Chapter Twenty-Two
PAXTON
*
Well, this wasn't exactly how I'd imagined waking up.
On one hand, there was a man in my bedroom. In my bed with me, even, although he currently sat on top of the covers instead of underneath them with me. But there was no denying that Alex Hamilton was male, very much so, and that he was one of those few men that have the much-envied ability to look totally gorgeous even when rumpled, even after just rolling straight out of bed without doing so much as checking their reflection in a mirror.
He proved quite distracting, and would have sent my thoughts permanently spiraling in a different direction, if his words weren't so sobering.
I looked at him now as I set my cup of coffee that he'd brought for me – that he had magically summoned for me, although apparently only with great effort – aside. There had been more that I'd uncovered in my research, true, but these other parts were more sobering, less likely to make him happy.
Still, he deserved to know the truth. Even if I feared what he might do after he heard it.
"How much do you know about the ballad of King Arthur?" I asked Alex now, drawing up my legs in front of me so that I could wrap my hands around my ankles.
He looked blank. "I know that he was a knight, and a king, and had a round table of other knights, and he was a good guy. That's about it." He winced. "I didn't pay much attention in English class. Mainly just sat in the back and read science fiction stories."
The image of Alex as a quiet little nerd, reading science fiction in the back of a classroom, didn't quite fit his general impression, but I didn't let myself get distracted by asking to hear more. "Well, King Arthur is sort of a tragic tale," I said. "He drew the sword out of the stone and became king of all England, and he set out to unite the country into a peaceful realm with his Knights of the Round Table. He was also helped by a wizard named Merlin, who's pretty famous on his own."
"Sure, wizards," Alex shrugged. "What does this have to do with me?"
"Well, King Arthur had a blind spot when it came to women, it seems. And there was one particular sorceress, named Morgan Le Fay, who took advantage of him. It was said that she became his greatest adversary, because his powers couldn't touch her. It was she who brought about Merlin's downfall, because they couldn't control her, couldn't anticipate what she would do, and she could use her own magic to counter King Arthur's own."
"Okay. So?"
"So Morgan Le Fay decided to bring down King Arthur and his court from within," I went on, thinking back to the cramped old texts that I'd spent so long reading over and struggling to interpret and understand. "She became a member of his court, and he couldn't sense her. As he spent more time with her, and she crept into his heart and pushed aside his love for his wife, Guinevere, he lost more and more of his powers. He grew weaker because of her treachery, and it was her son, Mordred, who eventually took advantage of Arthur's blindness in matters of judgment to strike him down. Mordred killed King Arthur, but it's largely agreed that Morgan Le Fay was the mastermind behind it all, the one who called all the shots."
Alex sat there, naked and glorious, listening to my lesson in mythical history. "She made him weaker," he repeated after a minute. "How?"
I shrugged. "No one's really clear. She was referred to as a sorceress, so maybe she used some sort of her own magic on him. But it's largely accepted that his abilities didn't work on her, and this was why he wasn't able to sense her black heart and treacherous intentions towards him."
"So what's this mean?" He looked at me, his eyes suddenly widening in horror. "Are you betraying me?"
"No!" I gasped at the idea. "Alex, I would never! I..."
My voice cut off suddenly as I realized what word was about to come next out of my mouth. Love. After sleeping with him only one time (at least only for one night, although we'd gotten in trouble several times in the last twelve hours or so), I nearly told him that I didn't just like him, but I had a wild, crazy, love-sick crush on him!
"I want only the best for you," I finished, aware that the words sounded rather lame, but at least I hadn't blurted out my original thought. "But it sounds like, if you have the same sort of powers as what King Arthur once did, then maybe there are people out there who can weaken you. People like me," I finished, hating the words even as I said them.
He sat there for another minute, just looking at me. I looked back to him, still clutching my knees to my chest, feeling miserable. I'd uncovered this part earlier, but I'd hoped that maybe this was false, that this part was just embellishment on the legend, added for a better story.
Now, however, it seemed that it had its grounding in some horrible truth, as well.
"Are... what happened to the powers?" I asked after a minute. "How did you find out?"
He sighed, leaning back against the headboard. My bed was a full size, and it seemed a bit cramped with us both on it, stretching the elderly springs almost to their limit. They deserved some relief, especially after the workout that they'd gotten last night. I couldn't keep from running my eyes over his washboard abs that stretched and showed themselves off when he leaned back. He'd found his boxer briefs, but they hid next to nothing, promising all sorts of forbidden delights if I reached out and ran my hand over them...
"I got up to see about getting you some coffee," he explained. "I didn't see anything to eat, so I tried to summon some up. And nothing. I eventually got a little bit of the magic to work, but only by pushing harder than I've ever had to do before."
"I'm sorry," I said, turning towards him. "Really, I did mean to tell you."
"Nah, it's my fault," he said, although he sounded distracted about it, as if already thinking about something else. "I kind of cut you off before we could get through everything."
"Yeah." I looked down at myself, feeling a blush rush into my cheeks at the memory of how he'd swept me up in his arms, carried me right back to my apartment and made wild love to me. That had certainly been a hell of an interruption, not that I'd minded it one single bit. "So what now?"
