I shove my elbows onto the table, which hunches my shoulders over. “This already feels like a free fall.” I cock my head back and palm my eye sockets. “And I don’t know where I’m going to crash.”
“Why don’t you just ask Kara?” he drawls. “She might know, yeah?”
“Because if the answer were simple, she’d have told me instead of dancing around the subject. And I wouldn’t be here reading movie scripts from forty years ago, praying for a single clue to the real answer.”
The answer that lies deeper than all that. I know it already. Hell, I see it every time my gaze locks with Kara’s. It’s in every agonized shadow she lets me see in her huge brown eyes. And it’s on full display when she’s furious or passionate, flaring to life in all those amazing, entrancing flames…
“All right,” Jesse says softly. “Let’s hash this out, then. What exactly makes you think she’s like you?”
“She’s…intuitive.”
He cocks a brow, giving me a long beat to say more. When I’m firm about my silence, he finally says, “Intuitive. That’s it? Lots of people are intuitive, Maximus. Hell, Reg and Sarah know I’ve got the flu three days before I do.”
I struggle for words. Me. Fighting to find words. “There’s more to it than that, damn it.”
“More like how? She can read your mind?”
“No. Not that either. Not exactly.”
“Right. Just your…what? Your heart? Your soul?”
I push out a frustrated sigh. “A little of both, I guess.” Or maybe a lot of both. “The best term for it might be…hyperempathetic. She picks up on emotional vibrations from people.”
“Emotional…vibrations.”
“Right. Energy waves. Except in more detail.”
“Energy…waves.”
“Yes.”
“In what kind of detail? Can you be more specific?”
I curse under my breath. “I’m not sure why I expected you to believe this.”
But I know damn well why. A few minutes ago, the guy was talking to me about the possibility of new stars, even an undiscovered constellation. If he believes the impossible can happen with collections of helium, hydrogen, and fucking angel tears, why doesn’t he give my assertions half a chance?
“You want to break out any one-liners about the flames I saw in her eyes too?”
“Now that one, I half believe,” he replies. “I mean, spontaneous human combustion has basically been debunked by science, but this isn’t a head-to-toe occurrence where she’s concerned. Unless one counts that dress from last night…”
“I’ll thank you not to mention that dress with that smirk on your face, dickhead.” I’ve never said anything so viciously to him before—but he earned it.
“Yeah, yeah. My apologies…”
He trails off, and I look back up just in time to take in his unblinking gaze, which is focused back on the script in his hands.
“Yo. Hey,” I demand. “Earth to the North Star. The story can’t be that good.”
Jesse makes a lopsided figure-eight with his head in some bizarre cross between a nod and a shake. “It’s…that revealing,” he says. “I mean…I think…”
His voice is as strange as his demeanor. I’m glad when he spins the script around so I can read it at the correct aspect. He stabs a finger to the sheet and orders, “Start right there.”
I dip my head, making sure I’m looking at the right spot, and I start skimming through the text. “Anthony sits up, shaken from his nightmare. He looks up and jolts again. Visalia, crouched at the foot of the bed, is totally naked. Flames consume her eyes. Anthony begins to speak, but she cuts him off.
“It is time, Anthony,” Jesse continues. He leans forward and reads the dialogue from his angle. “Hell granted you life once more. This is the price of your renewal. By giving back the essence of your own life.”
There’s more of the scene left. A lot more. But the details are, in Jesse’s words, revelatory—explaining why the film version of Hell to Pay might not have ever seen the light of day. At best, the movie probably had a limited release with a hard “R” rating. But I’m fairly certain even that didn’t happen. An instinct as sure as my heartbeat is telling me the script never even got pitched to studios…that Giovani Valari’s ostracization had already begun.
Because he’d written about his truth? Could this have been about…his life?
As the impact of that thought hits, I’m rocked back in my chair once more. I slam a hand to my chest, certain half the roof must’ve fallen in on it. And then the sky with it.
“God in fucking heaven,” I grate.
“Try again, man,” Jesse mutters. “This time, the other direction.”
Chapter Nineteen
Kara
“We made our way across the sodden mess
of souls the rain beat down, and when our steps
fell on a body, they sank through emptiness.
All those illusions of being seemed to lie— ”
A student’s loud coughing interrupts him mid-sentence. Instead of finishing the stanza, he holds the place in his copy of the Comedy with his finger and clasps it closed in front of him. Others look up from their own texts and follow his slow pacing across the length of the hall.
“Indeed. All those illusions of being seemed to lie.”
He hums softly, like he’s figuring something out even though he’s the one who’s supposed to be enlightening us.
I’m fearful that’s not how this lecture is going to go. Not with the looks he’s already been shooting my way. Looks that could cut through glass with their intensity, despite the fact that I’ve tucked myself into the back row again. After everything we did the other night…after everything he saw I was capable of, I couldn’t bring myself to sit any closer.
I couldn’t bring myself to skip class either. I guess masochism really must run in my veins along with the demonic DNA—and the other unique cells of my chemistry. The ones that need to be near this man, even if it’s under these conditions.
