Chapter 18

”The forthcoming phase of research, contingent upon funding, will explore how substances influence or alter soul-shades. Preliminary research indicates no discernible effect from alcohol or common illicit substances. However, the inquiry persists: what effects might magically infused substances yield?”

-Excerpt from the personal journal of Dr. Claude Foster, Director of Faeology at Mesmeric Labs

FANTASIA

Godric drives us to the Packing District in silence. Archer and I sit together in the back seat of the SUV, with what feels like an ocean of space between us.

Last night, Archer slept on the couch, and when I came downstairs in the morning, he silently made me some coffee—black, just how I like it—and a couple of eggs. Then he presented me with my freshly washed and folded clothing and kindly asked if I had everything I needed.

He’s the most infuriating, tempting, motherfucking gentleman I’ve ever met.

Neither of us have brought up what happened last night. And stubbornly, I decided I’m not making another move until he does. If he wants to pretend there’s nothing between us, fine. But I’m not risking another brutal rejection. And I can’t stand feeling like I’m the one corrupting him.

We pull up outside my apartment complex, and Archer immediately opens the door.

“What’re you doing?” I ask.

He glances up toward the building, then back at me, brow furrowed. “Helping you get your stuff.”

“I don’t need your help,” I say, a little more harshly than I intended. Smooth, Tasia. I take a deep breath and try again, in a softer voice. “I only need to grab a couple of things, but thanks.”

Mostly my dad’s journal and the bear he left me. Maybe a few pairs of pants and my makeup. Archer’s clothes are surprisingly comfortable, and if I’m not going to be leaving the house anyway, I’m fine to lounge around in sweatpants.

Music and laughter filter out of the open windows and into the night. Archer’s jaw tightens as he glances toward the upper floors.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m a big girl.”

Godric snickers from the front seat. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror, casting a glare at him. His snickering turns into a cough, which he covers with his hand before turning his head away.

“I know you can handle things on your own, Tasia, but it doesn’t mean you have to,” Archer says. He glances around the parking lot, clearly on edge. “Pixel hasn’t seen your photo around again, but it doesn’t mean you’re in the clear.”

“You’re the one who said I’d be fine,” I say, apparently not as over last night’s rejection as I’d like to pretend.

“If you stick by me,” he says.

“Just stay here… Please?”

He hesitates, then gives me a sharp nod and relents, shutting his door. “If you’re not down in fifteen, I’m coming up.”

The protectiveness in his tone causes me to grin despite myself. I lean across the back seat, placing a hand on his leg. He stiffens, staring at the place I’m touching him.

“I appreciate that, Archer. I’ll be quick.”

“I mean it,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I protect what’s mine. The words he said to me last night echo in my mind and have me throbbing with lust again. My heart squeezes. Tamping down the mixed emotions, I exit the car and make my way to my apartment.

Just a few days ago, this was home. For better or worse, it’s no longer home. It never was, really, but now, even less so.

Sucking in a deep breath and smoothing down Archer’s shirt, I climb the stairs and enter the apartment.

Warm air blasts my face, ripe with the stench of sweat, sex, and alcohol, and I almost gag. People mingle in every inch of the apartment. I haven’t missed this at all. Music thumps loudly from a speaker by the couch. Only the dull light over the stove is on, barely illuminating the place.

Stace stands at the counter, bent over as she snorts something, her thick raven hair hiding her face like a curtain. Disappointment courses through me, then relief when I notice the powder is white and not a sparkling grey. A few people are packed into the tight space around her, chatting.

She quickly finishes her line, wiping her nose as she straightens. Her eyes meet mine, and a smile stretches across her face.

“Tasia!”

“Hey,” I say, giving her an awkward wave.

The people in the kitchen grow quiet and turn to stare at me with disconnected expressions. I glance around the apartment, finding a few familiar faces. Alisha is nowhere to be seen, but Reed sits on the couch, sipping out of my favorite mug and chatting with a pretty redhead.

