Blood of Zeus: Book One

by Meredith Wild

  I bite my lower lip, then release it as he slides his touch in against my cheek and brings our faces close. “Remember when you said, ‘If I only wanted to see the best of you, I wouldn’t be here.’ What makes you think I’d feel any differently about you?”

  My breath clutches in my throat—just before a door in the back of the hall slams loudly, followed by the sounds of students chatting. I step out of our embrace, heavy with relief and regret.

  The frown he’s wearing seems to convey the same. “Let’s go to my office so we can talk.”

  His office. No way can I step into that room again and not relive the experience of being sprawled across his desk, writhing in pleasure beneath his fingers and velvet tongue. And if I get the sense he’s reliving any of it too, I’m a goner.

  “I…I can’t today. I’m sorry.” Weirdly, the last two words feel like confession for other things—for which I’m grateful despite the deepening grooves of his frown.

  “Why?”

  “I have plans.” It’s the truth, but still not one he’ll want to hear about. After some back and forth, I managed to change my dinner plans with Arden to a meeting at his office instead. It might not be a candlelit rendezvous anymore, but the frosty way Maximus interacted with him at the fundraiser isn’t making me eager to spill those details.

  “When can I see you? You can come to my place this weekend if you want. Or I can come to you.”

  The idea of seeing him again off campus is tempting. It’s what normal people do when they decide to be in a relationship. But Maximus Kane and me? We’re far from normal. And I don’t trust myself in a closed room with him right now.

  He seems to sense my hesitation.

  “How about we meet up at Recto Verso tomorrow. Just coffee. Okay?”

  More students pour in. Their professor will be here next. We’re already cutting it too close lately. People will be talking about us soon if they aren’t already. We can’t keep meeting this way. So I agree with a nod.

  “Tomorrow. Coffee sounds perfect.”

  Arden’s office is tucked into a small but posh building at the edge of the Golden Triangle, close enough to that prestigious wedge of Beverly Hills to be relevant but not ancient. The building has an open-air atrium in the middle that looks like a set from Casablanca, with Moroccan lamps, lush landscaping, and a baby grand piano in a gazebo. I make my way into the waiting elevator, which takes me up to the third floor.

  Arden’s receptionist shows me into his corner office with picture windows flanked by the tops of palm trees.

  He looks up from the huge cluttered desk, his smile gleaming bright white like his perfectly tailored Oxford shirt. “Kara.”

  The door whispers closed as he strides toward me. I think he’ll reach for me, but his hands stay tucked into his slacks. His stare is more daring, roving over me boldly.

  “How do you manage to look so perfectly edible with such little effort?”

  Any reply I could possibly come up with lodges in my throat. I’m not typically self-conscious about my outfits, but suddenly I’m rethinking my jeans, boots, slouchy sweater combination. Of course I made every selection with Maximus in mind, not knowing how infuriating he was going to be all through class. I definitely wasn’t thinking about Arden’s approval, but I silently remind myself to test this new theory and dress as terribly as possible for him going forward.

  “Sorry. You probably think I’m forward. I’m used to appreciating beautiful things all day long. It’s hard to switch off. I hope you don’t mind.”

  I manage a smile. “I’m used to being treated like a commodity. I’m a Valari, after all.”

  He seems to measure me with his dark stare for a long moment, breaking it with an amused grunt.

  “Very well.” He gestures toward his desk. “Your timing is flawless. I was just looking through some pieces for Veronica. Perhaps you’d like to chime in.”

  Several stacks of glossy listing photos cover the surface. He picks up a loose one. “This is a strong piece. It’s listed with Christie’s, but I happen to know the people who oversee this collection. I think we could probably coax some more out of them to round out ours if you like it.”

  I take the photo depicting a bronze bull-headed figure that can’t be more than four inches tall. “It’s a Minotaur.”

  “In bronze. Circa 500 B.C.”

  “It’s almost two hundred thousand dollars,” I counter.

  He lifts an eyebrow. “Does Veronica’s budget concern you?”

