When Diego awoke the next night he was not in a good mood. He ascended the ladder in the cabin he'd started to think of as his and went to sit at the rustic table, his forehead in his hand. Cecily, I'm sorry.
Of course he'd known that she was there. That was half his aim, well, part of it. Yes, OK, having sex again after years of abstinence had been a much needed release. And the goddess had needed it too. She had been about to explode and now she was under control, to an extent. But he had had a darker purpose: Cecily could not hold a torch for him. He had to force her out of his life, no matter how deeply that hurt both of them.
She was alive, and he was not. He would not go down the path he had taken with Angelina, ever again. Cecily was vibrant, and sweet, and vulnerable, and stop thinking about her
. He wiped his face, surprised to find he could still cry. Angelina had been all of those things, once, and he had destroyed her out of a selfish need to not be alone.
And now he was alone anyway, and he didn't know if she lived or died, if you'd pardon the loose use of those terms. Last night's kiss with Sakira had been a goodbye. They both had known it. Sakira had told him she had things she had to do, and he was not so arrogant as to think a goddess would have further use of him.
And Cecily, with any luck, hated him now and could get on with a life that did not include him.
Diego had never felt lonelier in his life.Next Chapter