After Hours
Marc woke up with a black widow in his arms.
He awoke a few moments before he felt her stir, her dark hair the first vision which graced his eyes in the morning light. Her back was pressed to his chest, his top arm having found itself just under the bottom of her shirt. The realisation that his hand rested on her bare stomach made him freeze – his body completely still as his breath hitched in his throat, his fingers tracing the smooth skin of her abdomen. Well, most of his body froze…
“Good morning,” she hummed, still nestled under his arm, her voice low with sleep. “Whose presence am I graced with this morning?”
Her voice snapped him out of his reverie and he instantly sat up to undo the ankle restraint, practically jumping out of the bed as if it were on fire. He turned away from her, hoping with every fibre of his being that she hadn’t felt what he now saw clear as day, pushing against his pants. He heard her roll over, and he just knew that infuriating grin was plastered on her face. “I’m assuming it’s Marc, then?”
“Lucky guess,” he breathed, trying to make himself look busy. He pulled a hoodie over his head, hoping it would cover him. When he was satisfied with the level of concealment, he turned back to her, feigning normalcy. “Do you always look so smug in the morning?”
“Do you always wake up so grumpy?” She removed the covers, shifting to kneel on the bed, sitting back on her heels with a smirk. A sliver of her torso showed, and Marc had to force his gaze up, back to her face. “If you wanted to be the little spoon, all you had to do was ask.”
Marc bristled. “Steven’s the one who wanted you in there.”
“Yeah…” she drawled, cocking her head, and the sight of her like that on his bed made him infinitely more grateful for the hoodie now covering his hips. “I could really feel how much you hated sleeping next to me.”
His face flushed bright red, and Marc shook his head at her incredulously. “It’s not even eight o’clock, and you’re already tormenting me.”
“I can’t help it,” she shrugged, running a hand through her dishevelled hair. Even like this – especially like this, she looked perfect. Why did she have to look perfect? “You just make it too easy.”
He huffed, striding forward to pull the covers up. “Move. I’m trying to make the bed.”
“God, you really aren’t a morning person, are you?” She goaded him, not moving from her position, which of course was dead centre in the middle of the bed. “So grouchy.”
Marc glanced at her sideways, cursing the way her taunts sent simmering sensations up his body. “I’m not grouchy. You’re just in my way.” His fist clamped around the covers to pull them up, but her body blocked them from moving up the bed. He dropped his hand, exasperated. “Are you gonna move?”
“Are you gonna make me?” She retorted, mimicking his accent, and his gaze instantly snapped to her again. “Or are you just going to keep pulling that duvet like that does anything?”
He glared at her, but there was absolutely no venom in it. “You’re trying to rile me up. It’s not going to work.”
She smiled innocently, eyes flicking down to his pelvis. “Seems like it already did.”
Damn it. Marc clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes away from the bed and that unbelievable woman still watching him, taunting him with her lilted voice and her razor wit. Zara had gotten under his skin and she knew it – and she clearly loved every second of it. The thought somehow both aggravated and excited him, that she knew exactly how to push his buttons so well. He turned to look at her again, still kneeling on the bed, watching him smugly with eyes like a hawk. If she wanted to do this, fine. Two could play at that game.
“You know, you’re kinda cute when you’re trying to make me mad.”
Zara blinked, clearly surprised at his sudden change of tone. For a moment, she seemed genuinely thrown, before smoothing over her face with a smirk. “Trying isn’t the word I would’ve used. More like, succeeding.”
He moved so that he was standing right next to the bed, his legs pressing against the side of the mattress. The two of them were mere inches apart, and Marc had to force himself to slow the hammering in his chest. “Is that so?”
Talking to her like this was like chasing her across those rooftops back in Cairo – challenging, and strangely exhilarating – and always with the knowledge that she was always going to get exactly what she wanted. Except this time, neither of them were chasing a golden scarab. The world wasn’t at stake – just his stability. And maybe, just maybe, his pride.
“It’s okay to admit you missed me, Marc,” she cocked her head, not dropping her gaze for even a second. The sound of his name on her lips made his knees feel like jello, and he was suddenly very grateful for the bed he was leaning against. Her voice dropped to a whisper as though she was confiding in him, sarcasm practically dripping from her words. “I won’t tell anyone you have emotions, you don’t have to worry.”
“If you wanted me to kiss you again, you could try being nicer to me. Like you were last time,” Marc retorted, watching her intently to gauge her reaction. She shot him a withering glare, and he flared with pride. “What? Not as nice when it happens to you?”
For a moment, he thought he really might have crossed a line – but then she leaned forward, and Marc thought his heart was going to stop dead then and there. Zara looked up at him, a glint of mischief in her eye. Calling his bluff. “I knew I could get you out of that bad mood.”