Guess I’ll have to come back for that mug.

Or maybe I’ll just buy a new one now that I’m going to be making real money.

Gritting my teeth, I steel my spine and keep my head up as I confidently stride past Reed into my room.

I open the door and flick on the light, exhaling a relieved breath when I discover there’s no one in here. Shutting the door, I make quick work of gathering my things, snagging a duffle bag from the closet. I stuff in a couple of old band tees, an extra bra, a few pairs of jeans, and some underwear. Then, on top, I place my artist’s box containing all my oil pastels, pencils, and blending tools. Thankfully it’s small enough to fit.

The tools Archer gifted me are much higher quality, but I paid for these supplies with my own silvers, and I’m reluctant to leave them behind.

Hopefully I’ll find time to paint again soon, to relieve stress.

Lifting the worn, tired mattress an inch off the ground, I feel around with my other hand until I locate something hard. I pull out my dad’s journal, hugging it to my chest. The scent of paper, ink, and worn leather soothes me, reminding me dearly of my dad.

Even after all this time, this smell invokes the image of him. His soft blue eyes lined with wrinkles gifted from decades of smiles. His dark brown hair, speckled with hints of ashy grey.

He was my rock because my mother was so distant—mentally empty and emotionally cold. She always kept us at arm’s length, so he had to take on three roles, that of mother, father, and scientist.

Striding to my tiny window, I peer out into the night, clutching the journal as if I’m holding my dad close again.

A tear streaks down my cheek, so I squeeze my eyes together to fight against the onslaught. It’s no use. My eyes well up, and I clamp them shut, sliding to the floor as the tears fall.

Every few seconds, another memory of my dad passes through my mind. The tears fall harder and faster until I’m sobbing.

A minute later, I’m an ugly, snotty mess, but the release is cathartic.

The door bursts open with a bang, and I gasp. My head snaps up as I wipe at my cheeks.

Archer stands there, his chest rising and falling with vigor. In his black leather and biker boots, and with the ink lining his neck and fingers, he looks like danger. His messy hair and the menacing expression on his face tie it all together.

My stomach freefalls.

“Tasia?” he asks, gasping for breath. He shuts the door and moves to kneel beside me. “What happened?”

“What?” I sniffle, wiping the moisture from my cheeks.

“You’re crying.”

As he stares at me with a pained look, I smile through the tears. Despite his outer appearance, this man is so soft and sweet on the inside.

I grip my dad’s journal even tighter. “Bittersweet memories,” I say.

“I—” He hangs his head, running his hand through his hair, then exhales loudly. “You scared me. I thought something happened.”

“I’ve been up here for like five minutes… I thought we agreed on fifteen?” I say, chuckling at his overreaction.

“Yes, but I saw you crying, and—”

“Saw me?” My smile fades, and I squint. What the hell does that mean?

“Through the window,” he says sheepishly, lifting his head.

I glance at the window, frowning. We’re three stories up. I passed by the window briefly, but there’s no way he could have seen me from the parking lot.

As if he can sense my confusion, he says, “I have really good eyesight.”

For a second, we sit there in silence.

“Okay, weirdo,” I finally say. When he gives me an apologetic grin, I burst out laughing and playfully whack him with the journal. “I told you I’d be fine.”

He reaches up, cupping my cheek and using his thumb to wipe away a lingering tear. “I know,” he murmurs. “You can have someone care about you without it making you weak, you know. You’re still strong and independent, even when I check on you.”

My breath catches in my throat. I peer at him, processing his words. “You saying you care about me, gangster?” I whisper.

“I guess I am.”

He smirks, his eyes flicking to my lips. I’ve never had someone care about me like this. I’ve never felt worth it. But something about Archer makes me feel calm, safe, and…appreciated. He’s the first person to know about my ability—to know me—and even though he initially asked me to work for him, I think he cares for me beyond that.

He hasn’t once made me feel used. He’s barely even brought up my ability as a soul-seer. In fact, it was me who asked how I could use my ability to help him.

