Chapter 12

Ivy

"Oh my god," I gasp as Atlas's tongue takes me apart. With a leg draped over his shoulder, he has my hips in a death grip, his fingers biting into the top of my ass cheeks. His tongue is working my pussy with absolute expertise which I completely appreciate but uncharacteristically feel jealous about. With my hands in his hair, I'm leaning against the shower wall for support. All the hot water is gone, but it doesn't seem to matter. "Oh fuck. I'm coming!" I moan, the volume of my sounds echoing in the room. I'm not quiet, and am pretty sure the entire motor lodge can hear me. My legs buckle, only Atlas is there, catching me, kissing my belly, my boobs, my neck as he makes his way up my body after I've succumbed to the onslaught.

I shiver—because of adrenalin rather than being cold—but Atlas rinses his face and body, shuts off the water, and lifts me into his arms.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Taking care of you," he says, grabbing a towel and spending time drying me off.

I've never been taken care of. Ever. By anyone other than myself. It feels unnatural and strange, but also grabs hold of my heart with both hands and yanks at it. My first inclination is to grab hold of control once again and yank it back, only I know after each of my experiences with Atlas that isn't going to happen. Atlas doesn't compromise. I subdue the instinct and sink into what Atlas is offering. His undivided attention, his care, his touch. For me.

He slaps the towel against his body, leaving it mostly wet, then lifts me up—still not dressed—and carries me into the main room of this dreary motor inn. After peeling back the garish bedspread and blanket, he sets me into the bed and follows me in, pulling up the sheets and blankets over us. With our hot, naked bodies pressed up against one another, my shaking subsides, but the adrenalin doesn't.

"Your lips are blue," he says and kisses them, grabbing hold of my bottom lip with his teeth and sucking, playing.

My heart races. I'm not used to this after, this lingering. I'm not sure how to navigate it. "Atlas?"

He leans back and smiles. What is it? he asks me telepathically, and I don't know if I will ever get used to that.

"What are we doing?"

Lines collect between his gorgeous brown eyes. "Enjoying one another?" It sounds more like a question than a statement. I recall his disappointment earlier; afraid I might say something wrong again, and wonder if perhaps he's also worried about saying the wrong thing.

I hum and my eyes drop to his throat, suddenly unable to look at him. "Okay." I watch his throat move as he swallows.

He sits up and leans against the headboard. "You want to talk?"

I tilt my head to look at him, struck by how absolutely magnificent he is. How even if this is fantastically real, how surreal it feels to be here with him. I can't imagine why this is happening, and I know we need to talk, to clear the suddenly stifling air between us before we fuck again, which seems to be incredibly easy between us and moving swiftly toward us once more. "Sure." I mirror his position in the bed, pulling up the sheet over my boobs and crossing my arms under them. "That sounds… good." I pat the sheet around me, smoothing it.

His hands are in his lap, fiddling with the creases in the sheets, waiting.

We sit next to one another, and silence stretches awkwardly.

Twenty-four hours, I think. You're such a dipshit.

Your channels are open,Atlas says.

"Fuck." I drop my face into my hands.

Who's a dipshit?Luka asks.

That would be Sammy,Tate says with a humorous lilt in his tone.

Fuck you, bro, Samson says.

Go to fucking sleep, Rome grumbles.

"I'm so sorry?—"

Atlas grasps my wrists, pulls them away from my face, and maneuvers me to face him. After he draws his knees up under the sheet, he leans his arms on the top of them, his hands relaxed.

I cross my legs, fiddling once again with the sheet.

Ivy.

His voice is serious and smooth in my head.

I still and tilt my head to look at him, meeting his gaze. Desire pools in my belly again, the heat like fireworks bursting under my skin each time I look at him.

"Talk to me."

"I don't want to say the wrong thing," I say quietly, plucking at the sheet.

Looking at his hands, he swipes at one of his fingernails with the pad of another. "Me either."

Scrambling to find something innocuous to talk about, something to fill the silence, I grab hold of a random question, the first thing that comes to my head. "What's your favorite color?"

His eyes jump to mine, sparkling now. "Green. Yours?"

"Black."

"Right. That was something I noticed the first time I saw you."

"What?"

"Your black clothes. It was so stark against your aura."

"I have an aura?"

He nods.

"What color is it?"

"Green."

My heart snaps to attention.

"It matched your eyes." His gaze jumps between my eyes, then he looks down.

"Matched? Past tense. Has it changed?"

He nods, then looks up. "There are still threads of green, but now it's mostly white."

"What does that mean?" I ask.

"Balance," he says, "But you're still you."

That makes me smile, and there's a burst of warmth warming the center of my chest. Now that I'm looking at him, I realize I can see his aura too—a brilliant white with bursts of gold. Another new thing.

We continue talking that way for some time, covering the basics of what one might discover over the first three dates. Favorite food. Atlas loves anything with bread. I tell him I enjoy cheesy dishes. He loves to listen to music, but isn't much of a reader, though will when he's interested in something. I surprise him when I say reading is hard for me.

"Why?" he asks.

