Which is why I still keep a few thoughts to myself. In the deepest, darkest parts of myself.
Did I actually seduce Maximus?
Maybe. But only a little…
Kell releases a tired sigh and traces the piping along the sofa’s arm. “Whatever. Doesn’t really matter, right? He’s obviously madly in love with you. I doubt I could pull that off as quickly anyway.”
That renders me quiet, because acknowledging that she could be right aloud is its own kind of terrifying. All my life, I never imagined love was in the cards for me. If I’d been forced into Arden’s bed, forced to give him children, I’m certain love would have nothing to do with it. Hell, maybe that’s why my mother wants no part of the stuff. She’s all instinct now, no sentimentality.
But with Maximus, I’m starting to think it’s possible. In those blissful moments when we were tangled up in his bed, whispering promises and adorations, and when we were so lost to our passions we were no longer ourselves, I almost let myself believe our connection could be love.
The perilousness of our situation should make it easier to confess everything he makes me feel. But I can’t bring myself to say the words or even take stock in them. Because with all our tomorrows so uncertain, what if loving him is the most selfish thing I could possibly do? What if saying the words means he’ll start loving me back? Worse, what if he doesn’t say it back?
There’s an answer that’s easy to grasp.
Because it’s too soon and this has been such a crazy pace of feeling and passion and risking everything to have more of it.
But would I have made the sacrifice for any other reason? If I didn’t love him, how could I have come this far with him…and he with me?
“What’s he like?”
Kell’s question has me blinking out of my frenzied thoughts. “Maximus?”
“No, dummy. Arden. I met him at the fundraiser at Alameda, but it was really brief. I have no idea what he’s like. And we’re having dinner tonight, so I’d appreciate knowing what I’m getting into.”
I clench my jaw, biting back the hateful things I truly want to say. I’m not giving up on getting Kell out of this, but if she’s resigned to her fate with him already, maybe painting him in the worst possible light isn’t the best choice. I struggle to isolate his best qualities. Or even one.
“He’s not hard to look at.”
She grins. “I gathered that for myself.”
“All right, well…you obviously can’t trust him.”
Her dark brows draw together. “In what ways?”
All of them.
That stays inside. Aloud, I phrase it more diplomatically. “He’s smart,” I tell her. “Dangerously smart and dangerously perceptive. I honestly don’t think there’s any outmaneuvering him, so remember that. Everything is strategic. A power play or careful negotiation, whether you realize that’s the game you’re playing or not.”
Remarkably, her posture relaxes. “Okay. That’s…interesting.”
“And he’ll know when you’re lying.”
She lifts a curious brow. “Really?”
“You can sniff out what people are feeling, and I guess he’s got a built-in lie-detector or something. You’d never know it, though. He’s that calculating. He never called me out on it a single time until he told me why he was here.”
“For you…”
I nod. “For me.”
“I know you despise him, but there must have been something about you that truly interested him.”
“I certainly didn’t encourage him.”
“Then what did you do?”
I shrug. “Nothing. I was just…me.”
I lock my stare with hers. Kell wants to know what makes him tick. Maybe I need to give her exactly what she’s asking for.
“Between us, he thinks our mother is vapid and shallow.”
Kell winces. “Well, she is. Someone doesn’t need to be wildly perceptive to pick up on that.”
“Fair enough, but I get the impression he’s not a fan, even if he can use her bad taste to his advantage with the work he does. The whole endeavor with building the collections was a joke to him.” I weigh my next words. “All I’m saying is whether you want him to like you more, or like you less, maybe keep it in mind.”
She stares at me for a long moment. “So you’re saying if I play dumb, he’ll see right through it.”
“Exactly.” I don’t have to hesitate about that one.
“And then he’ll hate me for it.”
“Or worse.” Or that one either.
She pulls in a long breath. I’m glad to watch it. For the first time, I’m detecting her serious care in considering the incubus she’s now destined to exchange vows with. I want to hope that she and Arden will come to a friendly arrangement with each other, but her healthy respect for his domineering side will only help my headstrong sister in the long run.
“Look, Kell,” I say after a long pause. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. And if he’s as upset as Mom says…”
“I can handle it.”
“All right,” I say, merely as a placation, while praying like crazy that she can. But I’m terrified she can’t. More that she’ll hate me for putting her in this position before she’s ready. Before she’s due to give up life as she knew it to serve a relentless demon and his ferocious whims.
But everything about the way she says it, down to the confident set of her shoulders, makes me believe she can.
Chapter Five
Maximus
“Beer. Now there’s a good plan.”
I swear not to make too much out of the warmth brought on by my father’s compliment as I exit the freeway just before San Buenaventura Beach. “I know a great place,” I say.
“Great. So do I.”
“Yeah, but mine’s right on the water.”
“Crazy coincidence.” He dots that with a single snap of his fingers. “So’s mine.”
And my truck is no longer heading up the access road along the Ventura sand.
It’s stopped. And parked. Right on the sand. But on what beach, I’m not sure. Nothing looks familiar. There are no lifeguard stands, surfers’ showers, or seaside snack shacks for reference either.