My chest swells with affection, and I bite my lip. The warmth of his palm on my cheek heats me to the core, and I lean into it, reveling in his tenderness.

His smile grows, and he shifts closer to me.

Kiss me! I want to shout. Kiss me, Archer Acciai!

Suddenly, he drops his hand, pulls me into his chest, and wraps his arms around me. I let my dad’s journal clatter to the floor and give in to the hug, embracing him back.

Appreciation surges through me.

He shifts from a kneeling position to sit on the floor next to me, but he doesn’t loosen his grip. His arms tighten around me, and I follow his lead, straddling him and wrapping my legs around him. I try not to focus on how perfectly we fit together, how hard his cock is growing beneath me, as I bury my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. His earthy, masculine scent—with a hint of musk and ash—is a balm to my frayed nerves. I smile involuntarily, my lips skimming the tender skin on his neck.

My hips move, grinding against his hardness.

Fucking hell.

He shudders, then stills, murmuring, “Fantasia.”

The sound of my full name falling from his lips sends butterflies careening through my stomach. But instead of pushing for more, or letting carnal instinct take over, I melt into the embrace and let him hold me, there on the floor.

His breath tickles my earlobe, eliciting goose bumps. I can’t help but imagine how good that heat would be in other places. One of his hands slides up my back and starts rubbing in small, circular motions.

“Tasia?” Reed’s slurred voice cuts through the moment, spoiling something sacred.

For a moment, I forgot where we were. I lost track of time and space. I certainly did not hear the door open.

Disentangling myself from Archer, I glance up to see Reed standing in my doorway, face red and features pinched with irritation. I stand up, and Archer joins me, resting his arm protectively around my shoulder.

“What’re you doing here, Tasia?” Reed asks, keeping his eyes locked on Archer, who pulls me tighter against him.

My body relaxes. I’m grateful Archer came up to join me. Facing Reed doesn’t seem as emotionally draining with him by my side. In fact…looking at Reed is like looking at a stranger now.

“I live here,” I say, my voice void of emotion.

He scratches the back of his head, turning his attention to me. “You haven’t returned my—” His eyes flick to Archer’s hand, and he goes silent. “Holy shit.” He steps forward, then seems to think twice and goes still. “What the fuck you doing with a motherfucking Nightcrawler, Tasia?”

“Language,” Archer mutters. The humor he uses when he scolds me is nowhere to be found. With Reed, his tone is flat, unamused.

“You know excessive swearing is a sign of limited intelligence?” I say to Reed, quoting Archer.

Archer’s body shakes in silent laughter beside me. Reed blinks. His eyes dart back and forth between Archer and me. He must really be an idiot—or incredibly drunk—because he staggers forward, reaching for me.

Archer tugs me closer, angling his body so I’m behind him. It’s protective—not possessive—and my Gods it does something to my insides.

“I suggest you leave the lady alone,” he says, his voice deep and low. It’s a warning, no doubt, and it sends chills up my spine.

How could I have ever thought a man like Reed was attractive? He’s immature, inconsiderate, and selfish. Archer, on the other hand, is the epitome of hot. The way he considers my needs, checks on me, stands up for me.

My legs go weak for a moment, and I have to force all thoughts of my attraction to Archer to the back of my mind.

“That’s my girlfriend,” Reed sputters.

“You sure about that? Because it certainly wasn’t your name she was screaming when she came on my cock last night.”

My mouth drops open, and I blink a few times in shock. Heat burns low in my stomach at his implication. Reed has no way to know it’s a lie, and it’s going to make him wild with jealousy. Despite how sweet Archer is, I’m learning he has a spicy side to him too.

Too bad he won’t actually share that side with me.

“That’s our private business, honey,” I say through gritted teeth.

Archer chuckles, sliding his hand from my shoulder to my waist and giving my hip a squeeze. It sends a bolt of lightning through my core. I work to keep the reaction off my face.

