“You’re absolutely certain that those patrons can’t see us?” Juliana pointed to the people dining on the large exterior deck as Aristos brought them earthward, running a few paces upon landing. That motion jostled her slightly against him, so she held on tighter, feeling the strong bands of muscle across his shoulders.
“No,” he told her, halting and swinging her onto her feet. He bent double, hands on his knees, breathing heavily for a few moments. “Not as easy as I made that look.” He laughed, finally standing tall again. “Whew. That’s some heavy lifting, flying you and me both.”
“Well, excuse me, sir! Are you implying that I am not delicate?” She popped an indignant hand to her hip, playing at being insulted.
He gave her a leveling look. “Now, Jules. You are the lightest, most perfectly shaped female I’ve ever hied away in my arms.” He smiled slowly. “In point of fact, you are the only one, as I already told you.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I’d certainly hoped you didn’t make a habit of deflowering virgins, then whisking them off into the sunset.”
“You always were the subject of my most”—he paused, placing a hand over his heart—“courtly attentions. And I pegged you for a wing girl, so there you have it.”
He took her hand and began slowly strolling across the sandy lot. “Let’s walk a minute. Let me cool down, and then I can dress and will remove the protections that are making us invisible to normal humans.”
He swerved, sidestepping out of the path of a couple who, indeed, seemed entirely unaware of her and Ari’s presence. “And inaudible, in case you were worried about that, too. We’re totally concealed.”
Several moments later, his breathing remained labored, and Juliana became concerned. “You should have told me that the flight was too strenuous for you. We could have acquired a Jeep for this journey or chosen someplace closer for dining.” She touched his tight abdomen, brushing away a rivulet of sweat.
“Darling, are you suggesting I can’t fly you anywhere your heart so much as contemplates?”
“I’m suggesting,” she answered, widening her eyes, “that perhaps you overtaxed yourself by hauling me so far and by making love to me in the midst of the whole process. I’m suggesting that . . . you’re human.”
He thrust his chest out defiantly. “Superhuman, thank you very much.”
“Superhumans don’t have limitations? Oh, but I forgot—you’re actually an Olympian god!” She giggled, trying to think of how best to tease him. “Ah, but which god would that be? This is the tricky point. I could name you Prometheus, and then we could bind and unbind you, a rather naughty thought, no? But since I’m the one you adore unwrapping, I’d rather that not be our little scene. So . . .”
She had an idea and turned to him abruptly. “But of course! You are Eros, the god of love, wrapped in feathery wings, and I am Psyche. Although, you won’t become invisible to me, I hope.” She gave a little pirouette; she’d always felt this way when Ari courted her, a little intoxicated and giddy. As she came to a stop in front of him, she realized that, unlike her, he wasn’t laughing or smiling at all. In fact, he seemed quite somber as he pulled his long-sleeved shirt over his head.
“You don’t want to be Eros to my Psyche?” she asked softly, not understanding what had darkened his mood so suddenly.
“He’s the son of Ares,” he told her bluntly.
Now she understood and grew equally somber. “The god you bargained with.”
“The one who controls my destiny,” he said in a grim voice. “They’re real, the Olympians. You need to understand that. Demons, angels, gods and monsters, Djinn and Titans.” He waved his arm about them, as if the unseen world lurked in every direction. “Anything you ever dismissed as myth . . . anything you imagined was nothing more than folktales from ancient times, sweetheart?” His voice got louder, more intense. “It’s all real, and most of it’s dangerous as hell!”
She averted her face, staring at the pebbled sand. Demons were real. Of course they were—a fact she now understood all too well. But how could she confess everything about Layla? And he had worried about revolting her? A ridiculous notion all along, but especially now that one of the entities he battled dwelled inside her own soul.
He stepped sideways until he stood just in front of her. “Look at me, Jules.”
She kicked at a palm frond; it was broken on the sand, probably a victim of last night’s storm.
“Juliana, sweetheart,” he coaxed, tilting her chin. When at last she met his gaze, he said, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I . . . I’m not in control lately. You’ve seen it yourself, and it needs to be explained.”