  I let the photo float down to the desk. “Not in the least.”

  He chuckles once more, though I’m still boggled about his intent. A strange coil in my stomach sends me even weirder vibes, like he’s laughing at something else. Like a grown-up getting the mature innuendo of a line in a kid’s film.

  “That makes two of us, then,” he ensures. “Of course, she’s given me some basic parameters. But let’s not worry about the figures right now. Let’s focus on the bigger picture, shall we?”

  “Which is?”

  “Themes.” He relaxes into the high-back leather seat across from his desk, gesturing for me to take the adjacent one. “I think we can easily land on some of your mother’s favorites.”

  “Vanity? Power? Revenge?”

  He laughs again, his eyes glistening as they fasten on me. “I’m so glad we’re working on this together. I was worried you’d be dull.”

  “I do my best to be. I’m not a fan of the spotlight.”

  “So I’ve gathered. Why is that?”

  I shrug. “I’m just interested in other things.”

  “Like what?”

  I stifle an annoyed sigh. “Art. History. Literature. Language.”

  “All reasons why you’re so perfect for this.” His expression changes, returning to the same energy as before. Like he’s measuring his stares out, carefully and quietly. But not timidly. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Controlling every syllable of this narrative. “I say we start with your interests and fold in Veronica’s as we go.”

  I hesitate. “I’m not sure that’s fair. She’s your client.”

  “And I don’t think she’ll be hard to satisfy. All I have to do is pick the shiniest, gaudiest, most expensive thing in the room, tell her how important it is, and she’ll love it. I have a feeling you’ll be harder to please, which gives this endeavor a little more…structure. Why not give ourselves some challenges and make it fun?” He leans in. “Tell me, Kara. What moves you? Give me a place to start. A theme.”

  He slants more of his weight into the space between us. I shift away by matching degrees.

  “That’s…um…a really broad question.”

  Not to mention a loaded one. Only one thing has really moved me recently. One man, rather. One exasperating, beautiful, tortured man. Over the past two weeks, somehow all of my thoughts, all of my being, have been magnetized to him. Even now, my mind is consumed by the blistering memories of him.

  Arden tilts his head slightly, as if perhaps he might be able to figure out the answer simply by looking at me. “Come now, Kara. You have something in mind. I can see the wheels turning.”

  I gulp hard, really hoping that’s all he can see. Because if anyone finds out what Maximus is beginning to mean to me, our days together would certainly be numbered. I hardly trust Kell with the information. I certainly don’t trust Arden.

  “What is it?” He reaches out and takes my hand, gliding his thumb along my wrist softly. “I can tell when people are lying to me, you know? It’s one of those special little gifts that makes playing with humans so much fun.”

  I curse the fast beating of my heart now, with his thumb pushing into the pulsing echo of it. His persistent stare trips my efforts to mentally catalog all the times I’ve already lied to him in our brief acquaintance, which, even from a quick tally, is too many.

  Still, though he may be able to spot a lie, it doesn’t mean he can figure out the truth.

  “So, tell me.” He draws his hands back af
ter a moment, clasping them comfortably on his lap. “What moves you? Or, perhaps who?”

  And just like that, Maximus blazes over my thoughts again. Igniting everything. Consuming everything. His tenderness. His intellect. His passion. His fear. Everything he’s shown me he’s capable of, and everything I’ve yet to see.

  But I have to supply another answer. Something that still feels like the truth.

  “The hero,” I finally say.

  Arden lifts a dark brow. “The hero?” He makes a small sound. “Interesting. Epic? Tragic?”

  “You choose,” I say. “That should give you plenty to work with.”

  He looks me over again, his expression quietly amused. “I like it.” He glances back to his desk. “Let’s find some heroes then, shall we?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Maximus

  I shouldn’t feel half as good as I do when stepping into Recto Verso this morning. I’ve clocked no more than five hours of sleep in the last two days. Obsession with a certain old movie script and the research trips upon which it’s guided me have seen to that. Those journeys have led me to some bizarre destinations. Confronted me with concepts I shouldn’t have to wrap my mind around but have with disturbing speed.

