Chapter Six
Apollo tapped a steady but soft finger atop the table.
“Not what he has,” he finally told her in a low rumble. “What he stole. From me.”
It was shockingly comforting when Irowen Steed, in her goth-pixie-focus-hyperdrive way, submitted her new comeback. “And the rest of that story is . . .”
“Not much of a story at all, fortunately,” he returned. “Not yet, at least. Hopefully, we’ll find Rizon and stop him before he can use my string to—”
She swept up a hand, fanning her stiff fingers.
“Excuse me. Rizon who? And please don’t tell me you nearly let me bleed to death, meaning my little sister would spend the rest of her life in Ito’s captivity, for that stupid piece of string?
What the hell does everyone want with it, anyway?
Is string that rare a commodity in the Underworld, even though a lot of you seem to have access to places like hardware stores and the internet?
You all want to fly kites over the Styx that badly? ”
“Novel idea.”
A new surprise: the concept was actually more than novel, once he envisioned doing it—and a bunch more—with her, which officially made it more than a surprise. In turn, that meant his simple weight shift became a damned uncomfortable squirm.
Fuck.
How many centuries did he have to survive before his cock hearkened the difference between welcome and unwelcome fantasies?
Time to move on, dickhead. Right. Now.
“But that bastard, known to you as a British heartthrob named Reks Byrd and known to me as a slick shit demigod called Rizon, has made off with a string from my lyre,” he pressed on, frustration justifying his growl. “And now he plans on using it to control as much of humanity as he can.”
“Demigod . . . ”
Her slow repetition was more meditation than question, which instantly stirred more of the latter in his own mind.
Was she really more fascinated than freaked-out by that?
To that end, why did she look more on the Alita Battle Angel side of the description than the Miss Marple he needed her to be?
Miss Marple never had a guy looking at her thoughtfully twisting lips and instantly contemplating the dozen dirty ways he could untwist them . . .
Thankfully she did the job before his imagination ran too wild. “So, he’s diabolical enough to think he can actually be a rock god but stupid enough to ignore the ramifications of it.”
“Something along those lines,” he bit out. “Yes.”
Her expression grew more thoughtful. “Do I want to know how many ‘unexplainable’ disasters would suddenly make sense because of that?”
“Probably not.”
“Yeah,” she muttered. “Thought so.”
He had no doubt she’d done just that: a realization that rattled him.
Things were easier when she was just a mission character with a label—CrazyTunes on the Chandelier, Bleeding Girl in the Foyer, even Little Mothra or Miss Marple—but not as Irowen Steed, flesh and blood female with a captivating clockwork mind and a logic system that knew what to do with it.
But not predictably so. She surprised him at every turn, in the most fascinating ways.
More than any nymph or muse or demigoddess he’d dated in the last hundred years, that was for sure.
But that wasn’t why he slid his drink to the side as chimes sounded across the club, commanding every male in the place to wrap up their “date” and move along.
As soon as he caught the eager males already hovering nearby, sizing up Irowen with lust which appeared deep as DNA, a matching reaction dominated his own instincts.
No, not matching.
Already this shit felt deeper than mere reflex, causing his blood cells to percolate and his muscles to twitch. Yeah, to the point that he shot to his feet, extending one arm, a guttural but respectful growl at his lips.
“Move along,” he told the onlookers, one ogre and a pair of demons, enforcing the order with a dip of his head. “I’ve got unfinished business with Ms. Steed.”
After half a minute, in which the three of them looped a few looks as if ganging up on a god would be a wise choice or not, they turned and respectfully bowed his way. But as soon as they turned and stepped away, Irowen started in on an openly caustic giggle.
“Unfinished business?” She stood up along with him now, spreading both hands on the air. “You plan on making that one the zinger cliché of the night?”
As soon as he cocked his head the same direction as hers, he found himself copying the smirk into which she’d turned her laugh. Controlling himself was an impossible ask with this new yet appropriately lopsided view of the world.
“Do you plan on remaining here all night, then?”
She straightened all too quickly.
“Fair point.”
He liked her more in lopsided mode.
“I’ve got a better one to make,” he stated before she could add another quaint quip, though he could really do with one at the moment. Maybe she’d finally say something snarky enough to save him from himself. From this better idea that probably wasn’t . . .
“Why am I scared about your idea of better?”
Okay, that was definitely a good dose of snark. But not enough, because here he went anyway.
“You shouldn’t be. I mean, isn’t it obvious now?” he rejoined. “We’re after the same goal, Irowen. Hunting the same person.”
She took her turn to twitch. “Okay, color me lost, Glow Worm.” Then mutter that with adorable tension while coiling her arms across her chest. Ohhh, no.
He didn’t want to think about her chest. While she wasn’t as endowed as an Amazonian prinkipissa, she had enough to spur at least one fantasy of her nipples between his fingers—before he leaned in and did other things to them.
Fuck. “You’re after Reks Byrd. I need Natasha Korra.
And last time I checked, your guy’s jet was dropping wheels for the Tokyo leg of his world tour, while my girl and your brother disappeared to who-the-hell-knows-where—”
“No.”
Narrowed eyes from her. “No . . . what?”
“That wasn’t her.”
“Who wasn’t who?”
“The woman you saw earlier. The person Herc scooped up in the atrium. That wasn’t Natasha Korra.”
Her astonishment, a wilder spark across her face than he’d expected, also permeated her reply. “And you’re basing that delusion on what?”
“Not delusion,” he countered. “It was an illusion.”
“Color me still lost. Neon crayons this time, please.”
“That was Korra’s assistant,” he explained. “Her name is Lois Lance. She’s the reason we got into the mansion . . . the right way.”
