Blood of Zeus: Book One

by Meredith Wild

  I steady on my feet and step back slowly. His touch falls away, and I’m almost mournful as I drag my gaze up to his. I’m ready to thank him for his quick reflexes, but the words die in my throat. Suddenly my skin burns as fiercely as the heat in his eyes. Then I realize his earlier slip wasn’t meant to curse the offending klutz who ran into me. In fact, I don’t think he meant to say it at all.

  “You all right?” he says, his voice taking on a raspy quality that I can feel on the surface of my skin. And other places.

  “I’m good.”

  Too good. Buzzing with euphoria good. About to rip his clothes off good.

  I should thank him for saving me from the fall. Then I should walk away and take great pains to never get this close to him again.

  “Kara. There you are. Seriously.”

  My sister’s dramatic drone breaks the spell. Maximus runs a shaky hand through his hair as she sidles up beside us in head-to-toe Gucci.

  “It’s a miracle the paparazzi get any pictures of you at all. You find the weirdest places to hide out. You’re nowhere near the action,” she rattles on.

  Before I can make introductions, Maximus mumbles something I can’t make out and turns into the crowd, creating distance between us that I’m already conflicted about. A little voice reminds me I’ll see him in class tomorrow, which shouldn’t be such a thrilling prospect. Not after I nearly seized with pleasure from a few seconds of body contact.

  I try in vain not to follow him as he finds a place to stand on the other side of the store. The farthest possible spot from me. Wise. I need to remind myself of that at least a thousand more times.

  I silently promise to stick with my seat in the back row of the lecture hall going forward. This can’t happen again. He’s too dangerous to the walls of my self-control.

  “Come on. Let’s go get a pic—” Kell’s deep brown eyes widen slightly. “Whoa. Do you smell that?”

  I swing my gaze back to her. “What?”

  Her nostrils flare with a couple short sniffs. “Lust and…” She frowns. “Anxiety?”

  I lick my lips nervously. “That’s me. I’m anxious.”

  “I know what you smell like, K-demon. That wasn’t you.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  She gracefully flips her slick wall of black hair over her shoulder. “Kara, you’re the only one of us who needs to be reminded of it.”

  “Okay, well, we’re in public.” I can barely gesture for effect without hitting someone with my hand.

  “The public hasn’t called us worse?”

  I roll my eyes and breathe out a sigh. “Whatever.”

  “So…” Her gaze wanders over the crowd. “Who was Mr. Lusty? That’s not like you to get someone all wound up.”

  “It’s no one. He’s my professor. It’s not like that.”

  Her pretty red lips form a shocked oval as she spots Maximus. “You’re kidding me. He’s your professor?”

  “Yes,” I hiss quietly and turn my back to him, hoping to hell he doesn’t notice the most tolerable of my siblings blatantly pointing and staring at him like an unselfconscious toddler.

  “Wait a motherfucking minute,” she says almost breathlessly. “That’s that superhot literature professor, isn’t it? Shit. I tried to get into one of his classes too. I got stuck with some old hag with a hard-on for Whitman.”

  “Kell, Professor Ferguson is the poet laureate.”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t even care. On to more important matters…” She studies me closely, as if I have evidence on me. “Are you putting the moves on him? I honestly never thought you’d flirt for grades. That’s just not like you.”

  The growl that rumbles deep in my chest is drowned out by the crowd, unlike her unhinged remarks that can be clearly heard by nearly anyone with any interest. And tonight, with the media mingling like bees in a hive, the shop is swarming with people who want fresh dirt on the Valaris.

  “Considering I’ve had one class with him so far, no. Not to mention…you know.” I wave my hand in tiny circles and stare at the bookshelf beside me, briefly wishing I could find a way to hide between the tomes. Maybe find a secret door in this enchanting little bookstore that can take me away from LA to another plane of reality where my life isn’t already charted for me.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Kell’s flawless face is wrinkled with confusion.

  “I’m promised. And so are you, by the way. Did you forget that tiny detail?”

  When she crosses her arms and averts her gaze, I know she hasn’t forgotten. If anyone can appreciate the vow we were bound to at birth, she can.

  “You can do other things in the meantime,” she mutters without much conviction.

  “What’s the point?” I wear my emotions too close to the surface, along with every base impulse. And when it comes to sex, having it with just anyone isn’t an option. I may hate being a Valari, but that doesn’t mean I can pretend I’m not one.

  When humans break their vows, feelings get hurt. Hearts get broken. When demons break vows, someone gets punished.

  Kell taps her red lacquered nail on her tooth. “Yeah.” Her eyes brighten after a moment. “Well, once you meet, you know, whoever it’s going to be and seal the deal, you can hook up with whoever you want. You just need to finish this stupid degree and get on with it.”

  “Why don’t you get on with it?” I challenge.

  She scoffs. “I will. Eventually. I’m just trying to wait a respectable amount of time before I settle down. I’m not an old maid like you.”

  “You’re barely a year younger than me.”

  She shrugs, a small show of admission. “I hate people telling me what to do. Maybe in a few years I won’t care so much.”

  Unlikely.