"I guess I need to wait and see if this is permanent," he said softly. He didn't look over at me, his attention all focused down on his own hands, knotted together on top of his stomach. "I guess that I'd better be going, then."
A chill ran down my spine as I realized that he probably wasn't just talking about leaving for right now. "What about me seeing you again?" I asked.
"Maybe I'll call you once I've figured some of this out." He didn't look over at me, still, and that chill grew deeper. He was lying, I realized with a shock. For the first time, Alex wasn't telling me the open truth!
"Alex," I said again, wishing that he'd just look over at me, at least meet my gaze! I knew that he had to be hurting, shocked and scared at the sudden idea of losing his abilities, but couldn't he at least acknowledge me? Me, the woman he'd just slept with, the woman who finally opened up enough to risk inviting him into my bed?
Did he not understand just how vulnerable I felt right now, and how he was slamming my self-confidence back down into the utter depths of my soul?
He finally raised his eyes to me, and I saw conflict shining clearly out from them. I held my breath, looking at him, hoping that maybe he'd realize just how much I'd opened myself up to him, how much I was putting on the line?
For a moment, I thought that I saw an echo of my own feelings in his eyes as he looked at me. He opened his mouth, his face filled with more pain than I had ever seen on it before, and I saw his lips start to shape a word that just might have started with an L.
But then, before it could come out, he shook his head. "I need to think about this," he said, standing up. He started towards the door – and then paused as he looked down at his almost completely bare figure, remembering that he needed clothes.
I suppose that, now that he couldn't summon them up, he had to go about getting dressed the old-fashioned way, like the rest of us. "Yeah, just go on and walk out," I called after him, my voice suddenly filled with venom. "It's not like I just opened up to you and risked getting hurt! I'm totally used to random hookups like you are!"
That dart flew true. I saw him pause at the doorway to my bedroom, his shoulder blades hunching together in a literal wince of pain. But he didn't speak, and after a moment, stepped out of my bedroom.
I listened for another couple seconds to him walking across my floor. I heard clothes being pulled on, a zipper being tugged up. And then, with a soft creak, my door closed.
He didn't slam the door behind him when he left. A part of me almost wished that he'd done so, put some finality on his exit.
But he left softly, and I buried my face in the pillows and sheets on my bed. The tears came even before I realized that my bed now smelled just like him, that same hint of exotic, expensive cologne, that same little manly musk.
I lay in bed for another forty-five minutes or so, trying to muster up the energy to do something. By the time that I finally sat upright, pulled a shirt on to cover my naked chest, the coffee sitting on my side table had long since gone cold. I drank it anyway as I grabbed my phone and texted Anna-Claire.
A minute later, the cell phone rang in my hand as she called me. I looked at it for a minute, debating, but finally answered.
"Hey! I've barely heard anything from you in weeks!" Anna-Claire exclaimed as soon as I answered, not giving me a chance to speak. "How's the new man, huh? He keeping you too busy to make time for your former best friend?"
"Not any longer," I said, and she couldn't miss the tears in my voice, threatening to come bursting out at any second.
Her tone changed completely. "Oh my god, Paxton, what happened? Did he do something bad? You let me know, and I'll get all sorts of unsavory business people to track him down and kick his ass."
I sniffled, thinking with a little hint of bitter satisfaction that, now that his powers were faded, Anna-Claire might actually be able to inflict some pain on Alex. But that wasn't what I wanted, as pleasing of a fantasy as it might be. "I've been helping him with some research," I said, still fighting down the sorrow in my voice. "With... his family history. And I uncovered something that scared him, and he basically ran out on me."
"Men are assholes," Anna-Claire stated firmly. "Look, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"
I didn't have any plans. I had today off; the bookstore was closed. "I dunno. Maybe get some groceries, try to clean up my apartment. Do laundry." Lay in a puddle and feel miserable for myself.
"Let me come over and help," Anna-Claire insisted. "I'm great at cleaning and organizing! And we can get some wine at the grocery store, and some ice cream, and then sit on the couch and watch chick flicks and talk about how little Alex's dick is."
I gasped. "Anna-Claire! Watch your mouth!"
"Come on, it will be fun!" She kept up the cajoling. "And look, I'm not going to take no for an answer. In fact, I'm already getting out of my workout gear. One quick shower, and I'll head over to your place. Put on some clothes."
Of course she'd been working out. I looked down bleakly at my exposed thighs, poked them and winced as they jiggled a little bit. "Fine. But only because I'm too embarrassed about what you'd think if you saw me naked."
"I'd think that you're too sexy for Alex Hamilton to ever handle," Anna-Claire said firmly. "See you soon." And she disconnected.
I put the phone down, took a deep breath. You can get past this, I told myself. You only went out with him for a few weeks, only even slept together once. This is not a huge loss. You two never discussed long-term plans, never had anything more than casual, flirty dates.
I pushed down the sorrow still welling up inside my chest, told it that it was irrational. Surely, it would fade in time. I just needed to get over this... this stupid crush that I'd developed on the man. I needed to remind myself of all his hedonistic, narcissistic, bad qualities, forget about all the good ones. I needed to forget about his openness, his caring, the way he'd held me close to him as if we were the only two people in the world.
I needed to get his smell off me.
I headed for a shower of my own.