CHAPTER FOUR
Xypher had to struggle not to launch himself at the waitress as she brought food and snatch it out of her hands. The scent of it reached deep inside and literally made him ache for a taste of it. All he wanted was to tear into it like a rabid animal and it took all the restraint he had not to. But what amazed him more than the fact that he was able to stop himself was the reason why it was so important to him to behave.
He wasn't about to let anyone humiliate him again.
"You're nothing but a mongrel. Uncouth. Uncivilized. Disgusting. Who could ever love a beast?" Satara's words rang loud and clear in his head.
Simone sat across from him, eating daintily, primly. It was obvious manners had been bred into her and for some reason he couldn't even fathom, he didn't want her to judge him like the rest of the world had and find him an animal, too. Never once had he cared what anyone else thought of him.
Until now.
As if she could hear those thoughts, she reached across the table and placed one gentle hand on his arm, over the words he'd branded there. "I know you're starving, Xypher. You don't have to worry about your manners with me. Dig in."
Nothing had ever touched him so profoundly. Just as no one had ever looked more beautiful to him. The light in her hair, the way her hazel eyes flashed with an inner spirit that was intangible and electrifying. It baffled him.
He lashed out at her and she took it, just like he did in Tartarus. No matter what they did, no matter how hard they tried to break him, he stood strong against their best attacks. Just like her. Only her strength was innately good. She never sought to hurt anyone.
Not eves him.
She was gentleness personified.
And because of that, he was more determined than ever not to give in to that rabid side of himself.
"I'm all right," he muttered, picking up his silverware.
Simone sat in silence while she watched Xypher's hand visibly shaking as he ate his lamb. There was no mistaking his hunger or his need to satiate it. She wasn't sure why he was fighting it when it was so obvious he wanted to tear into his food. In his shoes, she'd be ripping into it and shoving handfuls into her face.
Not him. It was as if he wanted to prove something. Like he needed to eat with good manners for some reason she couldn't even begin to guess at.
Shaking her head, she tried to focus on her own meal. Something that wasn't easy given the leashed power of him. He was compelling. The Strength, the power. All she wanted to do was reach out and touch those perfect lips.
He was like watching a beautiful animal that was stalking its prey.
But the best part was when he tried to take a bite out of the oyster shell. The boyish confusion on his face was utterly charming.
Stifling a laugh, she got up and walked to his side of the table. "You don't bite into the oyster shell."
He scowled at her. "How do you eat it, then?"
"Let me show you." She took the oyster from his hand and picked up the small fork from beside his plate. "First you detach the meat and then you up the shell to your lips and let it slide down, into your mouth. Then you swallow, but don't chew it."
"Why not?"
She stared at the oyster meat that appeared harmless enough, but she swore she could still taste the one time she'd mistakenly bitten into one. Nasty didn't come close to describing that taste. "Well, it's gritty and land of gross. But if you really want to you can."
Xypher froze as he watched her put a dab of Tabasco sauce on the meat. The scent of her filled his head and reminded him that it'd been centuries since he last touched a woman . . .
Strange how in his rage and quest for vengeance, he hadn't even thought of that. Hadn't noticed any of the women he'd passed on the streets while searching for Daimons to take him into Kalosis.
Now that long-forgotten ache burned through him. He wanted to take her hand in his so that he could lick the pads of her fingers to taste the salt of her skin. To bury his face in the crook of her neck so that he could inhale her scent until it clung to his skin.
He didn't know why, but just the thought of her touching him in even the most careless way had him harder than he'd ever been before. And he longed to reach up and brush his hand through those chaotic curls that had defied her best efforts to tame them. He wondered what they'd feel like brushing against his chest while she made love to him. Were they as soft as they appeared?
Were her lips?
Would she welcome him into her body?
Xypher forced himself to look away from her and to squelch those thoughts. It wasn't his fate to have a woman like her touch him in that way. He was an animal and he knew it. He'd been left alone too long, had been cast out to find his own way. Tenderness was for humans. It wasn't for a renegade Skotos who was going to be taken back to hell in a few weeks.
Don't go soft. Don't let down your guard.
Sooner or later, he'd be back in Tartarus at the mercy of Hades. It'd taken centuries to harden himself so that he didn't feel the steel-barbed lashes so deeply when they beat him. Centuries of learning how to not fall for the cruel mind games that Hades played.
Comfort on this plane would only weaken him when he returned.
It would make hell even more biting. That was something he couldn't allow. It was bad enough. To soften his existence here . . .
No wonder Hades had agreed to let him loose for a month. The god of the Underworld had known exactly how much worse Xypher's punishment would be after he'd tasted freedom.
Bastard.
Curling his lip, he snatched the oyster from her hand. "I'm not an infant. I can feed myself."
Simone cocked her head irritably at his quick reversal. There for a moment, she'd almost thought that he was learning to be . . . well, nice.
She must have been hallucinating.
"Fine," she said, flinging out her hands. "Whatever."
Angered over his gruffness, she went back to her seat and finished her food in silence.
What was his deal? She'd never before met anyone so surly that they couldn't accept even a minimal amount of kindness. He reminded her of that awful Scott Murphy...
Her heart slapped a beat as she remembered the boy who'd been in her children's home with her when she was eleven. Hostile and feral, he'd barely been human.
At nine years old, he'd been taken away from his parents and then put into the revolving door of foster homes because no one could do anything with him. Finally, children's services had started sending him to various facilities that were equally quick to toss him out.
No one at the home where she'd stayed, including the staff, could stand him. He was always picking fights and mocking everyone, even Simone who'd tried to be his friend. He'd laughed at her, then bit her so hard, she'd needed stitches-she still had the scar on her left forearm. Because of that and other such tantrums and attacks, he'd spent all of his time being punished until he'd mysteriously vanished in the middle of the night.
His body had been found a few days later in the basement of the gym, still dressed in his pajamas. Apparently he'd gone there, alone, and slit his own wrists.
He'd only been eleven years old.
Simone had been sad enough over the horrible occurrence, but when she'd overheard two of the teachers talking later that day, that sadness had tinned to all-out grief for the child who shouldn't have been reduced to ending his own life.