CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

Bastion's hair was easy to cut, only taking about half an hour. He seemed pleased with it, considering his lips hadn't left mine for most of the evening. Not that I was complaining. I had missed him. He was clingy and cuddly and all mine, and he looked damn sexy with his shorter hair.

Something about it being short highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw, making him appear more masculine, as if he was made purely of testosterone and sex. Okay, maybe I was a little deprived, and now that I was reminded of the pleasures I had been missing, I was craving it hard.

He was still extremely tired after supper, though, and decided to take an early night. Rory was gone to visit the chapel, and I was left to my own devices. I glanced over at the massive clock hanging on the mantle. It was a quarter to ten, and I wasn't tired in the slightest.

Maybe a glass of wine would help. I went over to our mini-bar, which had been stocked for Rory since I hadn't been able to drink while I was pregnant. It had mostly scotch and brandy, so I closed my eyes and picked one, knowing that he wouldn't have put it there if it wasn't crazy expensive and crazy good. I turned over a crystal glass from atop the bar, popping a couple of ice cubes in before pouring the amber liquid to follow.

I took a decent sip and was immediately overwhelmed by the strong, smoky flavor of the liquor. I knew it was 'smooth,' but it wasn't Bahama Mama smooth. I could practically feel the hair on my legs sprouting. I kept my coughing in, though, turning to make sure that my gagging didn't wake up Bastion. I smiled reverently at my love. I didn't think a jet parking on our front lawn could've woken him up. He looked utterly exhausted. I didn't blame him; he had been through a lot. I cringed when I remembered his answers to my inquiries about what went on during his stay in his cell. I couldn't focus on it without wanting to hunt a bitch down and rip her to shreds.

I took another gulp of the booze, downing the rest of the glass in one swig. I knew it would probably be enough to knock a lightweight like me on my ass, but against my better judgment, I refilled it. Once the liquid covered the cube, I heard a soft tap on the French door that led to our terrace. I nearly had a heart attack but calmed when I recognized Lysander on the other side. He crooked his finger, telling me that he wanted me to join him. One more glance at Bas and I sighed in defeat. I really needed to talk to him, even though I knew the guys didn't like him much. I grabbed a blanket from the armchair, too lazy to dress for the chilly weather. The alcohol was already heating me, so I didn't find it necessary to change clothes. I opened and shut the door as quietly as possible, turning to see Lysander bathed in moonlight, leaning with both arms on the balcony wall, staring into the night.

"I'm surprised to see you still awake," he murmured, a small smile on his lips. I crossed over to stand beside him, resting my glass on the banister whilst trying to keep the warmth of the fabric on my shoulders.

"As a god, don't you know when I'll do everything? Including drinking too much... whatever this is." I grimaced before taking another swig. His sultry chuckle permeated my lowering defenses, making me smile.

"It doesn't really work that way. We don't know everything mortals will do." He glanced back at the darkness with a slight hint of sadness in his eyes before correcting it and facing me again. "Also, I believe that's scotch. Mind if I have a taste?" He held out his slender fingers and I complied, placing the crystal in his hand. He brought the glass up to his lips, inhaling deeply before tilting it back ever so slightly to capture the liquid between his teeth. "Glenfiddich, 1955. Delicious brew, not one I would use for binge drinking, though."

I pursed my lips in defiance. "And why not?"

"Because there were only fifteen of them made, a bottle runs for about a hundred thousand. You just downed ten thousand dollars' worth of scotch, my dear."

Holy shit. My eyes widened, and I looked at the glass as if it were poison. I guess it technically was.

He seemed entertained by my sour expression, holding the glass to my lips himself. "Just drink it, Aria. You're a Queen; you can do whatever you want. I was only teasing."

"So it isn't super rare and expensive?" I asked, my lips still smooshed against the rim.

He chuckled, his eyes aglow with amusement.

"No, it is. I just don't think it matters. So come now, bottoms up."

I opened my lips so he could trickle it down my throat. It sure did taste smoother after having a full glass of it. My mind was already hazing with its effect. I pulled away as he lowered it back onto the rail.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?" I eyed him suspiciously, and he took my hand, kissing it.

"No. You were already doing that before I even got here. Hasn't anyone ever taught you not to drink alone?"

I scoffed at his faux concern.

"I'm not alone anymore. You're here," I mumbled, once again struggling to keep the fleece over my mostly bare shoulder.

Noticing my irritation, he crossed behind me, lifting the blanket from each side and draping it softly over my back, keeping it locked against my skin with his own grasp.

"I like you more like this," he whispered against my ear. I shivered, trying to ignore the sincerity in his voice.

"That sounds pretty creepy, you know? Also, insulting. You like me more drunk than sober. Tsk, not very gentlemanly of you."

He laughed, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

"I didn't mean it like that. I like it because you actually let me take care of you like this. You don't flinch away."

I pouted, feeling the need to defend my sober self.

"Well, gods aren't supposed to be so handsy. And what was up with that kiss, anyway?"

His lips turned down as he cocked his head.

