Chapter 5 #2
I desperately want to ask her why she didn’t run.
Why she didn’t even try to escape when faced with clear evidence of my supernatural nature.
I know any attempt would have been utterly futile—we’re hundreds of miles from the nearest human settlement—but mortals have never been renowned for their excellent logical reasoning skills.
Their instincts are barely more sophisticated than wild animals: freeze, fight, or flight.
I’ve witnessed those three responses millions of times across countless battlefields.
But then another thought stops me cold, sending an unfamiliar chill down my spine.
Is she truly not afraid of me? Even after everything she’s seen?
Who is this extraordinary creature?
Is she somehow as beautifully mad as I am?
“Why are you grinning at me like that?” she asks, pausing with another piece of cheese halfway to her mouth, eyebrow raised in amusement.
“No particular reason,” I lie smoothly and extract the final entrée from its elegant packaging.
Using the ornate silver utensils laid out on our table, I transfer everything from the restaurant’s cardboard containers to the magnificent tableware that Abaddon had Kharon purchase for his bride’s wedding feast.
It truly was a lovely ceremony at the start of summer, and I’ll freely admit it stirred considerable jealousy in my black heart.
The sight of my brothers finding their perfect matches made me decide once and for all that it was time to claim a consort for my very own.
If even Kharon—who we used to call Thing because of his social awkwardness—could find female companionship, then surely it would be simple work for someone of my obvious charms and devastating good looks.
I flash my most winning smile at my Lo-Ren as our feast spreads before us in all its Parisian glory. But there’s one final detail needed to create the perfect romantic atmosphere.
Pointing my finger with theatrical flair, I weave a couple of simple runes to ignite the tall white candles standing in elegant silver holders at the center of our table.
Lo-Ren gasps delightfully. “I’m not sure I’m ever going to get used to casual magic like that.”
I scoff, unable to resist showing off just a little. “That’s among the most basic of my abilities, and that’s what impresses you?”
She shrugs with a grin. “Well, the flying was certainly... something else entirely.” Her eyes widen as she says it, and she lets out a little breathless laugh that does absolutely sinful things to my concentration.
“I have to say, when I woke up yesterday morning, I never could have imagined that I’d be sitting in an ancient castle having authentic Parisian cuisine with an actual god today.
The universe definitely has a twisted sense of humor. ”
I lift my goblet high. “To the universe and her excellent comedic timing.”
She half-nods, half-shakes her head with bemused acceptance. “To the universe and whatever the hell she thinks she’s doing.”
We both take our first bites of the succulent duck, and her reaction is everything I could have hoped for and more. Her eyes immediately go impossibly wide as she chews, and I find myself wondering if I’ll ever grow accustomed to how wonderfully expressive her face is.
“Holy shit,” she breathes after swallowing, and the crude language sounds absolutely perfect coming from her lips. “That’s so fucking delicious!”
I smile with deep satisfaction at her obvious pleasure. “I told you they were renowned throughout the world for their duck. They’ve had quite some time to perfect their recipe to absolute perfection.”
“What’s ‘quite some time’?” she asks while immediately cutting into another generous bite. “How long have you been ordering from there?” Before lifting the fork to her mouth, she takes an appreciative sip of the wine.
I can’t help but laugh at her phrasing. “They’ve certainly had numerous staff changes over the years, but I’ve been patronizing that establishment since they first opened their doors in 1582.”
She coughs violently, spraying wine across the table as her eyes go comically wide. “What?” She continues coughing, reaching for her linen napkin. “Did you just say you’ve been going there since—”
Oh, this is delicious fun. I’m thoroughly enjoying myself now. “1582, yes. It’s the oldest restaurant in all of Paris, at least among those still operating. So as I mentioned, they’ve had considerable time to perfect their culinary artistry.”
“Holy shit.” She lifts her wine goblet and drinks far more than a delicate sip, those magnificent dark eyes fixed on me the entire time. “I mean, I’ve always had a thing for older men, but...” She wipes her mouth again with the napkin. “Exactly how old are we talking here?”
I grin widely, enjoying her obvious fascination. “What is it you mortals always say? Age is merely a number?”
“Yeah, and we all know that’s complete bullshit even when we say it,” she retorts with delightful boldness. “So seriously, how old?”
I shrug with studied casualness. “I genuinely couldn’t give you a precise figure. Kingdoms rise and fall, empires crumble to dust, entire civilizations vanish into legend. My brothers and I simply... remain.”
Her already wide eyes somehow manage to get even wider, and I can practically see her mind reeling with the implications.
I gesture toward her plate with gentle authority.
“Don’t allow it to grow cold, my dear. It’s a genuine insult to waste the finest cuisine Paris has to offer.
” As someone who has often gone hungry during long campaigns with my youngest brother, I know the true value of exceptional food.
But I decide not to overwhelm my sweet, wide-eyed consort with too many shocking revelations all at once.
Her gaze lingers on me with obvious fascination, but she eventually tears her attention away to focus on her meal, taking another bite of the perfectly prepared duck.
Her entire body seems to relax as she chews, and I’m delighted to discover that not even my apparently earth-shattering revelation can distract her from the sensual pleasures of exceptional cuisine.
I, too, am particularly fond of the pleasures of the flesh in all their varied forms. I take a long, contemplative sip of wine while watching her with undisguised interest.