His last three words, inked with extra emphasis, didn’t deter her visible jolt after his first sentence.
“Hold up. That woman you brought to the mansion . . . she was the same one who came in here earlier, right? Who sat down right over there with your brother? So unless Hercules is prone to mooning at more than one woman in the same night . . .”
He didn’t hide a millimeter of his newly bunched brows. “Herc was mooning at Lois Lance?” He stopped himself. “Kind of think of it, maybe—”
“You mean Natasha Korra.”
“What?”
“You mean he was mooning at Natasha Korra,” she snipped.
“No, I really mean that woman’s name is Lois. And she’s really Natasha’s assistant—and, yes, a doppelg?nger—who apparently fooled even you.”
He didn’t want to compare her pout to something as sweet as a plushie kitten but sexier than an anime figurine. But there was the mashup that was going to stick no matter what mental bleach he used, especially as she dropped back into her seat with a darker scowl.
“Well, crap.”
And here he was, not needing the brain bleach, after all. Not when both her syllables shook with the heavy meaning in her welling eyes.
“Hey.”
Fuck. No-no-no: she wasn’t going to cry on this drop of the proverbial hat, not on his watch.
“Monst—Irowen. Aren’t you listening?” He commanded her to tilt forward again with a small but stiff jerk of his hand. “This is where the better part comes in, all right?”
After a pause to glower at the smirking demon gigolo that approached the table, apparently as her next speed dating suitor, he stabbed the same stare into the female who refused to let go of her despair.
“So turn that shit off.” He circled a finger in the general direction of her eyes, which were harder to forget than her breasts, in their current watery state. “We’re going to do this. All of it. But only if we work together. Got it?”
Her features twisted. “Do all of what?” she demanded.
He flared his nostrils on a frustrated drag of air. “Get your sister back. Reclaim my string. Turn Reks Byrd back into a scumbag demigod. Make the mortal world safe for rock and roll again.”
His intention was only half-derogatory, but her new spurt of laughter made him yearn for a similar one-liner. Instead, the woman beat him to the punch.
“I guess that can be a thing. As long as there are no disco remixes and requests for Stairway to Heaven, right?”
He flashed his own teasing frown. “What’s wrong with Stairway to Heaven?” Or disco, for that matter, but he chose the more important hill to die on right now.
Regrettably, she’d already reset her expression to sober determination. “Can we talk about getting my sister back, instead?” But also returned to her shaky liquid stare. “Do you have any leads about where we can find the actual Natasha Korra?”
“We will soon. I mean it.” He soaked up all the verbal ink this time, making sure she absorbed every drop of his vow by grabbing her hands between his.
Her fingers, as chilled and shivery as her eyes, had him holding tighter.
“Lois is still with Hercules, and I’m sure they’ll get some new clues soon.
But Lois needs a little rest first. It’s nearly three a.m. Los Angeles time. ”
As he half-expected, the woman in his grip heeded none of the implication in his tone. Why did mortals insist on ignoring sustenance that would help them the most?
“Don’t worry,” he stressed. “I’m deploying my own elite team to help them.”
“Elite team?” She pulled free from him and lurched all the way to her feet. “All right. Now that sounds good. Hook me up with some gear. I want in.”
He rose, as well. “That could be complicated.”
Inside three seconds, she flipped a new switch. Her eager interest redlined into open hostility. “Could be compli—are you kidding? Why? Because it’s three a.m. for me too? Your weak little mortal stray?”
He cocked his head along with an eyebrow. “If you think I actually think that, maybe you need a nap too.”
“I’ll nap when I’m dead,” she snapped. “Right now, I’m only focused on getting Genny out of Ito’s clutches.”
“I know. And I really get it—”
“No, you really don’t.” She reared back, hands smoothing the air, though her fingertips still visibly trembled.
“Look, I’m . . . I’m sorry. I overheard you and your brother back at the mansion, and I know you could have damn well chosen to leave me for dead there.
And I’m really grateful you didn’t. I’m also aware that makes me indebted to you and not the other way around.
But there are things about Genny that nobody knows.
Important things. And in a situation like this, where she might feel trapped or out of control, her stress .
. . it’ll get the better of her, to serious degrees.
Then she’ll need attention. And, likely, medication.
” Her gaze veered down then away. The move only aided the effect of her new tone, quiet yet pleading, as she offered, “Please, Apollo. I—we—really have to find her. Now that I don’t have Korra to turn over to Ito or a single viable lead about where to look in LA or Tokyo, I’m out of gadgets in the toolbox.
So if I can help by jumping into yours—”
“An offer I appreciate,” he soothed. “Which, believe me, I’ll keep in mind. It’s just that my team does things a little differently. At least at first.”
“Why? I can keep up with your guys. I’ve done it before, even after being awake for three days straight. I’m one of the best at what I do. Give me a phone and I can call a dozen people who’ll swear to the same thing.”
“I believe you. I do. But this isn’t because I doubt your courage or abilities.” As he clawed a heavy hand through his hair, every neuron across his skull suddenly flared. “All right, this is going to go much better if I just show you.”
“Show me?” Her posture tensed. “Huh? What does that m—”
“Come on.”
Despite the sharp yelp on her lips, he roped a hand around her wrist and pulled.
He also ignored the grudging plods of her steps, keeping miserable pace behind him as they left the Café.
Once back out on the shadow-shrouded avenue that fronted the place, he cut a direct course back toward his Underworld condo.
She wanted to know the truth, so he was damn well going to give it to her.
He just wished that felt like a smart idea, instead of another step on a path he had no right to traverse.