What there is…is a bar, just like he promised. But this place looks like no local joint I’ve ever laid eyes on before. Not that I’m the expert in the new and hip Southern California hangouts, but I surely would have heard about this one through Jesse, who is. From first glance, it’s a sleek building of contemporary lines, neutral paint blocks, and natural wood accents. Tropical flowers are well-kept in box planters, and a dozen species of palms provide shade. An open-air patio overlooks the sand.
Inside, things are a much different story. It’s like the Parthenon and Atlantis invited Las Vegas in for a three-way, and this is the oddly beautiful child that happened. Greek columns surround luxury seating areas. A gilded bar wraps around a giant tube of multicolored fire. Past the main room, a wide patio stretches along a huge saltwater fountain, where dolphins and tropical fish are swimming freely.
It’s almost humanly impossible to take it all in. For once, I take solace in the new reality that I’m not entirely human.
The early October sun, still situated where it should be in the sky that hasn’t changed, gleams on the water as we enter the main lounge. The place is relatively uncrowded. Z and I grab a couple of barstools, though we’ve definitely caught the attention of every eye in the place before the bartender strolls up.
“Your Majesty,” he says, beaming a smile from the midst of a white-gold beard. His long hair, as well as the suns, moons, stars, and flames tattooed along his dark hickory arms, are the same arresting color. “Welcome back. Labyrinth has missed you.”
“Honey, you know the drill.” Z removes his hat and shakes back the thick mop on his own head. “Cut the ‘Majesty’ nonsense if you know what’s good for you.”
The guy kicks up a bushy blond brow. “Understood. Wouldn’t want you to embarrass
me in front of my newest customer.” He turns his focus to me, looking me over with unabashed curiosity. “Name’s Honey. What can I get you, buddy?”
I hesitate. “Honey?”
His barrel laugh confirms it before his words do. “Honey Bacchus. Proprietor of this fine establishment for three thousand years.” He offers me his hand. “And you are?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Z’s interjection is a command couched in gentility, though he has to realize that the man is already parsing the truth. “We’ll have two pints of Medusa’s Revenge.”
Honey dips his head and walks off to pour our brews while my thoughts battle to stick to the mold of my brain. My logic struggles to grasp the simple basics right now—like time and reality.
It’s official. I’ve had some crazy days in my life, but the top prize now goes to the last twenty-four hours. This little field trip, to the bar of all cocktail bars, has been the clincher.
“What is this place? Some sort of watering hole for the gods?”
Z smirks. “Something like that.”
As Honey brings us the beers, I entertain a small hope that the fragrant wheat liquid will, for once, soothe the edge on my nerves. But I’m not expanding those expectations. “Pleasantly buzzed” is a term in everyone else’s vocabulary, not mine. Apparently I can add “only human” and “merely mortal” to that list now too.
Am I any of those things anymore? Human? Mortal? Even a man?
Was I ever?
The most reliable source for my answers is sitting on the barstool next to mine, filling a long moment by grimacing at his beverage.
“What’s wrong?” I mutter.
“Not to sound like an entitled god on high, but under different circumstances, I’d have ordered some of Honey’s special nectar from the back.”
“So why didn’t you?”
He rubs his fingertips together, causing subtle sparks, but halts as quickly as he’s started. “As I said, different circumstances. Another time, I promise. As for now…I assume you want to remember this conversation.”
I snort softly. It’s not a full laugh but enough to convey the sentiment. “That’d be nice, considering the prologue you dropped back on the freeway.”
Z pushes his mug away. The free counter space gives him room to park his elbows and fold his hands. He’s well-practiced at the commanding pose, as if he’s had thousands of years perfecting it. “Maybe we should start with what you already know.”
“You mean next to nothing?” I copy his position, cradling my mug between my hands.
He sits with that for a few seconds. It doesn’t seem to surprise him, nor do I expect it to. “Has your mother told you anything about me, then?”
“Her story is that you met in Egypt while she was there doing humanitarian work. She didn’t realize she was pregnant with me until you’d both gone your separate ways, and she never saw you again.”
He makes a small snort of acknowledgment. “That’s almost true.”
“Almost? Okay… Which part?”
It spills from me more like a demand than a request. I don’t pause to apologize. The pressure in my senses is too intense. Under the painful sting of having to accept that Mom has been lying to me for nearly ten years, I yearn for the details she never gave me. Everything Z already knows.
My origins. My truth.
My identity.
“We did meet in Egypt.” He reaches out to wipe some dew off his mug thoughtfully. “It was one of those moments that’s incredibly brief but somehow lasts forever. A permanent imprint on a person’s soul.”
He glances over for a second, almost as if he needs my reassurance that he’s not sounding crazy. He doesn’t. I know that now, with just two seconds of remembering the moment I first touched Kara.
Not wanting to interrupt his reminiscing, I simply give him a silent nod, wordlessly urging him to continue.
“She’d just landed in Cairo days prior and had ventured out from the hotel she was staying at. Our paths crossed in the marketplace. Me being me, I asked her out for a drink the second I laid eyes on her. She was shy but accepted.” He winks with a crooked smirk. “I can be very charming.”
