Storm Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,19

side and resting my head against his muscular chest. His body is warm, almost feverish from the heat of the moment, and that’s exactly what I need right now. It’s curtains as soon as he pulls the covers over us, even in spite of his reassurances that he’s “just going to rest his eyes for a while,” and within minutes I’m sound asleep, lulled by the quiet sound of his breath and the steady rise and fall of his chest. This time, I don’t have any dreams, something I’m more grateful for than I can express, and even if it’s just for a couple of hours, the world is quiet for a while.

Eventually I stir, exhaling loudly as I burrow my face into Killian’s chest. It’s still light out—probably early in the afternoon, if I had to guess—but if we don’t get up now, we’ll be running the risk of spending the whole day in bed. Not a horrible idea when my bedmate is someone as sexy as Killian is, but like it or not, there are more important things to deal with right now. One of which is restrained and incoherent a few rooms down the hall. Shifting a little, I run a hand up Killian’s chest, surprised when I hear a stifled snort of laughter. “What?” I demand, looking up at him.

“Nothing,” he says, looking a little sheepish. “I’m ticklish.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously? You, one of the infamous gods of justice, ticklish?”

“Sure,” he replies. “I’m not made of rock, you know.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck.

Killian groans and drops his head back, letting out a long, blissful sigh as he stares up at the ceiling. I can feel his hands on my back, gently tracing the form of my body from my shoulder blades down to my fingertips. “These are new,” he observes, interlacing his fingers with mine and holding our joined hands up. The tattoos almost seem to move in the light, the vibrant green striking a sharp contrast against my ivory skin.

“Believe me, it wasn’t a conscious choice,” I tell him.

Killian raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

I shake my head. “They just sort of…appeared when I activated Neritous’s device. I think they have something to do with Storm’s mother’s magic.” I sigh. “I wish they were gone.”

“I don’t,” Killian replies. “They look good on you.”

“Gee, thanks,” I mutter, rolling over and sitting up. “I’m so glad my magical aesthetic choices have your approval.”

He laughs. “I’m just saying…might as well look on the bright side, right? You look badass with tattoos.”

I give him a small smile. “Thanks. Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

“I know,” he says, and I can tell by the tone of his voice that he means it. “We’re going to find a way out of this, Karma. We always do.”

“I hope you’re right,” I tell him, without a hint of humour. “I’m starting to doubt if we ever will.”

He catches hold of my wrist in his hand, his thumb grazing over the delicate skin as if I were some kind of rare and exotic flower. There’s something unreadable in his eyes, but I don’t dare ask him what he’s thinking about. “We survived the prison,” he tells me at last. “We survived Xur. We can survive this.”

“Did we?” I ask him, my tone a little more biting than I was intending. “I mean, yeah, we got out of the prison, and then what happened? We ended up captured by Xur. Now we’ve gotten away from Xur, and Neritous has me under his thumb. What if we never did make it out? We’ve been prisoners this whole time–the only thing that’s changed is where we’re being held captive.”

“That was before you had the power of the goddess of life in your hands,” Killian insists. “We have the edge—you have the edge—and Neritous knows it. Why else would he be trying so hard to keep you alive?”

“What’s the point of being alive if all I am is a slave to a tyrant?” I ask, not liking the way my voice shakes at the question. As much of a comfort as Killian was in the moment, he’s also equipping me to finally articulate what’s going through my mind, and none of it is pretty. “I’d rather die if those are my only options.”

“That’s not going to happen, Karma.” I look up, surprised by the conviction in his voice, and see his golden eyes burning with empathy, admiration, and fierce protectiveness. “I’m