“I was thoughtless and unkind to make those jokes when you bear so much on your shoulders.”
A devilish gleam filled his eyes. “I love the idea of pretending to be Eros, while you are Psyche, my fair maiden who can only
feel
my feathers in the dark, but never see me.”
She closed her eyes, losing herself in the image of him as Eros. “Sling your quiver across your shoulder, release your wings, and . . . capture me,” she said, releasing a slow, aroused breath. “When I least expect it, seize me and fly me to some high peak, where you will ravage me in mountain grasses warmed by the sun . . . and your body.”
He blinked at that scenario and touched his groin, adjusting himself. Only then did she see the way his manhood jutted prominently against the front of his pants, his arousal undisguised. She reached forward, stroking fingertips over the heated, thick flesh, their bodies separated only by thin fabric. He sucked in a breath, tilting his hips forward ever so slightly.
“Eros is quite the role for you, I believe,” she teased, voice all throaty. “Let’s enact that scene very soon.”
Fire chased down his spine at the seductive promise. His body, as ever, remained poised on the verge of reactions that he couldn’t seem to control. But then he caught her hand, halting her caress. “I have things to tell you,” he said, his words quiet.
Oblivious to his turmoil, she smiled at him, sliding her arms about his neck. “I want to hear everything over dinner. About your life, about your friends—”
“This is about my power. And not just about me being a protector or immortal.”
He planted his palms on both her shoulders, and when her expression convinced him that he had her full attention, that she clearly perceived the gravity of the moment, he blurted out the truth.
“I am a demigod,” he confessed. “I carry the power of Olympus itself in my veins.”
Juliana braced herself against the wooden railing of the exterior deck, studying him. To her credit, she didn’t look like she was about to bolt, but she didn’t exactly seem pleased with him, either. “How, precisely, does one
become
a demigod?” she asked after a moment. “I thought they were born, not made.”
“Not always.”
“Not always,” she repeated, and he looked away.
“That’s all you wish to say on the matter?” she said tartly. “You have no further explanation to help me understand what you, my beloved, are in your most core nature?”
He sighed. “Look, Jules, it’s a really long story, but no, I haven’t always been like this.” He extended his forearms, and they rippled with silver, his hidden power flaunting itself against his will. “I was changed into a demigod, not born one.”
She placed a hand on her hip. “Oh! Well, when did that happen, Aristos? This afternoon? Were you transformed as we made love? Such small details, I suppose, in the balance of coupling and sex and union.”
“You’re mad
now
? This is when you finally freak? Wings were okay, immortality a snap!” He popped his fingers together. “Not even a bump in the road for you, baby. But
this
puts you over the edge?”
“I’m not upset about what you are,” she assured him, becoming much gentler. “Rather that you didn’t tell me about this part of yourself. That you don’t seem to fully trust my love for you. Or realize that nothing could ever make my feelings for you waver.” She shook her head sadly, pain visible in her blue eyes. “Not even learning that you’re a god.”
“For the love of Olympus, I’m not a god! I’m
half
of one!” He screamed so loud, it made his throat hurt. Then, centering his hands on her shoulders, he bent down until they were eye level. “I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m sorry. But please, just tell me you’re not about to bolt on me now.”
“Aristos, look at me. I’m standing right here,” she reassured him.
He released his hold on her. “But you’ve got leaving in your eyes,” he said, and put his back to her. His own eyes had started to water, and he wasn’t about to let her see him turn into a complete and total pussy when she took off on her own.
She followed him, and his whole body tensed as she leaned into him, nuzzling her cheek against his back. Now,
that
didn’t seem like the action of a woman about to break up with you. It was a whole lot more like an “I’m here for keeps, thick or thin, Olympus or Savannah”-type gesture. And it only made the tears in his eyes come faster. She wasn’t leaving, wasn’t running. Wasn’t dying on him. She was pressing a warm, solid, and very human body right up against his own.
“I’m assuming that we are still in our own private place?” she asked softly.
“Sorry, but I haven’t lifted my Herculean arms to reveal us just yet,” he answered in a restrained tone.