Suddenly he bent forward, catching her face in his hands, pulling her lips to his. Her hair tickled his face as she pulled him in, throwing him off balance, Marc practically collapsing on the bed on top of her. He propped himself up on his elbows in an attempt not to crush her, their lips moving together in harmony, sending waves of warmth through his body. Her fingers ran through his hair, her other hand tracing his jaw, setting his skin alight wherever she touched him. Before he realised what she was doing, she shifted under him, locking her legs against his hip and torso. Zara rotated, quite literally sweeping him off his feet as she flipped him, so that he was lying on his back, with her straddling him. Marc grunted in astonishment as his back hit the mattress, staring up at her in surprise. “Really?” he breathed, raising his eyebrows. “Even in bed, you’re still trying to fight me.”
She laughed, and Marc felt the air leave his lungs as she leaned in, trailing kisses down his jaw, her lips brushing his neck as she spoke. “If I recall correctly, you picked a fight with me first.”
“Well…” Marc faltered, trying to come up with a burning reply, coming up completely empty. He had a one-track mind at the best of times, and Zara’s presence had always made it difficult for him to concentrate – but now it was utterly impossible, especially if she was going to keep doing that.
“See?” Her finger traced his lips, her face coming into view again, hazel eyes filled with triumph. “This is why you shouldn’t try to argue with me, Marc. I’m always going to win.”
“God, you’re full of it,” he muttered, but the words held no malice. His hands traced her body, his fingers dragging up her torso, under her shirt, the smooth bronze skin prickling with goosebumps. His hands stopped at her ribcage, and she leaned forward again, his fingers running up over her shoulder blades. Zara chuckled, her lips meeting his again, and Marc felt drunk off the feeling. Considering how shitty yesterday had been for them, this was a big improvement –
Suddenly Steven’s phone started ringing, the sound causing both of them to start, Marc almost headbutting Zara as he jumped up. She ended up next to him on the bed, the two of them staring at the phone vibrating on the desk. Zara glanced sideways at him, raising a brow. “Expecting a call from someone?”
“No…” Marc’s brows furrowed as he slowly made his way off the bed, approaching the phone as if it were a bomb. His eyes widened, glancing over his shoulder at Zara. “It’s…it’s Donna.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Who the hell is Donna?”
“That’s Steven’s manager at the museum,” Zara informed him quickly, her voice somewhat frantic. “Marc, you need to let him answer – ”
“Alright, buddy, you’re up,” Marc said aloud, feeling Steven push forward as he relinquished control of the body. Marc heard Zara shift behind them, moving forward in anticipation.
Steven’s voice left his lips. “Cheers, mate.” Steven glanced warily down at the phone, then back at Zara, then back to the phone again. “What the bloody hell does she want? I’ve already gotten the voicemails telling me I’ve been sacked, why is – ”
“Steven, answer the phone,” Zara instructed. “It’s going to ring out.”
Steven hesitated, then snatched the phone off the table, tension permeating every muscle in their body. “Hiya, Donna.”
“Stevie,” Donna’s words came running down the line, the notes of distaste in her voice as clear as day. “You never fail to surprise me.”
Steven furrowed his brows, perplexed. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t know how you’ve done it, Stevie,” she remarked. “I don’t know how you managed to charm the pants off of the big bosses, but I’ve been informed that you’re going to be gracing us with your unmatched work ethic yet again. So – ”
“Wait, what – I did what?” Steven stammered, and Marc felt like his mind was spinning. “What are you on about, Donna? I already got the notice that I’d been sacked – ”
“Yeah, and thanks to your smooth-talking in that HR meeting last week, now you’re un-sacked,” Donna’s voice practically radiated disdain. “And lucky old me, I’ve been told to call you about your next shift.”
Steven reeled. “Wait, so I’m not – ”
“So, I’m gonna take it easy on you,” Donna interrupted again, cutting him off. “You start at nine.”
Steven glanced behind them to the clock, eyes wide. “Nine a.m., today?”
Marc heard the pop of what sounded like chewing gum. Donna chuckled derisively. “That’s right.”
“But – but,” Steven ran his hand through his dark curls, frantic. “Donna, it’s already twenty-past eight!”
“Well, then you’d better get a move on, hadn’t you, Stevie?”
Marc had no idea what brought this woman so much satisfaction about taunting Steven, but the urge to protect him flared again, and he had to force himself not to intervene. The last thing Steven needed was for Marc to ruin his life a second time. Steven instantly began pacing around the room, throwing clothes around until he found the right ones, clearly fighting to remain calm. “All right. All right, Donna, I’ll see you at nine.”
Donna could not have sounded more condescending if she’d tried. “Don’t be late now, Stevie. Wouldn’t want to get in trouble with the bosses again.”
