Page 72 of Hercules

His promises.

That’s what this was. In the possessive mold of his lips, the perfect crush of his hold. In the intensity of the energy with which he surrounded her—and, as they drew apart with reluctant indolence but greedy gasps, with the words that rumbled from him like Johnny Castle beckoning to Baby Houseman with more than just his sexy fingers.

“My baggage is made of tough stuff, Wildcat.”

But just as her lungs hoarded her air again—still not on purpose—he leaned back by an inch. Then even taking one wide step. Another. If he went any farther, even his long arms would be tested by their distance—but just when she gulped in fear of it, he corkscrewed his fingertips around hers with undeniable force.

“But we have to move now if we want to beat Rizon to Natasha.”

As soon as he was done, Lois reclosed the gap between them. Slammed herself to her demigod’s side. They lost an extra five seconds with her blissful sigh to celebrate the occasion—damn it, his chest was so broad and tempting—but it was worth the sacrifice. So much so, she selfishly stretched the delay up to the ten second mark.

“Hey. Thank you, Lion Man.”

“Eh?” His bafflement was beautiful, a worthy prize for lingering.

“For fortifying the baggage,” she supplied before he could ponder things too hard. “And for everything you said in that kiss.” She pecked him fast, lips to lips, to emphasize that part. “Yeah, I heard it all. Loud and clear.” And made it sink in by palming both his temples. “But most of all, thank you for not bailing on me. Especially now.”

His skin stretched beneath her touch as his forehead gained new furrows. “Bailing on you how? You mean in the middle of the weirdness you’re stuck in because of me?”

Her hands lowered to his jawline while he followed the statement with a cute chuff. “Not wholly accurate,” she chided. “You know that as well as I do.”

“Okay, then.” The backs of his gorgeous aquas heated and thickened. “Accurate enough. The…generality of it all, as an adorable Scribester put it to me once upon a time.”

“That so?” She allowed half a laugh to tug at her own expression. “Well, once upon a time, a dashing demigod went to an event at the DeLux expecting to find and protect Natasha Korra, not her masquerading assistant. If anyone was thrown for a bender, you get that trophy.”

He grunted again. “Not one for trophies.” But drew it out into a new sound that became a sensual nuzzle against her neck. “But bender I can work with, in the right parameters. Just tell me what you want, woman…”

Despite the urgency he’d advocated, Lo’s lips freed another long sigh without checking in with the brain. It felt so good, pure and primordial, answering some pheromonal epistle from his…and it did not want to stop there.

But had to.

“Nobody likes the idea of bendy more than me, sir. But—”

He cut her off with a harsher grumble. “I know, I know.” He dragged his head up and his hands down, using his left to readjust the bulge beneath his pants then the right to grab his thigh and force it forward. With another grab, he compelled the limb in the direction his front door. “Let’s do this before I think again about doing other things.”

“Like cute little Scribesters who’ll be looking up kinky gymnastics in their spare time?”

“Not. Helping.”

And here came that visceral calling from her soul again, already longing to soothe his grumpy tone. Would it be so bad to just dive back into the swanky shadows of his bat cave, going for escapades with no plot twists to worry about? Well, nothing but what his definition of bendy entailed…

She could deal with that.

No. You absolutely couldn’t.

Not with everything she now knew. Not with knowing it and imagining how she’d live with it if Rizon succeeded with his plan. Not just because of Natasha—more accurately, the demon who’d be passing itself off as the woman—but because of anyone and everyone who revolved in the Korra galaxy. Nobody would even know they’d been changed over. Turned into grinning pawns on the demigod’s diabolical chessboard. All of them.

Even herself.

Holy shit.

Here came the icy shards of sheer dread: luckily the kind that formed comets instead glaciers. She accepted the propulsion without another second of doubt, letting it again push her steps the right direction.

This had to be the right direction.

They couldn’t afford to think anything less. Or doubt this plan by a single stride. It’d be the sole step Rizon needed to get ahead.

One step too many.