Killer Instinct

Chapter V

V.

When I awoke, I was lying in a bed, so soft, so luxurious I stretched indolently. Golden light poured through the floor to ceiling walls that gave a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. Judging by the sun's appearance in the sky, it was late afternoon.

And judging by the stiffness in my muscles and joints, I'd been asleep for over twelve hours.

I frowned, unhappy about that. I never had the luxury of sleeping while being an active MIA agent. Not unless it was on a plane, directed to the next mission. I scorned sleep. I spat upon sleep. I would sleep when I was dead.

"Glad to see you awake, Sugar." The voice jolted me out of the bed like lightening, and into a fighting stance.

I relaxed the moment I saw Apollo lounging in a chair in the corner of the room, a fire going in the fireplace. His feet were propped up on a low coffee table, the New York Times in his lap. His green eyes were piercing as they glanced over me.

I ran a hand through my hair, straightening out of my cat stance.

"I'm sorry." I muttered. "You had um, frightened me."

"Oh, I doubt that." Apollo smirked, before returning to his newspaper. "You seemed quite fearless at Dulce two nights ago."

I blinked.

"Two nights ago?" I exploded. "You let me sleep for two whole days?"

"I didn't let you." Apollo snorted. "You just did. And you obviously needed it. You'd drained yourself dry of your powers. I'm surprised you could still breathe on your own, you were so exhausted."

"I do it all the time." I told him blithely, waving away his concern. "I never have full access to my powers, so I make do with what I have."

I walked to the center of the room before beginning my stretches.

"Running yourself is dangerous for your health." Apollo chided her. "And it leaves you vulnerable to attack or manipulation. You should know this."

"I do know this." I rolled my eyes. "But somehow I always manage to take care of myself. And I'd mostly been kicking your ass."

"Except that you didn't, and you had allowed yourself to be captured. Once again, very reckless on your part." His smirk grew more pronounced.

"Aren't you the one who advocated my being a loose cannon?" I arched a brow at him while dropping into a split.

"There's a difference between being a loose cannon, and being an idiot." Apollo folded his newspaper under his arm before standing to his feet.

Decked in Ralph Lauren, he no doubt looked the part of the Prince of Manhattan, as the tabloids had dubbed him. In a royal blue argyle patterned sweater-vest underneath an acid blue Oxford, and navy blue chinos he looked like a preppy wet dream. But the chin-length waves, ruby red lips, and sharp smile added to his bad-boy appeal.

Apollo Henry was no doubt as handsome as he believed himself to be. Which made me scowl in anger. I hated when men had cause for arrogance.

"I'm sure you can call them as you see them." I smiled sweetly. "'It takes one to know one,' the saying goes."

Apollo laughed. "Are you calling me an idiot, Isley Spielman? The man who saved your life?"

"You didn't save my life." I rose from my split to stand nose to nose with him. "Let's get that straight right now. I'm not afraid to die. Or live. It's one in the same. You can't save something if you're not afraid to lose it in the first place."