She hung up before he could answer, and Steven whirled, Zara staring back at him in confusion. “So you’re back at the museum?”
“Today, apparently,” Steven confirmed, hurriedly shoving seemingly random items in his bag. “Oh, bollocks, I’m going to be so late if I don’t get a move on.”
“Wait, you’re going?” Zara walked towards him, confused. “What about the other alter?”
Steven looked at her helplessly. “I’ve got to go, haven’t I? Look, I don’t know how this has happened, but I need this job, and – ”
“He could come back at any time,” Marc reminded Steven, nudging him in that internal space they shared. “We won’t have any backup if things go off the rails in that museum.”
“We need a plan if something goes wrong,” Zara told him, and Marc was almost thrown by how similar her line of reasoning was to his, even though she couldn’t hear him. “I won’t be able to stay with you all day. I have to – ”
“It’s okay. There’s gotta be a way around this, right?” Steven reasoned, and Marc felt a surge of pride at his sudden level-headedness. “How ‘bout this – I’ll text you when I’m supposed to finish up, and we meet at the museum? It’ll probably be around six, unless Donna decides to punish me again.”
Zara hesitated, and he placed a reassuring hand on her arm. “I’ll be careful, all right? I promise. I’ll text you and we’ll meet there once I’ve finished, so the other bloke can’t take us for a wander.” He gave her an anxious smile. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
Steven grabbed his coat and bag, Zara watching him out of the corner of his eye, her voice taut with unease. “You know I can’t promise that, don’t you?”
It was the same thing she’d said to Marc, moments before they’d entered the chamber of the gods. The same words she’d uttered, moments before disaster.
* * *
Six P.M.
As usual, he’d timed it perfectly.
But it hadn’t been as easy as before. That month alone had truly taken something out of him, something vital, sapping his strength like he’d never experienced before. They were stronger, now – and Jake knew it would never come easily from here on, though truthfully, nothing in his life ever had. Pushing forward without being noticed was getting harder and harder, now that Steven and Marc were so cohesive. So in-tune, so intuitive. So…brotherly. Jake ground his teeth absently, the thought permeating his mind on a loop.
It left a sour taste in his mouth.
But really, why should it? This was what he wanted, no? His hands found their way to the drawer of Steven’s desk, to where he kept his spare stash of cinnamon gum. He supposed he had Steven’s constant state of sleep deprivation to thank for the fact that he’d never looked too closely at what was in the drawers of his workplace. And Steven, of course, had him to thank for even being able to set foot back in there at all. The thought made him chuckle a little as he popped the gum in his mouth, relieving his teeth from the incessant trauma of his grinding habit. Poor Steven, always kept in the dark.
In the dark, but out of harm’s way.
The second his feet hit the pavement outside the museum, the voice found him. He saw him in his peripheral vision – Khonshu was perched atop a building across the road, the old bird’s skull watching him intently as he strode down the busy street. Jake didn’t spare him so much as a glance, but that didn’t matter. If Khonshu had something to say, he would. He always did.
You’re late.
Jake didn’t look up, but he saw Khonshu phase forward out of the corner of his eye. Jake pulled his collar up, barring the gazes of the other pedestrians from spotting his moving lips, though his breath still fogged in the freezing night air. But Khonshu would hear him, the way he heard everything. “Not about to get him fired after I just got his job back, paloma.”
Jake swiftly turned down an alley, feeling instantly more at ease encased in the darkness, out of the glaring street lights. Khonshu appeared behind him then, looming over him, but Jake didn’t flinch. He would never flinch.
I would watch what you call me, Lockley. Lest I be forced to go back to my old…arrangement.
Another day, another threat.
Jake felt the rush of anger as he turned to face him, but his face didn’t shift, his cool gaze settling on the god. “I just liked the nickname, is all.” He winked. “Suits you.”
Khonshu laughed, but it was devoid of warmth. The parasite grows on you. You are not as ruthless as you have led me to believe, Jake Lockley.
Another night, another jab.
Jake bit back the words he knew he should say – that a better man would certainly say. Steven’s not the parasite, you are. He could almost hear them coming out of his mouth, almost feel the words forming on his tongue. But he wasn’t a better man. He wasn’t Marc. And he certainly wasn’t Steven.
“Cálmate, amigo.” Jake looked back up at the god then, a grin carving its way into his face. “I’m here now.”
Khonshu merely watched him for a moment. So it seems.
Another day, another vague collection of words from the old bird’s beak. Jake ignored him, throwing his head back as the armour swallowed him up, forming around him, covering every inch of his skin. The barest hint of adrenaline coursed through his veins, setting him alight. His gaze settled back on Khonshu, his eyes glowing.
“So, what’s on the menu for tonight?”
Khonshu chuckled again, that same gravelly sound.
I think you already know.