Gameboard of the Gods (Age of X, #1)(130)

Mae didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t believe it. After all, she’d seen the enthralled way he’d looked at her only moments ago. Of course, she could also see the way he looked at her now, and there was no tenderness or rapture here. His unflinching gaze and level words made her doubt herself, and with that doubt came anger and humiliation that he’d led her to this situation. She seized the former and let it empower her, wrapping it around her like armor so that he couldn’t see the terrible hurt he’d just inflicted. She fixed him with the iciest look she had.

“Get out.”





[page]CHAPTER 29





TECHNICALITIES





“It’s my room,” he reminded her.

Mae had that ice princess mask on, though it had come too late to hide her earlier look, the one that said he’d just punched her in the heart. He tried to focus on the hatred in those sea-colored eyes, because if he looked too hard at anything else, he was going to crack. She was too full of distractions—the breasts, the lips, the neck. Even the tousled hair was a turn-on, as he thought back to how his hands had just been in it. If she touched him again, he’d take her with no more protests or lies, selling himself into the servitude of an unknown god in order to have one more night with her.

But she didn’t touch him. She stood up and began furiously searching for her clothes. Wordlessly, he tried not to watch as she dressed, but it was kind of impossible not to. And so help him, it was far more provocative than it had any right to be.

Why does her underwear have to be black? he thought despondently. This would be a lot easier if she’d worn beige.

This would be a lot easier if you were making love to her and taking your rightful place in the service of our master, chastised Magnus.

“I’m going back to my room,” Mae said once she was dressed. “I’ll meet you in the lobby tomorrow to go to the airport.” She strode toward the door.

“Mae—”

She paused and looked back at him over her shoulder. For the slimmest of moments, he knew he could still save this. He could find some clever, endearing way to take back the god-awful spiel he’d just made up. Or, unbelievably, he could even tell her the truth. But he didn’t say any of those things, and she walked out the door.

Justin sank back onto the bed, still naked, trying to make sense of what was completely nonsensical. Lying there only made him think of her again, especially since the scent of her perfume lingered on the sheets. Frustrated, he stood up and put the rest of his clothes back on. The brief tumble hadn’t wrinkled them, which was a small blessing. After a little touch-up to his hair, it was almost like the debacle had never happened—aside from the hurt lingering inside him.

I didn’t want this. I didn’t want any of this! Why couldn’t your god have left me alone? he demanded of the ravens. I wouldn’t have been exiled. I wouldn’t be in this mess with SCI. I wouldn’t have had to say those things to her.

You’re one of the elect, said Horatio simply. So is she. When gods choose you, you have to face the consequences.

Justin had done a good job alienating her. He’d seen it as every word that came out of his mouth hit her like a physical blow. It was especially effective because there’d been some truth to what he said. There were, shameful as it was, plenty of women who lost their appeal after that first time. Mae wasn’t one of them, but she didn’t know that, not after his magnificent, bastardly performance. There’d be no recovery from this.

He supposed it was his own fault for letting things get so far. He’d been caught up in a need to comfort her after all she’d been through today. Then…he’d recognized the warning signs and tried to pull back, with little success. The more she’d touched him, the sultrier her voice had grown, the more luminous those desire-filled eyes had become…well, the easier it had been to forget sketchy dream promises. Even when she’d been on him, with the light shining all around her, every bit the woman among women he’d been promised in his dream…even then he could almost forget. But she’d brought him back to reality with her words—his words, actually. Those stupid flowers.

It was time to go. There was a small casino next to the hotel, and he suddenly craved his old vice. He craved a number of vices, actually. He needed to drown his melancholy in as many distractions as he could find, because he was going to go crazy if he stayed here and pined.

Maybe I’ll have more success with the dice, he told the ravens.

Horatio’s helpful response was: I don’t see how you couldn’t.

But he couldn’t easily forget Mae as he walked downstairs. Once more, he toyed with the idea of telling her the truth, and once more, he dismissed it. He knew she was only just barely tolerating what she saw as his irrational belief in the supernatural. How would she handle it if he described the rest of the golden apple dream to her? The part where she’d been offered to him by a god?

He’d given Mae a very good recounting of the dream, but he’d edited crucial details of the conversation that had sealed his fate, ones that his sharp memory couldn’t let go of.

“Give me the apple,” the half-shadowed god had said in the woods, “and I will show you the path to wisdom. My thought and memory will guide you, and we will give you the tools to outwit your enemies.”