Hymn of the Elder Gods

Delays and Confrontations

She woke, and it could have been because of the shuffling sounds of Samir in the bathroom, but more likely because of the burning, tearing pain of her body. Eve turned onto her side, sucking in harshly, fingers curling into that ugly, brown and pink coverlet so she could muffle her scream.

Too much magic. The human body wasn't built for magic. She'd channeled it, at least, used a medium. Without that shitty speaker, there wasn't a chance she'd still be alive now.

Those shitbags.

If they were going to trap her in a body like this, they should have taken away her ability in its entirety. Human emotions were such finicky things. Handle them the wrong way, and they'd destroy her body from the inside out. They'd probably been counting on that. She couldn't live without them after all.

Fed on them.

Another scream wrapped around her throat. A whimper escaped in its stead.

The door to the bathroom blew open, so the sound must have been louder than she'd expected. Samir. He was shirtless, and still wearing that same dirty pair of dress pants, but clearly freshly showered. She tried not to let his presence fluster her, and made a valiant effort to sit up. The man only watched her with narrowed, suspicious eyes, one hand still on the bathroom door handle.

His hair was pushed back from his forehead, wet, and he looked even better like this.

Better than what?

Eve didn't allow herself to linger on that thought for too long.

"What on earth are you doing?" he asked, and his breezy voice did little to calm her clattering heartbeat. She was weak. Too weak, right now, to allow this near stranger to suspect that anything might be amiss.

"Stretching," Eve managed after a pause and pushed herself to her feet. With great determination, she took several unsteady steps forward. Her organs throbbed as though they might rupture. Still, she succeeded, and looked up at Samir with a weak, satisfied smile.

He seemed much bigger up close, broad-shouldered and golden-skinned, smelling like soap and soft, amber musk. There was a tightness in his arms, as though he was fighting not to touch her. Hit her, maybe. He could kill you right now! Her brain supplied helpfully as it forced another shudder through her limbs.

"Don't lie. You're shaking like a leaf." His skin is cool - or maybe hers is feverish - and then he's tugging her forward with surprising care. Eve fell against his chest. His long fingers slotted into the curve of her waist and a palm pressed against her forehead, practiced, methodical. "And you're burning up."

"S'ok," Eve chattered from behind clattering teeth. "Happens."

"Often?"

"No."

"Eve." Samir's voice is low, dangerous, and Eve tried not to think about how he sounded angry about this. "Often?" He repeated.

"Sometimes," Eve acknowledged, nodding. His touch slid from her forehead but remained firmly on her waist, holding her upright.

"Why?" Samir asked curtly. Eve didn't look at him nor answer. Instead she shook off his touch, and he allowed her to do so. She succeeded in walking another three steps to pour herself a glass of water and chug it, as though that might somehow help her cool down. She even put it back down on the table, although her sight had gone fuzzy and there was no way to be certain of where the table was, exactly.

The room swam muddily as she turned back.

"Shit," Samir muttered when she swayed and he leapt to catch her. "Don't die on me. I don't want to deal with your corpse."