"My mind. It's rarely quiet." Only, I realize, it has been since the incitare. I don't say this. Another change.

"Tell me more," he says, sliding down into the sheets, his head on his elbow as he faces me.

"Since my mom passed?—"

"When was that?"

"About four years ago. Well, after that there were…" I pause because I know this is going to sound absolutely fucked up.

"There were what?"

"Voices in my head."

He doesn't even flinch. "What were they saying?"

I clear my throat, sliding down into the sheets, laying facing him with my head on my hand. "Lots of things. How horrible of a daughter I was. That I'm a terrible sister." I lay on my back and stare up at the white ceiling coated with dust. "That no matter what I do, I'll never be good enough. That I won't amount to anything. That it's my fault my mom died." I swallow, trying to clear my throat of the lump that's formed there. I turn my face to look at Atlas.

"Demons," he says.

"What?"

"Those monsters attack however they can. Like at the bar, but also in the quiet spaces of shadows inside of us. It's the easiest to tear apart a person from the inside, to trick you into thinking those voices are your own."

"They're quiet now. I haven't heard voices since…"

"The bar?"

I shake my head and force myself to admit it. "The incitare."

He nods. "Yes. The bond changes things." His eyes flash to mine. "What happened to her? Your mom?"

I roll onto my back and look up at the ceiling. "We moved a lot as kids. Almost like she was running from something—" I stop and wonder again if being calix has something to do with it. "So when she showed up one night after one of her shifts, she said we had to go. Again. We got into this horrible fight. I yelled at her; told her I wasn't leaving again." I pause and turn my head to look at Atlas, who's watching me. "Long story short, she listens to me. A week later, she's hit by a car on her way to work."

I turn away, unable to look at the sweet sympathy on his face. "Tell me something happy," I say.

"I'm struggling to keep my hands to myself even though I know it's what we need."

"Why are you struggling?" I understand the sentiment. There's that ever-present force, like a compass pointing me toward him, drawing me toward him. It's warm and pleasant and the moment we touch, I lose all sense of anything and everything except him. "Because of the bond?"

He hums his answer. "It's the gratus." His eyes flick down to the sheet between us then back. "But not just that."

"What do you mean?"

"I felt the call of incitare the moment I saw you. When you walked into that bar, and I noticed your green aura. Your power hit me like a bolt of lightning."

"How?"

"I've always known about it. What to look for between matching bonds."

"The covalent bond?"

He smiles. "Right. I'm sereph—as are you—but I was raised in it. I've known about these things since I was a child. We learn?—"

"About the insatiable need to fuck?" I grin.

He laughs. "Sort of. My family didn't shelter us from what's natural. It wasn't like they went around having sex in front of us or anything, but we understood the purpose. A sentinel and calix form the bond. If it's a destined bond, the sentinel receives his wings, and she gains her powers."

"What? I have powers?"

He smiles. "Legs for speed and probably something else. My mom had the ability to see beyond."

"That's cool. I wonder what my power is."

"The power to own me," he says and grins. "You'll figure it out. This meeting of power is meant to be about balance. And this bond—or that insatiable need to fuck—" he winks, "isn't any different. I grew up knowing this, seeing it. That is what I wanted."

"So I'm probably fast now?"

He laughs. "We'll have to test it out."

My smile fades. "But you could have chosen any calix right?"

He shrugs with a single shoulder. "Yeah, but that isn't the incitare bond. It's just a choice. I wanted to wait for the real thing." His eyes meet mine and hold my gaze.

I want to know how he knows it's real, but I don't ask that. I'm the first to look away, considering that perhaps our paths wouldn't have ever crossed, technically shouldn't have but for that bus breaking down. "But what if?—"

"I'd never met you?" He smiles. "I would still be waiting. I refuse to settle for anything less than the real thing."

"So you've never been in love? With someone?"

He shakes his head.

"But maybe the bond isn't about love?—"

He hesitates. "Maybe sometimes. Not every incitare bond results in love. He pauses and I know he's thinking about something or someone. Then he lifts his gaze to mine again. "But my parents, my grandparents, were all linked in the bond with absolute love."

"Which is why this bond is so important to you. Why it wasn't about the wings."

He nods.

"I'm sorry for saying it."

"You didn't know."

"Still…" I cover a yawn with my hand.

He clears his throat and shifts gears. "We should get some sleep. We'll leave early tomorrow." He rolls to his back and reaches up to turn off the sconce.

I do the same on my side of the bed, and the room descends into darkness but for the soft, yellow glow of the light above the door outside through the gaps in the curtains. I wonder if I should get up and put my clothes on and consider it, but as I move, Atlas wraps an arm around my waist and tugs me against him. He weaves our legs together and slides his head into the nook between my neck and shoulder.

"Stay," he says, but it sounds like an order.

"Or what?" I say, smiling in the dark.

"Or I'll show you who's boss."

My core tightens at his words wanting to test it but then he tightens his arms around me, even with his hard cock poking my backside. "Good night, Ivy."

Good night, Atlas, I think to him and him alone, and he squeezes me just a little tighter.