Fae made my head want to explode. “You could have stopped at no.”
“Rest.” He kissed my forehead, and cold seeped from his lips into my skin. “You will need it.”
The headache vanished by the time he reached the door, but I bit my cheek to keep from thanking him.
Maybe it was a coincidence and the pain had stopped all on its own. It didn’t have to be a gift, right?
Hoping against hope, I prayed there were no strings attached. I was too tired to untangle any knots of obligation at the moment without garroting myself in the process.
The door shut behind him, though he didn’t touch it, and Midas and I breathed easier after I locked it.
“I’m taking his advice.” I stared up at the loft and the bazillion steps to reach the top, then dropped my gaze to the bedroom we seldom used but was right in front of us. “Up or down?”
“I can carry you up the stairs,” he offered. “Or we can sleep down here.”
As much as I enjoyed cuddling against him while he made sweeping romantic gestures, I didn’t want it to become a habit. That would kill the sweetness of the moments when he acted on impulse rather than out of necessity.
“Bed.” I zombie-shuffled in that direction. “Set a timer for thirty.”
Half an hour wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. As tempted as I was to toss back a few energy drinks and keep chugging along, I knew better. Midas would pin me to the bed (no complaints here), then call Abbott (not happening), and get me sedated (which might end with me punching someone with my engagement bling).
All in all, it was less traumatic for all of us for me to humor them.
“Done.” He watched me belly flop onto the mattress. “Let me check in, then I’ll be right back.”
“Mmggh.”
The light switched off overhead, I think—it was hard to tell with my face mashed into the comforter—and Midas’s footsteps retreated to the living room where his soft but rough voice carried to me, too muffled for me to distinguish the words.
I tried waiting for him, I did, but I slid into welcoming blackness with a sigh of sweet relief.
Four
Midas stood watch over Hadley while she slept, a smile tickling his cheek at how she had sandwiched the hand wearing her engagement ring between her stomach and the mattress like she worried a jewel thief might strike if she took her eyes off it.
Facedown on the duvet, feet hanging off the bed, she couldn’t have been comfortable. As much as he wanted to remove her shoes and cover her with a blanket, he didn’t dare. She hadn’t slept a wink since discovering the archive, and she was beyond what energy drinks, coffee, and chocolate could do for her.
She pushed herself to her limits, over and over again, before smashing through them. He admired her vision for a better Atlanta, but he woke in cold sweats some days too, terrified of losing her to ambition.
Perched on the edge of the mattress sat her shadow, a reminder of how driven Hadley could be, for better or worse. His focus on his host was absolute, and that worried Midas even more.
He might smile and toss Ambrose treats, but Midas respected the threat Ambrose posed to Hadley.
Returning to the living room, he finished his business via text so as not to disturb her.
Ford topped his list.
>Progress report.
>>Don’t call it that. Gives me flashbacks to third grade and those envelopes my teachers sent home every quarter. Mrs. Vidalia drew these smiley faces in the zeros when someone scored a one hundred on a quiz.
>>I never got one, by the way. She hoarded them like a miserly dragon. She probably bled red ink.
>Okay, update? And I don’t mean on your life’s story.
>>The drones are loaded. Bishop drew sigils on my truck that damn well better wash off. He says it’ll get me into the Faraday parking deck without the coven taking notice. It better. Or I’m going to charge him for a new paint job.
>Text when you get here. I’ll help you unload them.
>>Sure thing.
Next, he moved on to Bishop.
>I hear you owe Ford a paint job.
>>He’s such a whiner.
>On your way?
Anyone else would have caught a lift with Ford, but Bishop had his own means of travel.
>>Already downstairs.
His method of transportation was an OPA secret, or maybe a Bishop secret, but it impressed the hell out of Midas every time he witnessed it, even without knowing how it worked.
>Hadley is sleeping.
>>Thank the gods. The kid’s been a zombie for days.
>>When was the last time you slept?
>Three days ago, maybe?
Midas was afraid to close his eyes out of fear Hadley would slip off without him. To protect him.
>>I can run the OPA from downstairs. We’ll handle things for a bit. You two rest. We need you fresh.
>Okay.
>Thanks.
The urge to rip out Bishop’s throat still came and went with surprising regularity, but Midas did his best to ignore the impulse. For Hadley’s sake. Both halves of his nature had trouble forgiving her closest OPA ally for blowing her up, tranqing her, and otherwise abusing her person. That he acted on her command didn’t make it any better. Hadley gave too much, and Midas worried one day Bishop would help her give it all away.
“You’re too fae.”
“Mmm?” Midas rolled toward the drowsy voice, his hands finding Hadley’s familiar curves in the dark. “Fae?”
“I slept for thirty hours.” She kicked him in the shin. “Not thirty minutes.”
A smile curved his lips as she kicked him again for good measure. “Oh?”
“See?” She huffed. “Fae.” She snuggled in closer. “Always looking for a loophole.”
“You were exhausted.”
“I was exhausted.”
“Did you just agree with me?” Surprise snapped his eyes open. “Who are you, and where is my mate?”
“Drama king.” She chuckled, warm and soft in his arms. “I can admit when I’m wrong.”
Sliding his palms over her hips, he encountered denim. “Why do you have on so many clothes?”
His fault, he vaguely recalled, for leaving her dressed so as not to disturb her sleep.
“You’re not going to like this part.”
Stretching until his spine popped, he swallowed a yawn. “What part?”
Rolling out of his arms, she scooted to the edge of the bed and reached for the lamp. “This one.”
Bright light flooded the room, and his eyes burned as much from that as from waking. “Ungh.”
“Okay, and you’re probably not going to love this either.”
Narrowing his eyes to slits, he got a good look at her outfit. It wasn’t the one she had fallen asleep in.
“You’re dressed.” He squinted to be certain. “In fresh clothes.”
“You’re the one who let me sleep for thirty hours.” She clucked her tongue. “Had you woken me sooner, I might have had time for a quickie before work.”
Growling deep in his throat, Midas tossed aside the covers and lunged toward her.
“Ha.” She darted out the bedroom door. “Nice try, Mr. Naked Pants.”