“I’ve heard.” I swallow down another gulp of my beer, preparing to scrub the image of my young mother being seduced from the story once I hear it.
“One bottle of Cru des Ptolmees turned into two,” he goes on. “We drank the second one in the park after night fell. The gardens were quiet. The sky was clear. The air smelled like jasmine. And we talked all night.” He exhales softly. “Well…we talked most of the night.”
I finish my beer, hoping he’ll skip over the finer details of my conception.
“So…that was it?” I query into his pause filled with simplicity and complexity in the same three seconds. “One night of passion, and then you disappeared?”
He frowns. “You’re determined to think the worst of me, aren’t you?”
I let out a dry laugh. “I’m just trying to piece this together, Z. You were there one minute, and then you weren’t.”
His scowl deepens. “And I can understand what that must look like, from the outside.”
“Damn right, from the outside.” I’m able to keep the words even. I have no idea how. I’ve been “on the outside” of this whole story for as long as I can remember.
At last, he pushes on.
“After a couple of days, some serious safety concerns came up for their group—so the authorities had her team transferred to a new location.”
“Did she tell you about it?”
“Of course.” He keeps meeting my gaze, barely blinking. “We could barely stand to be apart,” he adds in a husky murmur. “I followed her to Alexandria without thinking twice. But once I knew she was safe and settled again, I had to return home to attend to some other matters.”
“Home,” I echo. “To Olympus?”
“Yes.”
“For some ‘other matters.’” I’m terse.
“Yes.” He’s terser.
“Like what?”
His lips thin. “It’s not relevant now. But I did try to get back to your mother. You need to know that. By the time I could get back, Nancy had left the program. Like I said, everything happened quickly. She wasn’t in the country more than a month.”
Another pause that’s thick with so much meaning, I’m surprised we’re in a mystically shrouded bar and not a crumbling manmade church. The juxtaposition aside, I’m compelled to accept his account. So far, Z’s confession isn’t remarkably different than my mother’s.
The realization brings on some new confusion. “You said her version was almost true,” I remind him.
“Indeed I did.”
“So…what’s so drastically divergent here?”
“She told you she never saw me again.”
Which brings us back to the revelation that floored me moments ago. The one that accounted for the nothingness of my childhood memories.
“Let me guess,” I venture. “She left out that eight-year stint in Olympus. Because I sure as hell never heard about that.”
He steeples his hands in a moment of contemplation. “In a number of ways, I understand her secrecy. It’s not exactly easy to explain all that to a young boy, especially because it seems your memories of those years have been blocked or wiped, but there’d also be nothing to explain had she stayed.”
“Why didn’t she?”
He lifts his brows. “I’d love to ask her the same question.”
I tense. Everywhere. My shoulders. My gut. I look down to where my hand clenches my mug, threatening to shatter the thing. But I need the liquid too badly. My throat is dry from rampaging nerves. The thought of getting Z and my mother in the same room is concerning. But also oddly intriguing.
“You’d want that? To see her again?”
His face changes in a different way. His irises sharpen, ice on steel. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“It doesn’t sound like you were exactly on good terms if she snuck out
of Olympus to get away from you.”
“Who said she was trying to get away from me?” His eyes narrow with concern, maybe even real fear that my mother left for that very reason.
“Valid question.” I look down again, wondering why my mind went to that explanation first. But that answer feels too complicated to delve into. Not right now.
I finish my beer and exhale a tired sigh. We’ve not even been here an hour, and I’m drained as a damn dishrag. Who knew filling in the gaps of my past would be so complicated…and exhausting? On the other hand, my past isn’t exactly the stuff of a standard fill-in-the-blank.
“If nothing else, I suppose she’ll have to come clean once and for all,” I say. “To both of us.”
“Maybe your mother isn’t the refreshingly honest woman with whom I was first smitten,” he says. “But there might be another explanation.”
“Such as?”
“My brother.”
I wince. “Poseidon?”
He sighs calmly. “It seems he’s twisted his trident deeper into my business than I thought. I can’t put the blame squarely on her, even if she was complicit in stealing you away.”
“Why would he meddle in this?”
“I’m not sure, but I intend to find out.” He downs the last of his drink, glaring at the loud waves crashing into the sand as he does.
“I think Mom’s covering,” I declare bluntly. “But not because she wants to. It’s like she’s been compelled to.” I grimace, already hating how ridiculous that sounds. “Like she’s…afraid.”
I hope to hell she’s not afraid of Z. My trepidation swells when his irises darken. His casual demeanor seems to solemnify.
“If she’d been made to feel afraid,” he says, his words low and measured, “trust that I’ll be getting to the bottom of it soon enough. What’s done is done. But now that I’ve found you, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone keep you from me again. We’ve already lost too much time.”
For a long second, I’m just as unmoving as him. How many times have I had daydreams about a moment like this, drenched in the intensity of my father’s pride and possessiveness? It’s here now, feeling just as awesome as I’ve hoped—but a thousand times more awkward.
Heart of Fire Page 4