Damaged Gods by K.C. Cross, J.A. Huss

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - PIE

Polishing horns is very much, almost totally—I mean, let’s just be honest here, it’s exactly like giving a handjob.

I can only chuckle internally about this because… yeah. He got me.

And he’s enjoying the hell out of his “horn massage.” He’s even groaning a little.

And reluctantly I admit, that sound he makes, it’s provocative. I can’t deny it. It’s like a rumble. Something low, and deep, and threatening. Like a growl, but quiet.

Anyway. I just polish away as he relaxes. And… I might be studying the muscles on his back just a little. They are hard and tense. He’s got so many of them. I’m not sure if this is normal, but his back is like a topography of sexiness.

Holy shit. I think that fucking cupid charm is still working or something.

The moment I think that, the evening comes rushing back at me. And the whole shitshow with Grant aside, I don’t want to think about that disastrous ‘date’ with Sheriff Russ Roth ever again. Did I climb in his lap?

Stop it. Pack that up and put it away, Pie. Just… chill. And think about the glorious monster in your hands at the moment.

Fuck. I need to find an antidote for this stupid spell. Obviously, it’s still working. Because glorious monster?

No.

A sharp pain shoots through my hands and I pull away, gasping. “What the hell was that?”

Pell sits up a little so he can look over his shoulder at me. His eyes are droopy and seductive.

See? There it is again! That stupid love spell!

“What’s the problem?” Pell’s voice is husky. Like he just woke up. Or just had sex.

“Your horns. They’re so hot now, I can’t touch them.”

He frowns and looks put out about this. Then he nods his head to the little wooden box where he got the sandalwood oil from. “In that box there’s another paste. Try that one.” Then he drops his head down and just… assumes I will do that, I guess.

I find three containers inside the box. I lift the lid off of each one and smell them. They are not rancid. In fact, one of them smells like lilacs. I like that one. But there’s another one that smells like eucalyptus and makes the tips of my fingers feel like ice, and I assume that’s the one he was referring to. So I place that one on the stone table and start working it into his horns.

And sure enough, it does make the heat bearable. And even though the palms of my hands are bright red, they don’t hurt. In fact, they begin to tingle and then I sort of start to get into what I’m doing just a little more.

His horns fall back over his shoulder blades in two twists. And my hands slide around these twists easily. The part where his horns meet the side of his head are very thick, and that girth continues until the first twist, then they taper around another twist until they come to a dull point at the end.

There are little chips in the bone or whatever. Like he hasn’t been taking care of these horns. So I pay extra attention to those parts. And they glow a little. The way they did earlier when he was sleeping on my couch.

Fire inside him.

Literally, I guess.

This is what burns. He is made of bubbling brimstone.

A creature of Hell, no doubt. I looked up the satyrs in the books. They are lecherous monsters. Well, I think maybe monster is a strong word. They are more like… frat boys.

I snort a little thinking of frat boys. Because just a few days ago, that’s who I was partying with on Halloween.

I mean, OK. No. Those boys from Mount Aloysius College weren’t frat boys in the literal sense. No Greek scene at that place.

A muffled snore draws me back to my present situation.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re falling asleep when I’m in the middle of giving you the best hornjob you’ve ever had?”

He doesn’t wake up. Even when I laugh out loud.

I guess he really does like this. And when I look over my shoulder at the book, my page is glowing. A set of words is lit up in light purple. And then, right before my eyes, the entire line disappears.

I’ve erased a debt!

I keep going, putting more effort into the hornjob. But try as I might, no other debts are erased.

A sudden flash of economics class comes to mind. This must be a real-life example of diminishing returns. He has gotten all the satisfaction he’s gonna get from my hornjob. So no matter how much longer I keep going, no more debt will be erased.

I guess it makes sense, but that means that I can’t just give him hornjobs all the time. I have to mix it up. Probably he will still get pleasure the next time I do it, but it won’t be anything like this time.

It seems that the Book of Debt’s algorithms reward freshness.

I pause my massage, my eyes still drawn to the muscles of his back. And then I dip my fingers into the pot of soothing paste, and begin working it into them.

Pell stirs at this change and sleepily looks over his shoulder at me. “What are you doing?”

“The hornjob is over. The Book of Debt said so. But I figured you could use a back massage too. You’re kinda tense.”

He just stares at me.

“Should I not?”

Then he puts his head back down and mumbles something that I assume is permission.

I hold my breath, waiting for his reaction as my fingers resume their workings. I push into the tight muscles and he groans. But not with the satisfaction of the hornjob. It’s more of a painful reaction.

“Am I hurting you?” He shakes his head, so I keep going. I press my fingertips into the long muscles that line either side of his spine, sliding them up and down.

He groans again.

“Are you sure I’m not hurting you?”

“Pie.”

“What?”

“Look at the book. Then you tell me if it hurts.”

I glance over at the book and there are three lines of debt lit up purple. I can’t hide the chuckle. “I guess it feels good then.”

“So fucking good,” he whispers.

It’s such a small thing, too. A back massage. I mean, this is something couples do on the regular in the real world, right? But he’s been here for two thousand years with no woman. And assuming he’s not into men and didn’t have affairs or get hornjobs and back massages from any of his other caretakers, that… sucks.

This makes me want to do a good job. I’m not any kind of expert on massages, but it’s not that hard to find the tight muscles. And he’s got so many of them, by the time I’ve gone over every square inch of his back, my hands are actually cramping.