  It’ll all start coming together—when I talk with Kara.

  No. When she talks, and I listen.

  I’m still jubilant that she agreed to this meeting, despite how she accused me of being too immersed in Dante to think straight. And yes, she was probably—okay, likely—right. I own that now.

  But that was yesterday.

  Today’s going to be different. Today, Kara’s going to tell me her story.

  The resolution strengthens with every step I take toward the coffee bar, where Reg is singing along to a soft pop station. The song from the speakers is an awful auto-tuned version of “Holding Out for a Hero,” making me prefer my friend’s raspy rendition.

  I slide onto one of the stools at the bar. “He’s gotta be strong and he’s gotta be fast, huh?”

  Reg stops singing but continues her diligent wipe-up along the counter. “Since he’s also got to be racing with the thunder and rising with the heat, I doubt the bloke even exists.”

  “I’m sure Sarah will be happy to hear that.”

  She cants half a smile my way. “Looks like you’re sure about a lot of things this fine morning.”

  I lean over the counter, grab a ceramic mug, and then fill it from the large coffee urn. “I’m sure of the fact that it is a fine morning—and I plan on turning it into an even finer day.”

  “Well, happy Saturday to you too.” She flings the dishrag over her shoulder and leans against the counter. “On your way to save the whales, secure world peace, or patch up the ozone layer?”

  “Hmm.” I take a contemplative sip of my brew. “Maybe all three.” I’ll probably feel capable of it after setting things right with Kara again. Breaking down the final barriers between us. Having her trust—and her truth. At last.

  Reg finishes her long laugh. “All that, eh? By drinking only the Arabica?”

  “Who needs caffeine when the day begins with proper motivation?”

  “All right, then.” A knowing purse of her lips. “And does this awesome new ‘motivation’ have a name?”

  I get in my own astute head tilt. “Well, she is awesome. Just not new.”

  “Oh?”

  Her smile widens, but not with the effort I’m expecting. It’s the most forced cheer I’ve ever seen on the woman’s features. I’m almost insulted she’s trying to pass it off as authentic.

  “And who’s the not-so-new daisy we’re referencing, exactly?” she adds tightly. “One of those lovelies you and Jesse brought to the Melora Hall party?”

  “You remember my date disappearing with someone else that night, right?” I inch up a corner of my mouth, waiting for Reg to take full, sarcastic advantage of that truth. But I’m more unnerved when she doesn’t.

  Her reaction is more of what she’s already given me. Her shoulders are still squared and tense. Her lips are still tight and twisted.

  “Because you were mooning over Kara Valari in the classics section, yes?” Her expression flattens with sudden understanding. “It’s her, isn’t it?” she mutters. “Damn.” She adds the oath beneath her breath, but I hear all the strained edges on the words. She pushes up her volume and asks, “Are you sure about hopping off this particular ledge, young man?”

  I brace my elbows to the bar top. “I think I’m pretty much into the ravine now, Reg. But I’m also not a ‘young man’ anymore.”

  “Why, yes,” she drawls. “You’re positively ancient.”

  “And you’re positively not excited about this.” I search her with harder scrutiny. “Not by even half a good thought. Why?”

  “I support you with plenty of good thoughts, Maximus. And I have done so for quite a long—”

  “That’s not an answer.” I hold her with my stare. “You and Sarah care for me. I know that. I get that. What I don’t get are your issues with me being involved with Kara.”

  “Hmm.” She regards me with new focus but still manages to look aloof. “I didn’t realize you’d become such a fan of the Valaris.”

  “She’s a lot more than a family name, Reg.” I’m somber about the words because I’ve never meant anything more. “Honestly, I haven’t met any of them yet besides Kara and Kell. And unlike most of the world, I’m willing to withhold blanket judgments based on headlines that are built on marketing formulas.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing now?”

