* Candor waited with baited breath. He watched through Eros’s minds-eye. He couldn’t watch through Marcus’s. Years ago he’d agreed to set up a boundary so tight, so confined like a barbed-wire wall around Marcus’s mind to protect him from…invasions. Candor swallowed, he hadn’t understood it back then, now he knew the invasion would be from him and his son. The human Oracle had to have known he’d have a son who would one day rival his skills as a telepath. No. no. no. He dug his nails into his palms to the point of blood. They didn’t know about Nero, not yet at least. He’d never let them find out. Besides, he still couldn’t be sure about the boy. Those things that had happened could’ve been a fluke. ...
“What?” her throat bobbed. “You heard me.” “Why?” “Because you want to,” his smirk was all knowing and infuriating. “Because you can’t stop thinking about me and you crave this just as much as I do. Kiss me.” “No,” she lashed out, pushing him back by a few inches. The contact, the surge as it pulsed through her body. She bit down on the inside of her cheek hard. She would not give in. “You know you want to,” he cocked his head to the side. She pushed again. “Stop it,” she hissed. “I can’t get into trouble again.” “Then kiss me.” She pushed him again until he hit the back wall but instead of stopping, her fist went flying, soaring. Chase dipped almost in time as the fist scraped along his cheek and met with the wall. She cried out instinctively dropping her hand when her cry echoed down the corridor. She retreated, lungs panting hard just as Mrs Primstone came out into the corridor, her words ringing out into the dead air and pulsing in Aelius’s veins long after. Su...
Eros and Marcus hadn’t said much following the incident in the shop. They’d spoken in brief sentences, alluding to what they’d learned but neither had wanted to openly voice that there might be another Portal. It wasn’t until the next morning when they were seated in the restaurant for breakfast that they finally acknowledged each other and the task at hand. The opulent golden drapes dappled off some of that rare English sun. The hotel was fashioned in Victorian luxury and surprisingly not dated, simply historic and empirical. As much as Eros had insisted on the finer things in life, he’d taken a liking to the hotel and subsequently hated it as well. It somehow came with a price tag more in line with businessmen and aristocrats. The latter had yet to make an appearance. Eros scrolled through his tablet, taking advantage of the wifi when their homet...
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