Richer Than God - Amelia Wilde Page 0,44

person. Not by far. I already know that. “What are you saying?”

“We’ve had a few cases at the hospital.” Carina seems to make a decision. “Did something happen?”

I laugh, too loud for the room. “If I told you everything that has ever happened involving my sister, we’d be here for days.”

“Recently, then?”

“I’m not her keeper.” What I want is for Carina to go back to her job and wait for my calls. I want everyone out of this room, except for Brigit. “If you’re asking me to reason with her, don’t waste your breath.”

“No, I….” She looks tired. Carina swings her bag up over her shoulder again. “Be careful,” she says. “All of you.”

Reya escorts her out, their voices low in the hallway, and I turn down the lights.

Strip off my jacket and pants.

Unbutton my shirt and discard it.

And then I climb into bed next to Brigit.

At first, I can’t stand it—no woman has ever slept in this bed. Ever. And the feel of her slim body next to mine is overwhelming. I would imagine it’s like being colorblind then flooded with color—or sensitive to the light and held out in the sun. It’s so intense that I have to get out of the bed for several minutes and collect myself.

“What the fuck is happening?” I ask the dark.

Then I get back in. Brigit shifts and rolls, and somehow she ends up curled against me, her spine against my chest. I search out her wrist and enclose it with my fingers.

Her heart beats.

I let her sleep there all night while I keep watch.

19

Brigit

He’s in my dreams.

Or he is my dreams. Buttons on a clean shirt. The rasp of an expensive jacket against my clothes. He’s covered me head to toe. Is my head hidden from the world too? It can’t be, because Zeus kisses me, a deep, searching thing. It’s the last thing I feel before I lose the last feeling in my lips. So strange.

It shifts, and I’m thirsty, drinking, but my mouth doesn’t work the way it should. It’s hard to drink from a moving target when I’m propped up against a mountain. A rock wall. A sheer face. I get the sense I could pound my fists against it all day, and the only result would be bloodied hands.

It’s so bright out.

I close my eyes against the light and roll over, successfully tipping myself into the darkness between dreams. There’s nothing here. It’s a relief. I float along the surface of consciousness, touching it but not truly immersing myself in it, for a long time.

When I finally do manage to open my eyes, it’s because I’m hungry. The pinch in my stomach is a familiar one, but it’s been some time since I felt it. The toast—the toast is the last thing I remember. Then the tea. And then…

And then the hellscape stairs, and Alicia, and hitting the floor.

Heat skims over me, head to toe. I could pretend to wonder where I am, but the answer is obvious without getting my eyes to focus—Zeus’s bed. It has to be his, because all the sheets smell like laundry detergent and him.

It’s one thing to get fucked on someone’s bed. It’s another thing to be tucked into it, deeply adrift in dreams.

I’m awake now, and I can’t lie here anymore. Because I could lie here. It’s the most comfortable bed. It probably cost a fortune. I would give anything to hide under the sheets and never get out, but that’s not an option for me. I push them off me and prop myself up on one elbow, looking for him.

The room is empty. Lights adjust slowly, as if they know I’ve just opened my eyes and need a second. The sliver of sky I can see through the curtains is dark.

My breath goes out of me. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or relieved that I’m alone. It does mean I have a minute to test out whether my body has come back. Toes, check. Knees, check. My arms work. My fingers flex. Whatever the hell happened at breakfast—was it today, or days ago?—doesn’t seem to have done any permanent damage.

I test out walking next.

There’s no strange vertigo or tilting hallways, which I take as a good sign.

Instead, there’s curiosity, which is not good. I don’t need to get caught up in learning about this man. I don’t. I’m sure I don’t. But I’m here in this room, and there’s nothing to look at other than his bed—black, with