Damian's Oracle

"I'm not sleeping with her, Sofia," he said and sliced his wrist.

The scent of his blood overwhelmed any objection she could make, and she snatched his arm. She drank heavily and opened her eyes, surprised to see his eyes open and the gold swirling within them. The tick in his jaw belied how tightly his teeth were clamped.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"And?"

"And what?"

"I said I'm not sleeping with her," he repeated.

"Good for you."

"Stubborn, infuriating woman."

"I'm not jealous." She gazed at him, completely aroused and angry at the same time.

"Bullshit," he replied.

She rolled onto her stomach away from him, blood flying with desire and heat.

"Gods, woman. In a different time," he muttered then swore. "When the common sense fairy smacks you upside the head, you know where to find me."

He left, as pissed as she was. She sighed. It was getting harder and harder to deny what she felt toward him. In the long silence that followed, she heard Darian's sobs. She held her head in her hands, tormented by his pain without understanding how she was supposed to help a dead man.

"Please stop," she whispered, wondering if Oracles could go crazy, too.

Unable to be alone with the man in her head, she went to her library. Pierre returned a couple of hours later as she checked off the fourth box on her list of Oracle self-training. He smelled of soap, and his hair was wet.

"You know, the French are the kings and queens of love," he said and sat in his chair by the door. "I can help you."

"That's the last thing I need."

"You would be more pleasant if you fucked him every once in awhile."

"Wow, Pierre, that's the most inappropriate thing I've ever heard," she retorted.

"Forgive me, ikira." By his tone, he didn't give a damn what she thought. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. We Europeans enjoy a more liberal form of commitment than you Americans."

"You sleep around," she surmised. "I don't think all of Europe does that. Just you maybe."

"Yes, and it's very relaxing."

"I don't want to sleep with a bunch of men."

"You wouldn't be permitted that freedom, ikira," he almost scoffed. "But you have one man you can sleep around with."

"He wants Claire and probably has a private brothel in town. Pierre, I'm some sort of resurrected monster killed by a psychopath. I can't even eat real food," she said bitterly. "The last thing I need is to complicate things more."

"It's not that bad. Claire?" he tsked. "I would not sleep with her. Damaged goods."