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Epimetheus’ gorgeous black eyes were sad. He knew she was fading. Tears spilled down tan cheeks that were made for laughing. His generous lips formed a word. It was her name, but not. She couldn’t make out any sound except for that of her heart—no, his heart—beating. He pressed his lips to her temple, buried his face in her hair, and rubbed his cheek against her chest, whispering that name time and again. Why couldn’t she hear him? He rained kisses all over her face, and when his mouth found hers, he tasted of tears.
“Don’t cry, my one.” The words didn’t make it past her throat, but she knew he heard her. He always had. Their souls were linked.
Their souls? Linked? Elpida knew him for less than a day.
The sky darkened behind him. The horizon was familiar, but she’d never seen it before. There was something about Epimetheus that was different, yet he’d always been... him. And she’d always known him.
Always?
His grip on her tightened as he cradled her to his chest. He couldn’t stand to watch her die, but she couldn’t find in her to spare him the sight. She needed his beautiful face to be the last thing she saw before she passed on. Perhaps they’d meet again one day...
The ground beneath them shook, though he didn’t seem to notice. He stared into her eyes, as his arms gave way to water that encircled her and threatened to pull her under.
Water? This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Not how they always were.
Water?
Water.
Elpida lifted her head from Epimetheus’ chest, and water poured down her face. It got in her mouth, and she sputtered. Was it raining? But she was inside. Clearing the cobwebs from her sleep-addled brain took a second. She looked up at a gashing three-centimeter wide and half-a-meter long crack on the ceiling, and realization sank in. A pipe must have burst in the floor above. Could be worse. At least it was clean water. And it cascaded straight down on Epimetheus’ face.
She shifted so her body shielded him, and called out his name, shaking his shoulder.
He frowned but didn’t seem otherwise bothered.
“Epimetheus? Wake up.” He might drown if she left him here, but she was too small to even roll him to the floor. She tried a little tap to his cheek.
His arm shot out, and his hand closed around her throat like a vice.
“Epimetheus,” she choked out, “it’s me.” His grip tightened, blocking her airway. She swatted at his arm and dug her nails in his wrist. “Let go,” she screamed in her head.
Her dream flashed back to her. This wasn’t how she died in it, though. They were supposed to be outside, in wide-open space. And there was something—
Besides, she wasn’t in love with him yet. Couldn’t be. Hypoxia slowing her senses and thoughts, she summoned her waning strength and slapped him across the face.
His eyes snapped open, and she caught a glimpse of pure hatred in them before it was replaced by shock. He dropped his hand from her neck, sat up, and pulled her to him. “Chaos, Elpida. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was you.”
She tried to tell him it was okay, because she was used to telling people she was fine, she didn’t need anyone, she didn’t mind the million trespasses she dealt with in her everyday life. What came out instead was, “You hurt me, and you scared me.”
“I’m so sorry, my one.” He kissed her face, water spurting down on them both, and she believed him.
She shouldn’t, though. Should she? He was a stranger in her home, and she’d allowed him this close. She’d offered him her body. She’d trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms.
What was wrong with her?
She needed time and more than a few centimeters’ distance from Epimetheus, to decide whether to go with her head or her gut where he was concerned. Extricating herself from his embrace, she pointed at the ceiling. “We need to get up, and I need to find a plumber.” If anyone bothered to show up on a Sunday.
Epimetheus glanced upward. “There is no water now.”
Huh. The downpour had stopped. “Still, I need to call someone in. See if the damage is on me or the neighbors.” She hoped it would be theirs. She wasn’t strapped for money, but she’d have to be more frugal than usual until she found a new job.
Yells from outside reached Elpida’s ears. She stood and wrapped the soaked sheet around her, then padded to the door, careful not to slip.
She opened the door barely enough to peek outside. A warm gust of air twirled around her, ruffling her hair.
Kalliopi, her next-door neighbor, was out in the corridor, yelling into her phone. “I don’t care that it wasn’t on the news, Mom. I’m telling you my whole living room shook. I’m afraid to go back inside.”
Elpida closed her door with a quiet snick and turned toward Epimetheus, only to find him right behind her. “Apparently we slept through an earthquake,” she told him.
His hand trembled, as he reached to tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m glad it did no worse than a burst pipe.”
She leaned into his touch for a heartbeat, before her brain went and messed things up for her. Maybe there was more damage, and she hadn’t seen it yet.
She sidestepped him and did a sweep of the apartment, but other than a couple mugs fallen on their sides in the kitchen cupboards, everything was in place. And Epimetheus was always beside her, with his small touches and his commanding presence and his semi-nakedness.
“Plumber,” she announced a little too loudly when he tried to kiss her. She hadn’t brushed her teeth, and neither had he. Plus he’d almost choked her to death.