I stop to shake them out and then, exhausted, I sit down on the extra length of stone bench behind him.

He lazily turns to the side and peeps at me from under his hooded eyelids. “Tired?”

I nod and laugh a little as I shake out my hands. “I’ve got a cramp.”

He sits up, turns, and suddenly he’s straddling the stone bench, facing me.

I’m so surprised when he reaches for my hands, I pull them away. “What are you doing?”

He grabs one back and start pushing on my palms as one corner of his mouth lifts up in a half smile. “You ask way too many questions.”

“Oh.” It comes out with my breath. And then I don’t know what to do. Let him massage my cramped hands? Or stop this before it turns into something too much?

I let him keep going and I’m almost immediately sorry when he just… stares at me, looking straight into my eyes like he’s some sort of charmer and this is his superpower. Because his intense yellow-orange gaze renders me speechless and paralyzed.

“You don’t like it?” The other side of his mouth lifts up now. And he’s wearing a full-on smile.

“I like it.” I barely manage to get those words out because my whole body is suddenly on fire. Almost the same way it was back in the restaurant with Russ.

“Wait.” I pull my hand away. “Just…” I have to take a deep breath. “Just hold on. I have to tell you something.”

“You really are magic and you’re gonna take on Grant and save me and the sanctuary?”

“What?” A laugh bursts out of my mouth before I can stop it. “No. Definitely not.”

He shrugs. “A guy can dream, right?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I just gave you the best hornjob you’ve ever had and you’re thinking about the stupid curse?”

“First of all”—he points at me—“I love that word.” He licks his lips like he wants to taste me. “Hornjob is the very best thing about this day. And second, I’m always thinking about that stupid curse.” I open my mouth to say something back, but he presses his flat palm towards me. “You can’t hold that against me. I’ve been here for two thousand years.”

“OK. Then I won’t.”

“Good. Now seriously, what were you gonna say?”

“Well.” Where to start? “When I was with Russ, I got all heated up and hot. Like, he was checking me for fever and everything.” Pell’s face changes instantly. So I hurry past this and get to the point. “I got all hot then, and now I’m getting all hot again, so I’m thinking… this… what I’m feeling right now, it’s part of the spell I put on myself.”

Now he looks confused. “And you think this why?”

“Grant fucked up the books, remember? I think I put a love spell on myself.”

“No. I mean… why are you thinking about this now?”

“Oh.” Shit. “Well. You’re making me hot, and he was making me hot, so it’s… the love spell.”

“Are you sure it’s the love spell?”

“What else could it be?”

He’s all smirk when he chuckles, points at me, and says, “Definitely cute.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Never mind. If this is bothering you, Pie, I will stop. How’s that?”

“Well.” I look down at my hands. It does feel pretty good. But I need to be practical about this. “I just don’t want us to get caught up in a love spell.”

“Oh.” He nods. Pretends to look serious. “Well, then we should wait.”

“Wait?” For some reason, this conversation suddenly has sexual undertones and I’m not sure how that happened. “I’m literally just talking about a hand massage.”

“A handjob?” He laughs out loud.

“No.” And I laugh too. “Not a handjob. My God. See? This is what I mean. This is getting all mixed up when it shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

I sigh. “You know what I’m talking about. You’re just trying to be difficult.”

“Fine.” He stands up and stretches his back. His arms go up towards the cave ceiling and he closes his eyes as he yawns. His fangs are long and sharp and he looks every bit like a beast in this moment. A lazy, content, I-am-the-king-of-this-jungle beast.

And I’m suddenly on fire. So I get up too, then start fanning myself, like I was in the restaurant. “Yep. This is definitely the love spell working right now.”

Pell just grins at me. “If you say so, Pie. I’m going to bed, I guess. Want me to walk you home so the monsters don’t get you?”

“No. I think I’ll sleep on the apothecary couch.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“The cottage is too far away. I don’t like being so far away.”

He looks around. Like he’s thinking. When he looks back at me, I know what he’s gonna say. “Want me to stay with you?”

“I don’t want to impose.”

We both laugh out loud. Then he grabs my hand and starts pulling me out of the cave. “We’ll figure something out tomorrow. But you’re not sleeping in the apothecary. That was Grant’s realm. It’s far safer for you in that distant cottage than it is in there.”

“Fuck. That’s true.”

“I’ll stay with you tonight.”

I expect him to let go of my hand when we get to the stairs, but he doesn’t. He keeps it. Holds it firmly all the way down the path to the cottage. And everything about this walk home is awkward. But when we get inside and I look upstairs, and he looks upstairs, it’s more than awkward. It’s embarrassing.

We both say, “I’ll take the couch,” at the same time.

Then, again, together, we say, “No, you take the bed.”

Then we both laugh.

“Pell.” I place a hand on his chest, acutely aware that he’s still got a hold of my other one. “You’re like seven feet tall. You cannot sleep on that couch. Take the bedroom.”

But he’s already shaking his head. “I’m not letting you sleep down here alone. It kinda defeats the purpose of staying over to make you feel safe.”

And yep. There’s only one way this goes after that.

“Well. That bed should be big enough for both of us.”

And there it is.

It’s out there.

He nods and starts up the stairs. And because we are attached at the hand, I go with him.

I am going to bed with the monster of Saint Mark’s.