Chapter 135 Gentle By The Hand
(Apollo & Adelaide)
“Your thoughts are too loud,” Apollo murmured, his lips brushing the top of her ear.
She stiffened—but only for a moment.
“Stop listening,” she whispered back.
He huffed a low, amused sound. “I’m not listening. I’m feeling.”
Her chest tightened. Too intimate. Too exposed.
“So stop,” she breathed.
“No.” His voice was soft—soft in a way she’d never heard from him before.
“I want to know what you think of me now.”
Her pulse kicked. She didn’t answer. If she did, she wasn’t sure whether she’d confess or lie, and both felt equally dangerous.
He didn’t push. Just watched her again, golden eyes half-lidded, wingless and hornless and looking so unmonsterlike it unsettled her more than the beast ever had.
After a long while, he shifted beneath her, tightening his arm around her waist.
“Come,” he murmured. “You’re falling asleep in the water.”
“I’m not—” A yawn betrayed her, warm and small.
His mouth curved in a faint smile, she felt against her shoulder.
Apollo exhaled slowly, as though trying to steady himself. Then, with deliberate care, he lifted her out of the water as if she weighed nothing. Water slid off their bodies in sheets. She gasped as cool air hit her skin, but his body was a furnace against hers, heat radiating from him in waves. Steam clung to his skin as he stepped out of the pool, one arm behind her knees, the other at her back. Carrying her curled against him, her arms automatically winding around his neck. Her fingers curled into the damp hair at his nape before she could stop them, clinging for balance—or maybe for something else entirely.
“Put me down,” she murmured weakly.
“No,” he said, as if it were the easiest decision in the world.
Her head fell against his chest. For the first time, she didn’t fight the instinct. She embraced it. The steady drum of his heart under her cheek was too comforting, too human, to push away.
He carried her through the corridor, up the carved steps, toward the chambers above. Shadows parted for him like obedient creatures, slithering away from their path.
It didn’t feel like before—when he carried her like a prize. This time, he held her like she was breakable. Precious. His grip adjusted each time the stairs jolted his stride, protecting her from even the smallest impact as if she were made of glass instead of stubborn flesh and flame.
Through the tunnels, through the heat-hazed hall, back into the chambers—his chambers—he held her the entire way. Her cheek pressed against the side of his throat; she could feel the steady, unhurried thud of his pulse. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that close to another person. Not since sharing a bed with Lyra as children, both of them clinging to each other after nightmares. The memory made her chest ache.
He laid her gently on the bed.
The sheets were warm—heated from below, from Hell’s veins running beneath the floor. He tugged the blanket up over her body, covering her from her collarbone all the way to her toes.
Her breath hitched.
He’d never done that before. Never allowed her to cover herself. Never allowed her to hide from him. It felt like trust. It felt like… respect. It felt like he was acknowledging that she belonged to herself first, even if his magic disagreed.
Apollo paused above her, big, still, unreadable for a long moment.
His voice brushed her hair. “Rest, Little Flame.” Then he turned, as if preparing to leave.
Her hand shot out before she could stop herself, fingers catching his wrist. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered suddenly, surprising herself.
He stiffened—not with anger, but with something like shock.
“Don’t,” she repeated quietly. The sound came out like something close to a plea.
He stilled.
Her throat tightened. “Please don’t go.”
Apollo looked down at her hand on his. His expression shifted—just barely. Something soft. Something dangerous.
He climbed into the bed beside her. Not looming. Not pinning. Not claiming. Just… lying there.
When she curled toward him hesitantly, he met her halfway. His arm came around her waist, drawing her gently into his chest. She pressed her forehead against his collarbone, his skin warm beneath her lips. His scent wrapped around her—smoke and heat and something faintly metallic, like the taste of lightning on the air before a storm.
His chin rested on the top of her head. There was a soft rustle, then a wing unfurled from behind him. Black. Silken. Warm. Large enough to drape completely around her. He wrapped it carefully over her body like a blanket.
“Sleep,” he murmured.
She exhaled, tension bleeding from her muscles, the heat of him easing the last of her shivers.
“Apollo?” she whispered, the sound thick with exhaustion.
He hummed in answer.
“You smell nice.”
His body went very still. Then a smile broke through. He couldn’t recall the last time a smile not born of wicked intent had graced his face.
“And you smell like heaven and hell collided.” He whispered back. It went unanswered.
He pulled her closer, holding her like she was the first thing he’d allowed himself to want in a very long time.
“You’re safe,” he murmured, tucking her against his chest. She knew she should object to the word. But exhaustion tugged at her. And as her eyes drifted closed, she thought—just before sleep finally claimed her—that he trembled once.
Not with anger. Not with pleasure. With something far more dangerous. Something far more human.
She inhaled sharply, tightening her hold on him.
He tensed. But settled his hands on her body. Not to claim. Not to possess. But to simply touch.
Warmth pressed around her like a cocoon. And for the first time since falling into Hell, she slept without dreaming.