  In fairness, her worry mirrors my own. We have no idea who we’ll be matched with when the time comes. But every full-blooded demon I’ve ever met has fit a particular profile. Cocky and charismatic and not to be trifled with. They’re talented liars with vicious tempers, sent to strengthen a bloodline weakened by my human ancestors.

  I’ve spent a good part of my adult life trying not to think about it.

  “Come on.” Kell nudges me gently, the same inevitability painted across her features. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chapter Four

  Maximus

  “Damn it.”

  It’s not the first time I’ve spat it tonight. Not even the first time since climbing out Sarah’s office window, onto the fire escape, and then up here to the roof. I’m certain it won’t be the last.

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Pretty sure it won’t be the last time for that line either. And I can’t answer it, because thought had little to do with the force that drew me across the store and into her personal space in that crush of a crowd—even after I’d spent the better part of the day attempting to erase every thought of the girl from my mind.

  Except one.

  Student. Hands off.

  Which doesn’t help me right now. None of the pieces inside that feel all wrong.

  But when she was in my arms tonight, everything felt right.

  More right than things have felt in a long damn time.

  I growl out more profanity before sinking my ass onto the concrete lip that surrounds the building’s massive air-conditioning unit. With another guttural sound, I claw the hair away from my face.

  “Get your shit together, Kane.”

  The night swiftly swallows the sound. Even on a Tuesday night, Downtown LA is just waking up. People are laughing. Restaurants are bustling. Cars are honking. A local cover band warms up for their first set of the night in the bar three doors over. Their sound-check song is “Don’t Stand So Close To Me.”

  Of course it is.

  And just when I think the situation can’t get worse, the door from the building’s interior stairwell opens. A swath of fluorescent light spills out over the roof, and from that light a silhouette emerges. A
petite frame topped by a head with long cornrows.

  “There you are.”

  Reg strolls over and plants herself beside me. “Thought I might find you here.” She plucks at the black flowy pants that Sarah probably forced her into. Her grimace betrays how she likens the things to spider webs. The knit top and cropped jacket don’t fare much better, victims of her shrugging and squirming. For a few seconds, I watch her do it. I’m not used to this look, such a departure from the cargo pants and book-centric tees that have been her daily norm since the day I walked into the store nearly nineteen years ago.

  I was a reclusive, terrified kid then. She was restocking the bestsellers section, and when she said I could keep any book I wanted if I helped her out, a friendship was born.

  I let her silently fidget through another minute or so before I break the silence.

  “What’re you doing up here? Aren’t you supposed to be hosting a party?”

  She answers with nothing but a frustrated sound.

  “Guess I wasn’t the only one who’d had enough of the mob,” I mutter.

  “You said it.” A dry laugh escapes her. “Funny thing is, Melora Hall seems the most sane of the bunch.”

  I’m surprised, but I know all about preconceptions. “Maybe the biggest voices in the jungle have the least to prove.”

  She shifts her gaze from the sparkling skyline toward me. “Or the most.”

  I stiffen.

  She focuses harder on me. She gets it. I know she does. She knows I still have to think about this shit nearly every day. Being the giant in the room, in many senses, doesn’t give me the freedom to do whatever I want. It means I’m forever proving to the world that I’m better than my instincts. It means stressing about smashing all the china.

  Or the walls.

  Or the people.

  “Do you really want to know why I’m up here?”

  There it is again. That quiet funnel of her concentration, making me want to fidget worse than her. “If I say no, you’ll tell me anyway.”

  She smirks and then bumps my shoulder. “I’m here because you are.”

  I shrug, hoping to appear more detached than I am. “Just needed some air. I’m fine. Honestly.”

  Not remotely, but I hope she buys it. Inside I’m a mess. A turned-on, conflicted mess that I can’t begin to explain to this sweet woman with her unconditional loyalty to me.

  “You’re not,” she answers flatly. “I have eyes, you know. I saw you with that Valari girl.”

  She says it as if she already knows thoughts of Kara have been slamming my frontal lobe for the last hour.

  That quickly, my libido succumbs to another tsunami of memories. The crush of the crowd. The nearness of soft skin in a flimsy sundress. The smell of that skin, a succulent mix of roses and cinnamon and smoke. The same heat that was thick in her huge brown eyes, taking me in like we were the only trees still standing in a burning forest.

  But playing with fire means someone usually gets burned.

  I turn quickly from Reg. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

  “Famous last words?”

  “The room was crowded and noisy.” I jam my hands into my pockets, awkward as it is from my seated position. “You didn’t see what you thought, Regina.”

  Her inhalation is so sharp, it sounds like a whistle. “Did you just go there? With the full name? Because even mighty Maximus can’t escape a shot of hand soap instead of creamer in his next cup of coffee.”

  I try hard not to laugh. The woman usually pulls the first day’s shift at the store’s coffee bar, so I know she can—and would—make that happen with the latte I always pick up on my way to campus.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Nikian, you still didn’t see anything.”

  She lifts a dark brow. “Just like I never did when you nicked cookies out of the display?”

  I submit to a chuckle. “Something like that.”

  Her expression softens. “I’ve never seen you look at someone like that.”

