In everything he did, Prometheus was always wholly himself. Maybe that was why she wanted him.
There. She’d let herself think it. She wanted Prometheus. She admired his doggedness and his twisted strength of character. She sort of liked him. Casual sex had always seemed like a recipe for regret in the past, but maybe she’d been looking at it wrong. They would never work in the long term—there was probably a picture of them next to irreconcilable differences in the dictionary—but for now, maybe it was time she made a few romantic mistakes. Starting with Prometheus.
Chapter Twenty
Fastballs, Physics and Other Genetic Gifts
Part of the Karmic family. Prometheus ground his molars as he shoved open the door to Karmic Consultants on Sunday morning. It was brutally early, but he hadn’t been able to sleep and figured he might as well wake Karma—not that she was likely to be asleep, though he almost wished she was just so he could get her up. His entire night had been spent making love charms to replenish his stock—half of which he’d had to throw out when he realized his pissy mood was corrupting the magic.
He needed to get his head back in the fucking game and lose the moony-eyed shit. This was life or death. His death. And it was about time he remembered that. No more sleepovers. No more intimate little share-our-deepest-darkest-secrets sessions. Just a straight line between him and his fortieth birthday. No matter who he had to pave over to get there.
Family fucked you over and abandoned you. Prometheus didn’t need or want to be part of Karma’s. All he needed was her assistance. Eye on the prize.
He shoved open the door to Karma’s office, his ornery side hoping to find it empty so he could rattle her out of her Bat Cave, but there she was, sitting behind that big ass I’m-the-boss-here desk of hers. And smiling at him.
“Good morning, Prometheus. I had a feeling you might be in early.”
Of course she did. No surprising psychics. He should have negotiated for precognition when he bartered for his powers.
She rose and rounded her desk toward him, still smiling. Damn if she didn’t look happy to see him.
“I figured we should get an early start. I only have so many days left to live. No time to waste.”
Her smile faded at his brusque tone. “No, I suppose there isn’t.”
She wandered over to the couch—the one where she’d mounted him on Friday night—and sank down onto the edge of it. He prowled over to throw himself into a nearby chair.
“You needn’t worry I’ll be wasting time on another date with that guy,” she said dryly. “Even if you hadn’t given me something to think about, the date still would have been a bust.”
She thought he was jealous, that that was why he wasn’t picking up right where they’d left off. Prometheus ignored the comment she likely thought of as an olive branch. “Shall we get started?”
She folded her hands neatly in her lap, her posture shifting slightly, back straight, ankles crossed, the picture of the perfect lady—Karma’s armor falling into place. “Of course. I have the leftover vodka if—”
“No vodka. Now that you’ve done it once, let’s see if you can do it on your own.”
She nodded and matched his all business tone. “Certainly.”
She closed her eyes, pulled the charm he’d given her out from beneath her shirt and tried—he had to admit she really did try. Without being in physical contact with her, he couldn’t guide her, so she was on her own and without the vodka to relax her she was so tense she was immediately rolled under by her power.
Prometheus cursed and came out of his chair. He crossed to the couch in one, long stride and wrapped his hand over hers on the charm, dragging her back to her center and pulling her out of the vision, catching only echoes of an explosion himself before her connection to it cut. Karma shuddered and he felt the idiotic impulse to pull her into his arms and comfort her. Instead, he dropped her hand as if she’d burned him and backed away.
So much for sober.
“I’ll get the vodka.”
“Good. You’re getting it. That time was much better.”
Karma felt no sense of satisfaction at the praise. She was too exhausted to be victorious. She slumped down on the couch and squinted blearily at the clock. The effects of the single glass of vodka they’d used to get her to relax enough for the first successful attempt had long since worn off. No more pleasant buzz, just bone deep weariness making her eyesight blur.
Eight p.m. An entire day of slamming herself into the visions on purpose, so she could learn how to control abilities that all the books she’d read on the subject seemed to think should be intuitive. Intuitive, my ass.
Prometheus thought she was doing better, but Karma was too tired to care. She wanted to curl into the fetal position and sleep for three years.
“Can we be done now?”
Prometheus looked at her, as if assessing whether he could push her through one more round before she had a nervous breakdown. They were stretched out on opposite corners of her bed—having moved down here around two o’clock, when Prometheus insisted that she needed more comfortable surroundings and then bullied her into changing into yoga clothes because no one can relax in a suit.
In spite of her intentions to take him up on his casual sex offer, their hours on the bed had been strictly platonic. He’d been running hot and cold ever since he arrived this morning—hot eyes tracking her every move while a cold demeanor shoved her back whenever she got too close. Whatever new form of manipulation this was, she didn’t like it.
“One more time. Then we’ll call it a night.”
She closed her eyes, looking inside herself to see if she had one more in her. “Nope.” She draped her arms over her face, blocking out the bully. “I’m done. Sorry. Tapped out.”
“Rest for a few minutes, then we’ll give it one last go.”
“There will be no one last go.” She let her arms fall away from her face, spread-eagle on the bed. “I’ve hit my limit.”
“I wasn’t aware the great Karma Cox had limits.”
She snorted. There were days she felt like all she had were limits. The great Karma Cox indeed. “Do you ever wonder why? Why some people—like my brother—are totally normal and then there are people like us.” She rubbed at a pinched nerve in her neck.
“Why can some people throw a fastball a hundred miles an hour or understand particle physics? Random genetic anomalies.” Prometheus climbed up to the head of the bed next to her, stacking up the pillows. “Come here.”
“Random is a shitty reason.” She let him tug her in front of him, his hands going to work on the ache in her neck.
“Maybe the universe knew you were going to be a goodie-goodie who rode to the rescue like Wonder Woman every time there was a wrong that needed righting.”
“I hate having all that knowledge and only having the power to do anything about it ten percent of the time. If I’m such a good person, why torture me like that?”
“Maybe seeing all the wrong you couldn’t fix is what made you a good person, made you the kind of person who wanted to fix what you could.”
“Like a chicken-egg thing? I don’t see your power turning you into a good person.”