Exaggeration. He’d had a nightmare. Didn’t realize it was her. But still...
“I’ll use the land line. You can call your brother from my cell phone, if you want,” she told him.
He waved off the suggestion. “He’ll find me when he gets here. Are you sure you need to call someone?”
Elpida looked at the crack, but it wasn’t there anymore. And the sheets and sofa beneath it were dry. So was the floor.
What the fuck?
“But... there was water. My hair is still wet.” She reached for it, but found no moisture except for a hint of sweat at her temples. “How is this possible?”
“Must have been a dream.” His voice was gentle. When she glared at him, he added, “Like I dreamed someone was trying to hurt you. I thought I was stopping her when I grabbed you.”
That made sense. Maybe. If it didn’t, she’d need to find a better explanation for why everything was dry, and she couldn’t think of one that obeyed the laws of physics.
“I need to shower, and so do you. You’re sticky,” Epimetheus said with a hint of a smile.
It was an obvious invitation, and Elpida wanted nothing more than to join him and spend some time with his naked body, but she was still jittery around him. “You go first. I’m afraid I don’t have more clothes for you yet, but I’ll run a quick washing cycle and tumble dry, so you should be good in an hour or so. ”
A shadow darkened his face, but his smile widened. “I’m okay with roaming around naked.”
She couldn’t resist a quick peck on the lips when he slanted his mouth over hers. “Go. And don’t finish the hot water.” Though she wouldn’t mind some extra time to put her thoughts in order and maybe do a little snooping.
The bathroom door safely closed behind him, Elpida waited till she heard water running, before going through her bag for her phone. She opened her social media app and searched for Epimetheus Titanas. A couple of fan pages devoted to the actual Titan showed up at the top of the search page—but seriously, how did people still believe in the Dodekatheon and all that came with it?—and beneath them, her Epimetheus’ gorgeous, sculpted face.
She clicked on his profile. He was thirty-five—seven years older than her—single, and owned a construction company in Thessaloniki with his brother, Prometheus. And his parents might be among the weirdoes still worshiping the Olympian gods. Eh, nobody was perfect, and if that was his only vice, she could live with it.
She scrolled down his timeline. There were no personal posts, only pictures of buildings and a couple of himself at what seemed to be a party. He cleaned up nice.
The water stopped running, and she hurried to close the browser and turn off her screen.
“Your turn,” he whispered in her ear.
She jumped. When did he get here?
Everything about him led to more questions. How come he didn’t call home, to talk with his people? He owned a company. Shouldn’t he check in? What was he doing in the ground last night? He’d said he was carjacked, but why would someone trying to make a speedy getaway with a stolen car take the time to bury his victim? There was more to that story, and it couldn’t be good. Elpida was incredibly drawn to him, but could she fall for someone who might have a dark secret?
“Thank you.” She looked down at the towel around his waist.
Her premonition—no, she’d decided it was a dream—nudged at the edges of her consciousness again, but she shut it out. It was nothing more than her subconscious, telling her to steer clear of trouble. Besides, if she believed this, she had to believe her vision about him ending the world, too, and that was impossible. Her gift was to save her the occasional stain or a sprained ankle. It couldn’t be trusted for more than that.
She bundled his sheets and clothes in the washing machine for a quick wash-and-dry and threw away the remnants of her PJ bottoms, then hopped in the shower. She poured a dollop of shampoo on her hair, and as she massaged it in, felt something hard. She picked it out. It was a piece of plaster. Maybe that was what fell off the ceiling during the earthquake, and in her sleep she thought it was water?
The glass walls felt constricting today. How hard was it for Epimetheus to fit his wide shoulders in here? He might have leaned on the tiles, to keep from bumping against the glass. She soaped his spendings off her chest and belly, and a spike of desire speared through her womb at the memory of him, tugging at his cock. For her.
No. She focused on lathering up her body, and only lingered a little at the apex of her thighs, recalling his tongue on her. His fingers in her. Massaging her breasts. Spreading her pussy. Was he an octopus, touching all of her erogenous zones at once? And how had he stopped her from moving her arms? Did she imagine that too?
The thought jarred her out of the luscious memories and had her rinsing away the last of the suds. She watched the water swirl down the drain, then stepped out and wrapped herself in a fresh towel.
She could go to him like this. Climb in his lap. Feel him inside her. She didn’t have to know more about him. Tomorrow or Tuesday, his brother would pick him up, and he’d be nothing more than a memory.
She pulled on a pair of boy-shorts, an oversized sweater that reached the middle of her thigh, and thick socks, and took the time to dry her hair and put on a hint of lip-gloss. There’d be no repeat performance of this morning, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t look good.