"What, did you not enjoy it?" he asked casually.

My face burned with a mix of humiliation and scotch hitting my bloodstream.

"That's not what I meant. Did it have to be so... passionate? I had a hard time defending you to my Kings, you know."

His arms tightened around me, and his mischievous smile returned.

"I just thought I ought to get something out of it too, Queen. Haven't you ever heard of the law of equivalent exchange?"

I raised a brow, turning slightly to face him more directly.

"You just implied that literal god power is of equal value to a one-minute make-out session with me." My body was racked with giggles and he joined me, our laughs mixing in the cool air before finally settling into a comfortable silence.

I watched him closely through my drunken filter as he looked high into the sky, gazing at the stars that seemed abnormally close to Earth. His lashes fluttered, showing that his mind was elsewhere, while his long hair whisked around in the breeze. He really was beautiful to look at. His glowing eyes met mine and I was broken from my distraction, my gaze flickering to the glass between my fingers.

"I imagine you didn't come here to talk about scotch and kissing, so why did you come?" His fingers drummed over the blanket as he thought on my question.

"Multiple reasons, I suppose. The biggest would be to talk about controlling your new ability."

"Thank the heavens." I sighed in relief.

"Yes, well, I don't really want you knocking out the Kings every time you use it." He teased, stifling a laugh in my hair.

"Hey, that was one time." I growled, poking him in the ribs, making his eyes squint with silent laughter.

"Okay, okay. How about I give you a hint?"

"If it's a riddle, I'll throw you off this damn balcony." I threatened, making him flash his pearly teeth.

"No riddle. Just a hint." I clamped my mouth shut, waiting for him to continue. "I'm a passion deity. That means that my power is derived from feelings rather than thoughts. That's why the two times you have experienced it were moments when you were emotionally strained." I blushed, remembering the first was while I was having an orgasm.

"Okay, so how do I control it?" I asked, pushing my embarrassment aside. He lifted one of his hands, combing my hair from my forehead.

"Don't think about it. Just feel. Allow your passions to reign, and the control will come to you."

"That sounds contradictory." I noted. How could I gain control of a power by sacrificing my thoughts? He extended one finger, bringing it down on the tip of my nose.

"What am I if not contradictory, sweetheart? Trust me, it will work." Inexplicably, I did trust him. I trusted him wholeheartedly, in fact. My eyes widened and I stepped back from the banister, leaving my glass perched on the edge. He let me go, the blanket that I was wearing hitting the concrete with a soft thud as his eyes climbed my barely covered body. "What are you thinking, my crazy girl?" He asked, his lips curling into a satisfied grin.

"I'm not going to think at all. I'm going to feel," I informed him, my words coming out with a slight slur.

He crossed his arms, leaning his back against the railing to watch the show. I knew he expected me to fail, but I wasn't going to let that happen. I would prove to him that I was worthy of wielding his power. So, with a deep breath, I relaxed my mind.

A god of passion, huh? I just had to feel. Pleasure, hatred, fear; I don't think it mattered, really. I had to let my passions reign. Images started flashing through my mind:

a cool dip in the oasis with Bastion, kissing him beneath the water;

trying to conceive my son in the bathtub, the water splashing out as I was overtaken with pleasure;

both of my men holding me, filling me simultaneously in unbridled ecstasy.

The memories didn't stop, and it was as if I had opened the floodgates to my heart, pouring out every passion that I had stored inside. I opened my eyes, their glow being reflected on the glass in front of me. I felt weightless and glanced down to confirm that my feet were no longer planted on the cold concrete.

I was hovering a good six inches above it, and my hair was flowing freely above my shoulders. It was remarkable, and Lysander seemed to think so as well. His brows were raised high and his eyes were filled with wonder and admiration as he took in my heightened form.

I lifted my hand, directing it at the glass, its contents barely shifting as it hovered from its resting place. One foot, two, three. Soon, it was high above us, a faint glow surrounding it being the biggest tell that it was there at all. Glorious. But the joy didn't last.

Soon, the images turned somber. Blood, fire, destruction, death... I let out a shriek as the glass came hurtling down at me at a frightening velocity.

"Aria!" two voices shouted simultaneously. The glass shattered against the pillar beside me, raining tiny shards over my bare skin, but somehow not cutting me. My breath caught, and I had to remind myself how to get it started again. I looked up for help, but Lysander was gone. Instead, I felt Rory's burning touch against my skin as he pulled me against his chest.

"Are you okay, love? What are you doing out here alone?" His soft eyes caressed my spirit, pulling me away from my dark thoughts.

"I wasn't alone. Lysander was here," I said honestly. He took a whiff of me, cocking his head in confusion.

"Are you drunk?"

My silence gave me away, and a smirk graced his lips. "Come on, love, let's get you cleaned up and put to bed. You reek of scotch."

I giggled, but my mind was elsewhere. Why did Lysander run away? What went wrong with the ability? I had so many questions for him, but he was silent, likely watching from the shadows as my royal got me ready for bed. He was acting strange, and I was terrified to find out why.