So here I am. Here we are, our gazes locked once more, having a silent conversation for two in a room of fifty.
“Miss Valari,” he says, his voice deep and clipped. “You’re familiar with Cerberus, aren’t you?”
He speaks with a degree of certainty that has a fresh bloom of heat creeping under my skin. Not the lust-inspired kind, but an aggravated flush that reminds me I need to keep all my emotions and reactions in check—something I failed to do after Maximus gave me that earthquake of an orgasm.
In hindsight, while I’ve beaten myself up for the slip, I’m not surprised by it. The intimate moment was a Richter-shaking blast, forever altering the landscape of my body, my mind, my senses. And I haven’t thought of much else since.
I thrum my nails over my notebook, determined to banish all those thoughts for at least the duration of class, hard as it may be.
“Sure.”
He smiles tightly. “I thought so. Why don’t you tell us a little about this ravenous beast that Dante meets in the third circle?”
I stare down at my notebook and the random scribblings there. The storm in my bloodstream is overshadowed by dread. Of all the times I’ve sought his attention and the chance to prove myself right, this is one instance where I’d rather not. But the silence stretching through the room presses me to speak. I clear my throat and keep my gaze cast downward.
“Cerberus…is a three-headed wolf who guards the gate to the underworld.”
“And what’s his purpose there?”
I close my eyes. “He allows all to enter and none to escape.”
“None to escape.”
I lift my head at his statement. It definitely isn’t a question. In fact, it feels oddly like a challenge, which his unflinching stare almost confirms.
I swallow over the tightness in my throat. “That’s the general idea, yeah,” I say, hoping I sound more unaffected than I am.
What the hell is he getting at? Or is he just singl
ing me out in class as payback for running out on him? He may think he’s playing some stupid mental games because his ego’s wounded, but nothing about this is playtime. But how the hell do I tell him that without telling him?
He can never know how closely he’s skirting my family’s sick truth.
He purses his lips and answers with a quick nod before opening the book again.
“His eyes are red, his beard is greased with phlegm,
his belly is swollen, and his hands are claws
to rip the wretches and flay and mangle them.”
He snaps the book loudly shut. “Dante describes Cerberus as a bearded beast. That gives him a human quality, no?”
My hands start to shake. I grasp my pen and scribble more mindless designs along the margins of my notebook. “I don’t know,” I mumble.
“You don’t know? I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you.”
Bastard.
Screw trying to save him from my family’s savagery. I’m going to kill him myself.
In the space of two weeks, he’s gone from protecting me in class, to trying to kick me out of it, to this.
The subtle snickers across the room are like gasoline on the flames of my fury. I lift my gaze up to his, not caring if it’s searing with a blaze for all the class to see.
“I. Don’t. Know.” I all but growl the words, daring him to push me further, to test my knowledge on a subject he should be grateful to know so little about.
His lips part and his eyes soften—the first glimpse of remorse he’s shown for tempting me into this spectacle. And that’s about what it’s become. I’m fully dressed, but I may as well be in my bra and underwear here. Or less. He’s exposed me in return for protecting him from dark and dangerous truths.
He breaks our connection, swiftly returning to the text to pick up where he left off. For the rest of the class, he explores less exciting territory—one of Dante’s political prophecies. I watch the clock, preparing myself to bolt the moment he dismisses us. But the hefty stack of term paper proposals he’s holding is an unfortunate reminder that I’ll have at least one more interaction with the man before escaping this unique circle of hell.
“Remember to collect your proposals before leaving,” he says. “Any questions, you know where to find me.”
Due to my spot at the back of the hall, I decide to wait for the others to collect theirs from Maximus. But by the time the crowd disperses, he’s empty-handed.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and walk slowly down the risers to where he’s perched himself on the edge of the desk. I stop abruptly in front of him.
“You know, all you’re missing are the circus hoops, Professor.”
He winces. “Excuse me?”
“Are you going to give me my paper, or do you need to quiz me some more to make me earn it?”
His next words are equally biting. “Maybe if you were a little more forthcoming with the truth, I wouldn’t have to put you on the spot.”
I tense. “Listen, I don’t know what that was all about, but—”
“Hell to Pay.”
I pause. “Huh?”
“It was the first screenplay Giovani Valari wrote after Malcolm Caulfield shot and nearly killed him. Have you read it?”
I press my lips together tightly. “I haven’t.”
“I have.”
I attempt another swallow over the painful knot, willing it away. Willing this entire interaction into the past. Maybe I can help things along. I step around him and glance at the table for my paper. Nothing. I cross my arms with a huff.
“Maximus, just give me my paper and let me leave.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Damn it,” I sputter. “Why?”
“We need to talk.”
I scoff. “About what? Your theories about a screenplay my grandfather wrote over forty years ago?”
“Do you know what it’s about?”
“Not a clue.” I do my best to feign disinterest, channeling my best impression of Kell. He doesn’t seem convinced as he squares his body with mine, giving me the full power of his attention.