  I close my eyes, trying like hell not to show her any of my truth before meeting her penetrating stare. “For the last time, whatever you observed—”

  “Before you give me your best lie, remember I’ve known you nearly your whole life. Now tell me, why are you flirting with a Valari?”

  The way she slants the name prompts a defensive clench of my jaw.

  “Is there something about her family name that especially bothers you?”

  She winces slightly. “Call me curious. That’s all.” She reaches up and tenderly palms my cheek. “Of course, I can’t help but think she’s not worthy of you.”

  She purses her lips into a half smile, and the thunder between my ribs has turned into a wad of warm mush. Damn it.

  “You really are bound for better than her, you know.” And just like that, her smirk vanishes beneath a small surge of new emotion. Something that hits my perception like vehemence. Even violence. “So much better.”

  Those last words have me tense again. “Not exactly what I’m worried about, Reg.”

  “Then what is it?”

  My thoughts are tripping again, all over the pretty girl downstairs who I had no business putting my hands on, accidentally or otherwise. I stopped trusting myself with people a long time ago. Despite the gnawing hunger for contact and…more.

  “She’s a nice girl. From what I can tell, probably better than most people give her credit for.” I wince, stopping myself short of saying more. “I just can’t get involved with anyone right now,” I finish with a note of defeat.

  “This is about Jesse, isn’t it?” Reg’s voice, while laced again with vexation, holds something new. A hint of challenge.

  My only answer is my silence. I stare out across the building tops toward the vast darkness on the horizon that’s the ocean. Normally, that liquid space brings a strange certainty—a calmness—to my spirit. Right now, it signifies everything I don’t know about the world. About myself.

  “After all these years, you still haven’t forgiven yourself,” she utters softly.

  I brave a look in her direction, ready to explain that I never will. But the quiet ferocity and devotion in her eyes stop me from saying all I want to.

  I paralyzed my best friend. I nearly killed him. I’m unforgivable.

  I take in a measured breath. Another. Still, I fight to quiet the internal tirade that wants to spill free and replace it with something Reg will accept. She deserves that much, but I’ve never been able to give her the actual words. She and Sarah have never let me down, not since that first day I wandered into the store, wondering if anyone would see me as normal again. Not after what I did to Jesse.

  It didn’t matter that I hadn’t meant to do it. That we’d only been playing with the rough zeal of typical eight-year-olds. The damage had been done, and I’d never be the same person again.

  “Forgive and forget,” I finally say. “But what happens when you can’t forget?” I rub a couple of fingers across my forehead, pushing in until it hurts. “I’m never going to be able to forget what happened. Even if I didn’t see him all the time, I wouldn’t be able to wipe that day from my memory.”

  That day.

  The one that still haunts so many of my nightmares.

  Every single one of its details.

  The bees humming over the playground field. The warm wind, bringing the first scents of summer. The heady taste of freedom. School was out, and Jesse and I had big plans.

  Plans I’d ended. For good. In one moment. On that day.

  After that came more awful days. The confusion. The guilt. The fear. No one would talk to me about what Jesse’s fate would be. I didn’t know until much later that all hopes for repairing the damage to his spinal cord were lost. That he’d be in that wheelchair for the rest of his life. That they’d roll him out of the hospital and he’d start spouting a string of stupid one-liners so I wouldn’t notice every hard gulp in his throat or the doomed sorrow in his eyes…

  “It was an
accident, Max. You were eight years old!”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I grit out.

  “Of course it ma—”

  “It. Doesn’t. Matter.” I turn from her and hunch over, gaining momentum to drive my fist into the ledge. Instantly I regret the wide crack I’ve opened up in the concrete. For a guy who’s vowed to hang on to control in any way possible, the stuff is tumbling like sand from my fist. “It didn’t change the outcome.”

  She huffs out a frustrated sigh. “Everyone makes mistakes, Maximus. Life is full of them. We’ve all done things we wish we could take back.”

  “It’s more than that.”

  So much more than a simple misstep or an embarrassing moment to keep me up at night. There will never be enough well-meaning words or affectionate stares to douse my self-loathing when it comes to what I did to Jesse.

  “Is it? Or are you so determined to martyr yourself that you refuse to make peace with something that Jesse already made peace with a long time ago?”

  “How do you know he’s made peace with it?”

  She gives me a pointed look, silently calling me on my shit. We both know better. Jesse loves life. He made a conscious choice to do so, refusing to be a victim or a charity case—and calling me on that shit more than anyone else over the years. He’s made peace with his circumstances and expects me to do the same.

  But even as I think about it, a stubborn part of me refuses to fully fly that banner. Somehow the prospect of letting it go makes room for it to happen again. And I could never live with that.

  As silence falls between us, Reg tilts her head back and closes her eyes. The beads in her braids reflect the streetlights, winking like stars of purple and blue across her head.

  I distract myself from the growing pressure in my chest by giving her a good-natured shoulder bump. “You know if Sarah finds out we both ditched her and came up here, she’s going to be pissed.”

  She smiles. “You’re right. And I’m pretty sure if you don’t get back down there, she may have to pry Jesse’s little admirer off him with a crowbar.”