Sirius above.

He’s pretending.

We’re just friends.

It’s just pretend.

I keep repeating those words in my mind, trying to restrain the horny beast inside of me.

“You’re right, honey,” Archer says back. I glance up at him and catch him smirking at me. He winks, and I almost melt.

“Reeeeeeedy boy,” a feminine voice says. The pretty redhead from the couch appears beside Reed. She places a hand with long, pointy fingernails on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You’re keeping me waiting.”

I snort. “Classy, Reed.”

My chest tightens in jealousy for a brief moment, but then Archer’s fingers caress my hip. His presence grounds me, and any remaining affection for Reed that was trying to flicker back to life is lost again.

“Hold on, Rebekah,” Reed says, his mouth tight. He shimmies out of her grip, pointing at me. “You broke my heart, Tasia. I fucking love you,” he slurs. “We’re not over.”

“Tasia?” Rebekah asks.

“My girlfriend,” Reed says.

“You have a girlfriend?” With a small gasp, she turns her attention to me, her nostrils flaring in surprise. She backs away from Reed, putting a hand up. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know…”

My stomach warms at the empathy in her tone. “We’re not together.”

She chews her lip, glancing around the room. “You live here?” she asks, as if she’s piecing it together.

“Yeah, sort of,” I say. Not anymore.

Her face twists into a frown. She turns to Reed, slapping his shoulder. “You brought me to hook up at your ex’s place? While trying to win her back?”

Reed rubs his face. “I didn’t think she’d be here,” he mutters.

“You didn’t think at all!” she says, a bitter-sounding laugh escaping her.

“Just—just give us a fucking minute, Rebekah.”

“You’re an idiot,” she says. She gives me a sad smile. “You clearly upgraded. I could use some pointers.”

Before I can reply, she turns and storms out of sight.

“Dammit, Tasia!” Reed slams his fist into the doorframe, and I flinch.

Beside me, Archer’s body goes rigid. Slowly, he untangles himself from me and stalks toward Reed.

“Raise your voice at another woman, and I will ensure you never have a voice to raise again.”

The danger in Archer’s tone stirs something deep inside of me.

Bending forward slightly to get on the same eye level as Reed, Archer says, “Now, apologize to my lady.”

I don’t miss the way he says my lady, and I have to work to keep the stupid grin off my face.

Reed’s body jerks, and then he nods slowly, as if in a haze. He turns his attention to me, and for the first time I notice how blown out his pupils are. The last bit of my heart breaks for the little boy I once knew, for the man he grew into. I’m not shocked he’s on drugs, but I am disappointed.

As much as I loathe Reed these days, I don’t want to lose him entirely. Not to his own poor choices. At least the fog of teal wafting around him tells me he’s likely not on the dust.

“I am sorry, Fantasia,” Reed says, his face hauntingly hollow and his voice flat. “So sorry.”

He turns back to Archer, who says, “Now leave us.”

Reed nods, turning and leaving without any fuss.

The whole exchange has been bizarre, and I stand there wondering what the hell just happened.

Archer whirls toward me. He reaches out to cup the back of my head in both hands, and then his fingers tangle in my chronically messy hair. “Are you all right?”

His eyes scan my face, as if he’s desperately trying to read me. I’m tempted to pull him to me again, to place my lips against his this time. I want to push him down on my mattress and tear his leather jacket off. I want to feel his bare skin against mine.

Instead, I pull free of his touch and force a smile.

“I’m fine,” I choke out.

The intensity of his stare tells me he doesn’t believe me, and his forehead wrinkles in protest, but he simply nods.

I’m not necessarily lying… I am fine.

But I’m also not naive. I know Archer’s comments and affections were just for show—first to comfort me, then to get Reed off my back. He came to offer me reinforcement against my ex.

Just because he doesn’t want to see me hurt, it doesn’t mean he wants me.

I am fine, I tell myself.

Just realizing how unexpectedly and hopelessly attracted to Archer I am.