  “I only know that a couple of weeks ago, on this very roof”—I nod toward the ceiling—“you told me Kara isn’t worthy of me. So that was either the kind of canned sentiment that comes from someone who cares, or you were drawing conclusions about a perfect stranger based on what the tabloids have told you. I can’t imagine you got to that judgment by watching her across a crowded room for five minutes.”

  I’m calm about every word, but she goes painfully still, as if she’s been shot from behind. “Then the best of your knowledge is wrong.”

  “Which means…what?”

  She inhales with purpose. Releases the breath just as steadily. “Which means exactly what it implies.”

  I blink at her. Hard. “What it implies is that maybe you know more about the Valaris than you’ve let on.”

  Or hasn’t she?

  My scrutiny of her now is helpful in backtracking my mind to our conversation from two weeks ago. I needed to think. She needed to know I was okay. I attempted to sidestep the subject of Kara. But Reg hadn’t.

  You really are bound for better than her, you know.

  Oh, no. She hadn’t sidestepped a single damn thing. If I’d been watching for it, I would’ve seen it. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t. I was still spun out from my wild hit of touching Kara once more. And getting to press my body to hers, as well. Reg’s subtexts had been lost in my addicted haze. The haze is still there now, but I’ve gotten better at pushing my mind past it. I’ve had to. Never more urgently than in this moment.

  “Well?” I press.

  I study her gaze, taking note of all its troubled shadows.

  “I know more than I want to know,” she says.

  “Which means what, exactly?”

  “When I first settled in LA, our paths crossed from time to time. For work.”

  “Work? Before the store?” I gesture to the shelves that line every visible wall. It’s impossible to comprehend that the inviting ambiance, eclectic book mixture, and timeless coziness haven’t been here for Angelenos since the city was built.

  “Oh, yeah,” she explains. “Even before I met Sarah.”

  I jump both eyebrows. “Wow.”

  “Interesting times.” She dips a small nod. “I was on my own for a little while. And of course, starting a new business isn’t easy or lucrative at first.” Now her reply is surprisingly swift, reminding me of a kid who’s memorized a rote excuse for responding to my exact q
uestion. “For a short time, I picked up extra gigs to pay the rent. Things got easier once Sarah came over for a visit and just never left.”

  I mirror her soft smile. “So…extra gigs like what?”

  “This and that,” she fills in. “Clerical temping mostly. Sometimes clients asked for bookkeeping or errand running too. Mostly jobs that are performed by full-time assistants, accountants, and managerial teams these days.”

  “You were a personal assistant for the Valaris?” At once, I jump to the more important question. “And you knew Kara when she was little?”

  Reg pivots and wipes feverishly at the spotless tea leaf canisters. “I didn’t say any of that.”

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “Well, I wasn’t at their beck and call, if that’s your angle.” She goes at the bean grinders—also shiny and pristine—next. “But I wasn’t just there for a few hours of filing each day, either. And before you ask, spending all kinds of time with them wasn’t round-the-clock glam, glitter, and champagne. And before you ask again, I hardly saw any of the children, much less spent meaningful time with them. They were beautiful and happy little things, though. Kara, especially, was the apple of her grandfather’s eye. He was solid blinkered about caring for her himself.”

  As she continues to scrub at the grinders, I try imagining Kara as she must have been at that time. Beautiful and happy… And yes, already locking down her first smitten fan. Giovani Valari. The man to whom she’s remained so loyal, in spite of her mother’s disapproval.

  And just how the hell had that happened? The family estrangement?

  I don’t press Reg for those answers. Hopefully, with the truths Kara is coming here to entrust to me, I’ll learn them directly from the source.

  At last, Reg tosses her cleaning rag into a laundry bin and then pins me with her refortified gaze. “Let’s just say that I witnessed enough of the mire to know what I’m talking about here. Enough to know that up on that hill, behind those posh mansion walls, there’s dirt and perfidy that will affect the Valaris for generations to come. I know enough to tell you now, if you insist on continuing to see Kara, then I shall insist on riding you to keep up your guard.”