“It’s about a washed-up writer. Chewed up and spit out by Hollywood. Emotionally knocked down from all the wrong turns he took in life. All his sins. Then he kills himself, but he manages to escape the clutches of hell. Then he meets a beautiful woman who isn’t who she seems—and he realizes his hell is just beginning.”
My mouth drops open, but only a few frustrated rasps come out of my throat. Suddenly it’s too much. Too real. I slam my lips shut, furious with my grandfather for putting pen to paper with all this truth. The awful, terrible truth.
I can’t listen to a minute more of it. I turn and start up the stairs, but Maximus takes my arm and brings me back. I try to twist away, but he’s stronger. Not a surprise, but not a revelation I want to accept right now. But as soon as our stares entwine, I go still. The look in his eyes—the desperation, determination, and need—tells me he needs me to stay more than I want to leave.
“You’ve been lying to me, Kara.”
Damn it, how I want to scorch him with a new glare. Already I feel the danger of what else that will bring. Fresh tears. Instead, I bare my teeth. “I have never been more honest with anyone in my life than you. Anyone. How do you not see or know—”
“Then tell me why.” He’s not accusing. He’s pleading. “Why, Kara?”
His anguish has me taking in a few ragged breaths. Have I been lying? Is that how he really sees it? Has my omission damned me in his eyes?
“Cerberus. The wolf in your earring,” he presses.
“Wh-What about it?”
“It means something. Doesn’t it?”
“No,” I rush out. “It’s nothing. An antique passed down to me, and—”
“Not your style.”
“And what’s your point? Are you a fashionista now?” I finally manage to tug myself away with some effort.
“You said I couldn’t hurt you.” He looks me over while barreling on, determined. “I’m wondering now if that could be true. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than someone your size should be.”
I compress my lips. I can’t say anything to that. I haven’t hidden my strength from him in the hopes of proving that he’s not a physical threat to me.
“And your family,” he continues, “exiling your grandfather the way they have. That adds up too, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t understand.” I take a step back. “It’s complicated.”
“It sounds like it is. More than I could have ever imagined. But somehow it took one night with you in my arms to figure it out. All of it. The desk. The fire in your eyes. Hell, Kara…”
I blink. Hard. So much for belying the emotion from my gaze. It’s a hot, prickling invasion behind my eyes now. Through my whole head. Shit. Shit. He knows. He can’t know. This is too crazy, too risky… So much more than I bargained for.
“I think you’ve been reading too much Dante, Maximus.” I attempt a little laugh. Massive fail. I sound more like a teakettle on half heat. “You’re seeing things you want to see.”
“And there’s that. You, here in this seminar. Demanding to stay with a fascination for the material that rivals my own, which is saying a lot.”
I close my eyes with a soft sigh. The moment I do, visions from our last night together assault me. Did I expect anything else? Why do I not even want to change the answers? How did I let myself fall so deep into so many feelings for this man?
“Tell me who you really are.”
I raise my head up as soon as his soft demand breaches the air. Then I’m battling a fresh hit of confusion, frustration, fury, sorrow.
Would I tell him if I could? If I wasn’t bound to three generations of this secret?
“I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anyone. Now it feels like you’re punishing me for it.”
He lets go of a sigh and whips off his glasses to pinch the place where they bridged his nose.
�
�I’m not trying to punish you, Kara. I’m…fucking frustrated. By everything. You storm into my life and turn everything upside down just by being you. You claim we’re both different than everyone else, which basically makes us the same—but the reality is that you’re not like me. You can’t hide behind a curtain of ignorance. You have the answers. You just won’t let anyone in. And I’m—” He runs a hand through his tangled hair, fisting it briefly before letting go with another pained exhale. “I’m falling for you, so hard. Like, straight out of a plane without a parachute hard. Honestly, sometimes it feels exactly like that. And all I keep thinking is if I don’t have all of you…”
Something raw and vulnerable passes across his features, like maybe he’s feeling it right now. That surrender. All the fear that goes along with that kind of jump.
He closes the space between us, tugging me gently to his chest. The tension inside me gives way to his towering warmth and thorough embrace. The security of his arms around me again feels like heaven. They feel like home. The incredible dichotomy of those two words together—heaven, home—delivers another hit of unexpected sadness as he tips my chin, guiding my gaze into his.
“I want all your secrets, Kara… All the little pieces of you no one ever sees, every wild dream and ugly truth. If I’m not the man who can earn all of it, nothing’s going to feel right for me ever again. Because as crazy as you’re making me right now, I don’t want to go back to before. I’ll take the free fall. Any damn day. But I need you to be real with me…”
And just like that, he’s unraveling my defenses with the new certainty that I’m not alone in this. He’s asking me to jump with him. And I want to, but…
“There’s so much to explain.” My whisper is jittery, frightened. Not because of what he’s opening up in me, but because I’m terrified he’ll change his mind and close me back up. “Things that are…difficult…to explain.”
“I’m figuring it out anyway. Come clean and save me the research.”
I smile a little, wishing it were that easy. Just blurting it out. Trusting that the second I mention I’m a demon, he won’t change the way he feels about me. That everything won’t change between us.
Blood of Zeus: (Blood of Zeus: Book One) Page 16