“So tell me more about this impossibly long life of yours,” she says after swallowing. “And tell me about your brother.” She picks up her wine glass and gestures casually toward the back of my head. “I want to know about him.”
“I have many brothers,” I transition smoothly, deliberately avoiding the specific topic of Romulus. “Perhaps too many, some might argue.”
I ignore the telltale tightening in my jaw and instead regale her with carefully edited stories about Abaddon, our eldest and most insufferably self-righteous sibling, always convinced he’s the gods’ gift to creation.
And Kharon, who used to go by Thing until he met his deadly Russian wife and discovered he actually possessed a personality.
“Layden’s our youngest brother—brilliant with all those confusing modern gadgets and computers. You’ll find him quite charming when you meet him.”
She immediately pulls a small, rectangular device from her pocket. “Perfect! I was wondering if there’s Wi-Fi here because I can’t get even a single bar of cell reception anywhere in this place. Do you happen to know the password?”
I stare at the glowing rectangle with the same blank incomprehension that all of us experience when Layden starts enthusiastically explaining his strange collection of plastic devices that light up in his hands.
When exactly did humans become so impossibly clever with their tools?
Millennia of them barely managing to master fire and basic metallurgy, then you get chained to a wall for two measly centuries, and suddenly they’ve made the entire world light up with artificial suns.
She rolls her eyes with good-natured exasperation. “Never mind, I’ll ask Layden when he gets back. Speaking of which—you said they’re all on vacation? When do they return?”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Enough about my tedious brothers and their romantic escapades. Tell me about you, my fascinating consort.”
“Me?” She laughs, and the sound is like music. “I’m pretty sure my completely boring life isn’t going to interest someone who’s been around for literal thousands of years.”
“But you are my consort,” I declare with passionate conviction. “Every single detail about you interests me immensely. I want to know your entire past so I can understand what has shaped you and brought you to this perfect moment.”
She takes another bite of duck and averts her gaze, and I immediately sense a shift in her mood.
I frown, genuinely puzzled. Hannah-wife is always delighted to chatter endlessly about herself and her various opinions, but perhaps Kharon’s lethal bride is naturally slower to open up about personal matters.
Unless, of course, you engage her on her favorite subject, which consists entirely of the most effective types of blades for efficiently killing a man.
But I have a distinct feeling it’s not a former career in assassination that’s keeping Lo-Ren’s lovely lips sealed so tightly.
“Why will you not speak openly with me?”
When she looks back, those dark eyes seem lit with some inner fire I cannot begin to understand. “Is this how things work in your world? You issue commands, and everyone just asks how high to jump?”
I consider her question, thinking back to millennia of interactions with mortals, gods, and everything in between. Though she’s posed it as if it’s somehow unreasonable, I answer with complete honesty. “Yes, that’s exactly how it works.”
Her mouth drops open in obvious shock. “And that’s seriously how you expect this relationship to go? With me?”
I frown again, genuinely confused by her apparent distress. “You are a mere mortal human, and I am an immortal god. So yes, it would be wise for you to do as I command.”
A strangled squeak escapes her throat as she leaps to her feet so abruptly her chair scrapes against stone. “Are you completely serious right now?”
Though I am quite fond of humor, especially when it comes at one of my brothers’ expense, I was not making any sort of joke.
Yet I sense potential danger in how I respond to her obvious agitation, which confuses me greatly because everything had been proceeding so wonderfully until this unexpected moment.
“Sit down,” I say in what I consider a perfectly reasonable tone. “Let us finish this exceptional meal and continue our pleasant conversation as we were doing just moments ago.”
She makes a scoffing noise that I find rather insulting, picks up her linen napkin, wipes her mouth with sharp, angry movements, and then hurls it down onto the table with obvious fury. “No, thank you.”
I sense that particular expression of gratitude is anything but sincere, and I narrow my eyes dangerously. “Why have you suddenly become so completely intractable? I was merely expressing genuine interest in your personal history. I thought such attention would please you.”
She slams her fists down on the table and leans forward aggressively, once again making that intense, challenging eye contact. But whereas before there was delicious sizzle and promise when our gazes connected, now there’s nothing but hard, uncompromising defiance blazing in those magnificent eyes.
“Sure, you can ask about my life,” she says with icy precision. “But first, you’re going to tell me everything about the sleeping man attached to the back of your skull.”
Heat floods my chest like molten fury, and I surge to my feet as well, mirroring her aggressive stance across our ruined romantic dinner. “That subject is absolutely none of your concern.”
“Ha!” she cries with bitter triumph. “So it’s perfectly fine for you to command me to spill my deepest secrets, but I can’t ask about the enormous elephant in the room?”
“My brother is hardly an elephant,” I snap.
“You know exactly what I mean!”
We glare at each other across the candlelit table, the romantic atmosphere completely shattered by her inexplicable rebellion. Then, to my absolute astonishment, she snatches up the entire bottle of wine and strides away from the table toward the stone staircase.
“I’ll be spending the rest of this evening in my room,” she announces with regal dignity.
When I start to follow her—because no one simply walks away from me in the middle of a conversation—she whirls around and fixes me with a look that could freeze hellfire.
“Alone.”
The single word rings out through the vaulted dining room with the finality of a death sentence, stopping me dead in my tracks.
I’m left standing there like a complete fool, watching helplessly as she and her gorgeous, swaying hips disappear up the stairs and out of my life.
What in all the hells just happened?