cleansing breath through his nose and tried to silently list all the reasons he was doing this. The only thing he could come up with was the fact that his mother had raised him with manners and common decency.
Elion dragged Stavros to his room and dropped him on the bed. The cambion made little effort to do much more than groan and squirm as Elion tried to pull off his boots.
“Why’d you drink so much?” Elion asked while he placed them at the foot of the bed and tried to turn Stavros’ body the right way.
“You’re a brat,” Stavros groaned, swatting at the hands pulling on him.
“You drank because I’m a brat? I’d say that’s insulting, but you’re just a rude jerk so…” Elion froze when a large hand gripped his wrist tightly. He found himself being tugged forward and landed on his knees beside Stavros, his chest touching Stavros’ with every breath.
“Shut up. Just shut up,” Stavros pleaded. Elion nodded awkwardly and tossed a sheet over Stavros. He left the room to get a glass of water and grab a bucket, just in case, and when he returned Stavros was asleep. Elion placed them beside the bed before grabbing sleep clothes for himself and heading for the bathroom. His shower was as hurried as his thoughts. He didn’t bother doing anything more than grab a bag of cookies to devour before curling up on his couch and sighing into the silence.
Chapter 4
Stavros wasn’t sure what higher power he had pissed off to deserve such pain. He damned the bit of human in him as he rolled to his side with a nauseated groan. It was damn near impossible for him to drink himself to death, but he could get wasted and the hangovers were very real. Every part of his being throbbed and his knotted stomach was filled with acid. He wasn’t sure of the time or even the day as he writhed and tried to fall back into the abyss that sleep brought. That was until he realized his sheets smelled like vanilla and exotic flowers, and that the blanket covering him was far too soft to be his own.
A pulsating eyelid cracked hesitantly. He glanced to his left and sighed with relief when he realized he was alone. But that only brought him to his next realization: he had no idea where he was.
The last thing he remembered was Lolita pouring him drinks while he bitched about the bratty elf he was stuck with. He had lost track of how many times he had wanted to beat the kid with his own polished shoe. Everything was fine before Elion showed up. Despite what Mikhail or the Council thought, Stavros didn’t need a partner. But there was no way he was going to Utah. He’d seen pictures of the place and he’d rip out his own heart before he was stuck out there.
He sat up, gripping the mattress as the room spun wildly. There was a note propped against a glass of water on the stand beside him. Blinking the fog from his eyes, he picked it up and immediately scowled. Even the brat’s handwriting infuriated him. He crumpled the paper and threw it before downing the glass of water. Seconds later he found himself on his knees emptying everything in his stomach.
He tried to dig through his thoughts and figure out how he had ended up at the kid’s apartment and in his bed. The attempt made the pain worse and that only pissed him off more.
He rinsed out his mouth and grabbed his boots. He didn’t even bother to put them on before he was teleporting himself to his apartment. He stood under the spray of a hot shower, his fists clenching and under clenching every few seconds. The brat hadn’t even been there to explain himself. He left a hastily scribbled note and a glass of water like Stavros was a sick child.
Help yourself to anything you’d like.
-E
One sentence, six words, infinite rage. Stavros wasn’t even sure how that could make him so angry, but it did.
He growled lowly, pressing his aching forehead to the cool tile. Jagged bits of images were trying to form as he thought of the prior night. A glimpse of Elion’s face,
Elion dragged Stavros to his room and dropped him on the bed. The cambion made little effort to do much more than groan and squirm as Elion tried to pull off his boots.
“Why’d you drink so much?” Elion asked while he placed them at the foot of the bed and tried to turn Stavros’ body the right way.
“You’re a brat,” Stavros groaned, swatting at the hands pulling on him.
“You drank because I’m a brat? I’d say that’s insulting, but you’re just a rude jerk so…” Elion froze when a large hand gripped his wrist tightly. He found himself being tugged forward and landed on his knees beside Stavros, his chest touching Stavros’ with every breath.
“Shut up. Just shut up,” Stavros pleaded. Elion nodded awkwardly and tossed a sheet over Stavros. He left the room to get a glass of water and grab a bucket, just in case, and when he returned Stavros was asleep. Elion placed them beside the bed before grabbing sleep clothes for himself and heading for the bathroom. His shower was as hurried as his thoughts. He didn’t bother doing anything more than grab a bag of cookies to devour before curling up on his couch and sighing into the silence.
Chapter 4
Stavros wasn’t sure what higher power he had pissed off to deserve such pain. He damned the bit of human in him as he rolled to his side with a nauseated groan. It was damn near impossible for him to drink himself to death, but he could get wasted and the hangovers were very real. Every part of his being throbbed and his knotted stomach was filled with acid. He wasn’t sure of the time or even the day as he writhed and tried to fall back into the abyss that sleep brought. That was until he realized his sheets smelled like vanilla and exotic flowers, and that the blanket covering him was far too soft to be his own.
A pulsating eyelid cracked hesitantly. He glanced to his left and sighed with relief when he realized he was alone. But that only brought him to his next realization: he had no idea where he was.
The last thing he remembered was Lolita pouring him drinks while he bitched about the bratty elf he was stuck with. He had lost track of how many times he had wanted to beat the kid with his own polished shoe. Everything was fine before Elion showed up. Despite what Mikhail or the Council thought, Stavros didn’t need a partner. But there was no way he was going to Utah. He’d seen pictures of the place and he’d rip out his own heart before he was stuck out there.
He sat up, gripping the mattress as the room spun wildly. There was a note propped against a glass of water on the stand beside him. Blinking the fog from his eyes, he picked it up and immediately scowled. Even the brat’s handwriting infuriated him. He crumpled the paper and threw it before downing the glass of water. Seconds later he found himself on his knees emptying everything in his stomach.
He tried to dig through his thoughts and figure out how he had ended up at the kid’s apartment and in his bed. The attempt made the pain worse and that only pissed him off more.
He rinsed out his mouth and grabbed his boots. He didn’t even bother to put them on before he was teleporting himself to his apartment. He stood under the spray of a hot shower, his fists clenching and under clenching every few seconds. The brat hadn’t even been there to explain himself. He left a hastily scribbled note and a glass of water like Stavros was a sick child.
Help yourself to anything you’d like.
-E
One sentence, six words, infinite rage. Stavros wasn’t even sure how that could make him so angry, but it did.
He growled lowly, pressing his aching forehead to the cool tile. Jagged bits of images were trying to form as he thought of the prior night. A glimpse of Elion’s face,
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