goose bumps prickled his skin. The tips of his ears twitched and strained towards the sound as if to make sure it was actually happening.
“How drunk are you?” he asked as he slid off the counter and walked out of the steam-filled bathroom. The air brought an unwelcome chill to his skin and he quickly ran to get clothing. Stavros was rolling his eyes; he didn’t even need to look up to know that. The jerk did it so much that Elion could just sense it now.
He turned around just in time to catch a full view of the most beautiful ass he’d ever seen before Stavros vanished under the blankets. Stavros yawned, his body stretching like a feline. Elion considered calling Mikhail to tell him that he was concerned. Stavros was just being too strange. This was just too… not Stavros. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks.
“Holy shit, we’re getting along,” he said, awed. Stavros peered up sleepily and grunted. “Seriously, we’re getting along. This whole thing- it’s civil. This is normal.” A grin stretched to Elion’s cheeks as he pulled back his own blankets, preparing to climb in.
“Elion,” Stavros yawned, an arm thrown over his face.
“Yea?”
“Shut up.”
Elion’s grin stretched a bit further as he clicked off the lamp and let his head hit the pillow. “Goodnight, Stavros.”
Chapter 8
Elion was woken at quarter after six by a ringing phone. His eyes were barely open when he mumbled a greeting that was replied to by none other than a disgustingly awake Mikhail, who informed him that there had been multiple murders. He had little information other than the location of the crime scene and the detective in charge in that sector.
Elion quickly got up, stubbing his toe on the bed and catching himself by the skin of his teeth before he smashed his face into the floor. He climbed back up with an irritated cuss only to find Stavros having some type of fit. His sharpened nails were digging into the mattress and his pearly fangs seemed to glisten in the dark; it was nothing short of terrifying. The second he put a hand out to wake him up, Stavros had shot up with a feral growl. His eyes weren’t so much black as they were simply devoid of anything but darkness; his fangs were bared and no doubt ready to tear through Elion’s flesh.
Elion carefully extended a hand as if Stavros was an unfamiliar dog. It was a stupid move, really, but he had never claimed to be a genius. Stavros’ jaw snapped and Elion gasped, pausing for a moment before stepping a little closer. When his fingers remained intact, he crouched beside Stavros, gently gripping his shoulders and coaxing him to relax. It was obvious that he was asleep, or maybe this was what happened when a cambion lost their mind. Stavros wasn’t speaking, or even blinking; he just stared.
“What are you doing?” Stavros suddenly grumbled, shoving away Elion’s hands like they were on fire.
Elion blinked a few times, his tired brain refusing to even try and process what had just happened. He sighed and told Stavros what was going on in as few words as possible, knowing all too well that Stavros was even grumpier when he first woke. The larger man cussed under his breath and threw back the comforter and got out of bed without delay.
He didn’t say a word about the demonic freak out, whether it was because he was embarrassed or because he didn’t remember, but Elion wasn’t going to even try and bring it up.
Elion forced them to stop at a coffee shop where he got them breakfast and tea to go, hoping it would lighten Stavros’ mood, but he found things in that to complain about as well. The tea tasted like swamp tar and the bagel tasted like plastic. The sugar was nothing but chemicals, and at that point Elion tuned him out completely.
He almost missed the months of fighting and yelling mixed with the aggressive touching and shoving. He was almost certain that he would pick that over this whiny, grumpy tyrant that he was stuck with
“How drunk are you?” he asked as he slid off the counter and walked out of the steam-filled bathroom. The air brought an unwelcome chill to his skin and he quickly ran to get clothing. Stavros was rolling his eyes; he didn’t even need to look up to know that. The jerk did it so much that Elion could just sense it now.
He turned around just in time to catch a full view of the most beautiful ass he’d ever seen before Stavros vanished under the blankets. Stavros yawned, his body stretching like a feline. Elion considered calling Mikhail to tell him that he was concerned. Stavros was just being too strange. This was just too… not Stavros. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks.
“Holy shit, we’re getting along,” he said, awed. Stavros peered up sleepily and grunted. “Seriously, we’re getting along. This whole thing- it’s civil. This is normal.” A grin stretched to Elion’s cheeks as he pulled back his own blankets, preparing to climb in.
“Elion,” Stavros yawned, an arm thrown over his face.
“Yea?”
“Shut up.”
Elion’s grin stretched a bit further as he clicked off the lamp and let his head hit the pillow. “Goodnight, Stavros.”
Chapter 8
Elion was woken at quarter after six by a ringing phone. His eyes were barely open when he mumbled a greeting that was replied to by none other than a disgustingly awake Mikhail, who informed him that there had been multiple murders. He had little information other than the location of the crime scene and the detective in charge in that sector.
Elion quickly got up, stubbing his toe on the bed and catching himself by the skin of his teeth before he smashed his face into the floor. He climbed back up with an irritated cuss only to find Stavros having some type of fit. His sharpened nails were digging into the mattress and his pearly fangs seemed to glisten in the dark; it was nothing short of terrifying. The second he put a hand out to wake him up, Stavros had shot up with a feral growl. His eyes weren’t so much black as they were simply devoid of anything but darkness; his fangs were bared and no doubt ready to tear through Elion’s flesh.
Elion carefully extended a hand as if Stavros was an unfamiliar dog. It was a stupid move, really, but he had never claimed to be a genius. Stavros’ jaw snapped and Elion gasped, pausing for a moment before stepping a little closer. When his fingers remained intact, he crouched beside Stavros, gently gripping his shoulders and coaxing him to relax. It was obvious that he was asleep, or maybe this was what happened when a cambion lost their mind. Stavros wasn’t speaking, or even blinking; he just stared.
“What are you doing?” Stavros suddenly grumbled, shoving away Elion’s hands like they were on fire.
Elion blinked a few times, his tired brain refusing to even try and process what had just happened. He sighed and told Stavros what was going on in as few words as possible, knowing all too well that Stavros was even grumpier when he first woke. The larger man cussed under his breath and threw back the comforter and got out of bed without delay.
He didn’t say a word about the demonic freak out, whether it was because he was embarrassed or because he didn’t remember, but Elion wasn’t going to even try and bring it up.
Elion forced them to stop at a coffee shop where he got them breakfast and tea to go, hoping it would lighten Stavros’ mood, but he found things in that to complain about as well. The tea tasted like swamp tar and the bagel tasted like plastic. The sugar was nothing but chemicals, and at that point Elion tuned him out completely.
He almost missed the months of fighting and yelling mixed with the aggressive touching and shoving. He was almost certain that he would pick that over this whiny, grumpy tyrant that he was stuck with
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