She ran her palm up his chest, and his body burned anew. His nipples reacted as she brushed her fingertips back and forth. She wrapped her arms about his torso, squeezing him close. “Oh, my beautiful man. My feelings have not changed! Aristos, I was only a bit upset that . . . that you told me everything else this afternoon. And in turn, I accepted every part of you.” She took hold of his hips, forcing him to grudgingly turn and face her. He swiped the back of his hand over his damp eyes.
She leaned up onto her booted toes, brushing at the wetness herself. “Can you tell me why you would ever imagine that I’d not accept this last thing, the one which seems to be the most important part of you?”
His shoulders sagged. “It’s eating me alive, Jules. This power—it really, truly is. That’s why I lost control at the boutique; it’s why I was shaking and my eyes were silver. It wasn’t because of being an immortal or a hawk changeling or even a Spartan. It’s this godsdamned”—he held out both forearms, flexing them—“Olympian strength burning along inside of me, like acid, like lava, and I can’t ever rest or just settle down. I hate this stuff.” He patted the veins on his wrist. “But I didn’t have any other choice but to ingest it.” He held his arms out, watching silver chase all through his veins and arteries; it reminded him of flying over a city at night, the network of twinkling lights. It was like Ares’ fingerprint all over his body.
“Why did he have to be so cruel? Wasn’t it enough that we were willing to dance to his battle songs? Follow his war drums for eternity? No. He had to do this.” Ari formed furious fists, watching the silver pool within his hands, then seep out like a waterfall.
“How did he do it? When?”
“He seeded this power into River, at the moment of his transformation. His idea of a big rollicking joke to give our slave a secret overdose of his own god’s strength. He planned to activate it, harness it . . . whatever; I don’t even know for sure. But he created River as his secret weapon in our midst.”
Juliana rubbed her forehead. “I am most confused. River is not a slave.”
“No, you’re right about that, although he once was,” he said in an anguished voice. “I took on River’s curse so he could live a mortal life with Emma. . . . This was the power he endured for thousands of years. I’m enslaved now . . . to this power.”
She drew him into her arms and held him; she gave no words, no easy solutions. Just her warm, comforting, human body wrapped around his epic one. Something about that, well, it made him believe that maybe freedom could still be within his grasp.
Chapter 27
N
ikos plopped down a big loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter in the middle of the kitchen table and sat down to make himself at least three sandwiches. He really was that hungry. All day until this moment? No appetite at all. He’d been too worried about Mason, about his state of mind, yet not comfortable with the idea of calling and checking on him. Not after the things they’d said last night.
But with River and Emma’s report that he was all right, not having some cosmic meltdown, he felt like he could breathe again. He stacked six slices of bread on the plate, dipped the knife in the jar, and started spreading.
“Six sandwiches, Nikos?” River asked with a grin, dropping into the chair beside him. “That hungry, huh?”
Nikos lifted an eyebrow. “Mathematics never has been your strong suit, brother. This will be three sandwiches when I’m done.”
“Not if I swipe one of them from you first.” River laughed, reaching toward the sandwich Nikos was almost done making.
He elbowed the guy away. “Emma?” he called out across the kitchen. “Can you bring another plate over? Apparently I’ve got to feed your husband.”
“See? Amazing,” River said, kicking back in the chair. “You can actually be nice to me when you put some effort into it.”
It was meant as a joke, but Nik’s own smile faded, and try as he might, he couldn’t find one damn thing to say in return. He just quietly made his sandwich, studying the pattern the knife’s serrated edge made in the smooth peanut butter, looking anywhere but into his brother’s green eyes.
“Nikos,” River said after a minute, “I was just kidding around, okay?”
Nik nodded, wishing as he always did that he could find a way to be closer to River. There was always a distance between them, the gulf that Nikos couldn’t find the courage to bridge by just telling River the truth about the secret connection they shared. He’d almost done it two months ago, right after that battle in Hades when he’d thought River was going to die. But he’d lost his nerve and backed down and hadn’t summoned it again since.