Gods & Monsters

SIX

Lia

I stare at my reflection with residual heat burning inside my chest, my fingers clutching the counter so hard my knuckles turn bone white.

How dare he call me the devil--at least that's what it sounded like in his native tongue. He never confirmed it, but the look in his eyes told me my suspicions were correct. Does this man not have remorse? I'm not sure he does; only a monumental asshole would call a woman he barely knows the devil.

Why am I allowing him to bother me this much? I shouldn't even care—he means nothing to me. The irritation grows as if I have no control over my emotions and I jerk the faucet handle on, running my hands beneath the cold water, and let out a long, trembling breath.

I just want to go home, but not back to the cabin. I want to go back to my apartment and go back to how things were before this trip. Ever since I got here—ever since I met Aden—everything has been off. My emotions are scattered, my brain is confused and muddled, and the incessant heat feels as though I'm suffering from a perpetual fever—I'm going to go mad.

There's a knock at the door and I jump, my skeleton feeling as though it's about to escape my skin.

"Are you alright?" Aden's voice sounds from the other side of the door and I roll my eyes. Has he been standing there the whole time? I shut off the sink, dry my hands on a towel, and open the door, facing the beautiful man who causes fire to spread like a disease in my veins.

"I'm fine," I say, glaring at him. He doesn't move from the doorway, just watches me with amber eyes.

"You are lying."

"And?"

"Why do you lie to me? That's not friendly, don't you think?"

"What, you think we're friends?"

"I am hoping so." There's a long silence between us, the air around us feeling electric.

"You have to be nice to someone to be their friend, Aden. That includes not calling them a diabhal, or whatever the fuck you called me." His lips tip up in a smirk at my poor attempt at pronouncing the word.

"I want to start over. Forget I ever called you that...you're just not giving me a second chance after the first night we met."

"I was trying, but you kind of screwed it up," I say with acid as I attempt to push past him. He doesn't budge, his body is a solid wall of muscle and blocks me in. He chuckles when I fight to move him, my hands pressing across his hardened chest. I glare up at him, the space between us minimal and our breaths mingling like fire and ice. He braces his hands on either side of the doorway and drops his face down toward me, making me feel small. I stare up at him, a feeling I haven't felt in years unfurling in my chest. I worry my lips between my teeth, clenching my fists in the fabric of his shirt as I feel warmth growing between my legs. He looks down as if he can sense my arousal and a look of triumph dances across his devastating features.

"Do you promise me that from here on out, we have a clean slate? Can start new?" He lulls in a dangerously low voice, his breath hot against my face and smelling of mint.

"Yes." I finally say in a thick voice, my fingers still tightly winding the fabric of his shirt, unable to move.

"Say it. Say the words, mo stór."

"What? Don't you dare be calling me--"

"Tell me you promise me." He cuts me off and looks down at my mouth, his jaw tensing.

"I promise," I finally say, my voice barely a whisper.

"Good." He stands, and my hands fall back to my sides and I find myself missing his warmth. "Now, let's get back, they're talking about us." I don't hear any sort of chatter coming from the living room, but don't question him. He finally steps aside and lets me by. I carefully place each foot in front of the other, trying my hardest to keep my head held high with his presence close behind me.