a chair, legs crossed, sundress flowing, sunglasses perched like she was mortal royalty on holiday. Sunlight, my sunlight, fake but flawless, caught in her hair, making her glow. She looked content. Happy. Shame. I'm going to ruin that. I cut in front of her with deliberate flair, posture all power, purpose, tortured masculinity. She didn't even blink. Just slid a finger into her book, raised a brow, lips twitching at the corners. That tiny smirk? Fuel. Encouragement.
Her gaze dragged over me, slow, deliberate. Tattoos. Muscles. The too-tight Henley. Boots. Rings. And oh, that flicker in her eyes. Yes, yes, she liked what she saw. That was her checking me out. She tried so hard to look back up at me, unimpressed. "Did you come up with this look on your own?"
I grinned, running a hand through my hair like a man in his own slow-motion montage. "No. Arbor helped."
The overhead lights flickered sharply. Betrayal. Annie chuckled, lifting her face toward the ceiling. "Arbor? I've just been calling it House. Nice to meet you, Arbor."
The fireplace sparked warmly. Approval. "Enough about the damned house," I huffed. "How do I look?"
She exhaled through her nose, lips twitching. "I want to lie."
The smirk slipped. I leaned closer, voice low, sharp. "Annie. Never lie to me."
She studied me. Nodded once. "I promise. Never."
Silence. Just us. Then, with a sigh, she tilted her head, reluctant admiration in her eyes. "You look perfect. Like a thirst trap come to life."
My grin came back instantly. "Oh, Annie, you flatter me."
"Don't get used to it." She lifted her book again.
"Annie," I whined, leaning in like a child denied dessert. She ignored me. Turned a page. "Annieeee." I flopped into the chair beside her with expert dramatics. "We could spend all day at the beach here. Have you ever been to the beach?"
"Yes. I was maybe fourteen."
Fourteen? My brows shot up. "Where? When? Why? Tell me everything."
She sighed, lowering her book. "As part of my rune process. I traveled to each Pantheon temple. When I was thirteen, I went to Vitaria's temple. There are a lot of beaches in Greece."
Something tightened in my chest. "Why thirteen?"
She hesitated. Then lifted her dress hem just enough to reveal matching blue shorts beneath, her stomach bared, intricate runes curling across her skin, sinking lower. I stilled.
"I became a woman that year," she said flatly. "For blessings. Fertility. Vitaria's blessing." Her lips twitched, almost a smile. "More like they took my ability to have children."
My body tensed, every muscle ready to snap. "They what?" My voice was quiet, soft with rage.
She met my gaze, calm. Unshaken. "Pregnancy would've ruined my work. So my fertility was given as a gift." A gift. Her body, carved and claimed like it wasn't hers. My fingers curled tight on the chair.
"The process took just over a year," she went on. "One night, after a long session, a priestess-in-training snuck me out. My pretty prison. She took me to the beach. It was beautiful. Took my mind off the pain. We watched the sunrise together." Her lips twitched faintly. "They sacrificed her the next day."
My breath caught. Annie leaned back, casual, like she was recounting weather. "I don't know where she ended up. Probably a disposable plaything. A burnt sacrifice. Or a blood offering."
The air around me crackled. My voice slipped out before I could stop it. "That was their reward for kindness?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to.
"I'm sorry, Annie." Gods, the words. My own mouth betrayed me. When had I ever apologized for anything? She turned, curious. Silent.
"You didn't deserve any of that," I said, voice rough. "Or any of this."
I gestured vaguely, her, me, this whole damned mess. She just watched. Too calm. Too knowing. And it struck me. She deserved better. Better than chains. Better than the temples. Better than me. And that thought sat heavy in my chest, an anchor I couldn't charm away.