Chapter Eighteen
With the pensive lines taking over her face, along with the way she fidgeted her thumbs and index fingers against other, Apollo was conflicted about approaching her with the new directive.
She had to be at her mortal limit for adrenalin and action, not to mention sleep and food deprivation—hell, his own stamina was razor-thin by now—but did that mean go brass-and-balls militant or hugs-and-smoothies motivational?
He defaulted to following what his logic ordered instead of what his gut advised.
And regretted it.
At once.
The uncertainty in her greens took on glints of confusion, even apprehension. But why? Regardless of his shitty choice about the delivery, wasn’t this the plot twist she’d worked so hard to reach? The final stretch of locating her sister?
So why did she look like he’d just asked her on vacation to a kink resort?
And why did that idea make him want to lunge over, smash his lips over hers, and refuse to let her go until everything was all right again—or she agreed to the resort idea? Either was juuust fine by him . . .
“Hey. God dude.” The quippy sass of her reply, definitely confirming his bad call on the presentation, still brought enough music to his blood to re-command his full attention. “You do know you can clock out now for Mission: Find Genny, right?”
Yes, even after bulldozing his mojo with a line like that.
Yet there was the thing about bulldozers. They had to prepare for a lot of dirt clods and rocks.
He could do the rocks and dirt thing. Especially when shoring them beneath his full stare of true offense.
“And you know how that comment sounds, yeah?” he tacked on in a growl.
“You really think I’ll do it, don’t you?
That I’ll be more than happy to clock out on you and welch on everything, after getting what I came for? ”
“Oh my God.” A fast yip of laughter left her lips before she suppressed the sound with pressed fingers. “Did you just use welch in a full sentence?”
“Don’t run me to ground about this, Irowen. We made an agreement. Work together and get back our treasures. My string and your sister.”
“I hear you, Grampy-kins. Loud and clear.” Though she was gentle about the volley, the corners of her mouth still quirked like she actively controlled a giggle. “Though I’m hardly the one who ran us to ground, if you catch my River Styx drift.”
Her demonstrative arm sweep, as smug as a cocky river captain or rogue pirate, had him fuming like a fucking prissy schoolmarm. Damn it, she even gestured in the right direction of the river, giving Lois Lance the chance to saunter over with aggravating interested in their exchange.
But he wasn’t here to be fodder for the impish writer’s next screenplay, and made the point clear by hurling a fresh grimace her way. That accomplished, he succeeded in smoothing his rejoinder with admirable diplomacy.
“Do you need something in particular, Ms. Lance? Because if you don’t mind, Ms. Steed and I have unfinished logistics to figure out, and—”
“Ah,” the petite female inserted, rising on her toes like a modern version of Baby Houseman from the Dirty Dancing classic. “That makes all of us, then.”
So much for reining back the frown. “All of us?” he snapped. “Who? Doing what, now?”
“Unfinished business.”
She thumbed back to where Herc still tried to make small talk with her father.
To be honest, Apollo had been sympathizing with his brother’s tension, assuming Herc’s jitters stemmed from the situation itself.
A Japanese father, newly reunited with his daughter, who now likely assumed the obvious from Lois’s bedhead hair and beard-scuffed neck?
Complete no-brainer for the stress levels—or so he’d thought.
“While it’s awesome we got your goods back without any civilian casualties in the terminal”—Lois circled the index finger of her same hand in the general direction of his pocket containing the lyre string—“now at least a hundred humans saw what they saw and likely snagged footage of it too. Of course, a lot of folks will probably write off our little action scene as artificially created entertainment, but—”
“No.” He was still perfectly James Bond about it, cool and prudent, but Lois jacked up her eyebrows just the same.
“No?”
“No, there won’t be stories told or footage posted.
” He patted his front pocket like he’d become Hermes with exclusive orders from Zeus.
“As soon as I snatched this back from our friend Natasha, I switched the string’s spell from the mortals’ minds to their devices.
All the gathered data on those devices from the last hour has been wiped. ”
“Whoa.” Lois’s gaze flared wider. “Nice move, Polo Pony. Remind me to call you when I’ve botched a script pitch call to a bunch of Tinseltown fat cats.”
“We can talk, as long as you agree to ditch that damn nickname.”
He kept it even and polite, minding how Herc’s attachment to the petite mortal had obviously swelled past protective interest over the night’s course.
As if he could blame his brother for the wild leap.
Fate had chosen one hell of a bizarre juncture in which to activate the unwitting wiles of both these women.
And yes, fate was the most logical explanation for it all.
He couldn’t very well blame the enchanted string which had spent most of the hours at thirty-five thousand feet over the Pacific.
This was all the purest magic he’d ever experienced.
The wildest—and most wonderful—experience his heart had ever been through.
No. No.
Not his heart.
Certainly that was the case for Herc, who couldn’t stop glancing at Lois as if she’d dissolve into cursed smoke if he didn’t, but his own situation was different.
He hadn’t spent the last ten years as a miserable celibate, atoning for a crime he’d been hexed to commit.
If the pretty little scribe had helped boost his brother’s pulse rate for reasons besides moving rivers and slaying hydras, she already had his stamp of approval.
Now, a new truth occurred to him.
Lois Lance could be of even better use.
Not that his heart still clamored for answers about Irowen’s strange change of energy toward him.
It was bizarre, right? They’d made a pact, damn it. The whole you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-try-to-stick-to-just-your-back thing. Technically, if also coincidentally, he’d kept his commitment about that—so far. The places where he’d touched her, at his place . . . not her back.
But hellfire, so much of everywhere else.
Yet not nearly enough.
Would that ever happen with this woman? Was getting enough of her a conceivable thing?
Evidently, she already thought so. In her stare, he observed nothing but the traveler who’d paid her bill in full and now just wanted out of here. Down the rest of her dirty and blood-crusted body, tired impatience reigned supreme.
No.
Tired wasn’t the whole explanation.
She was also ready to topple over from sheer exhaustion. He needed no supernatural help from the string to read that in her slouched shoulders and unsteady steps. It was just an obvious fact.
Exactly like her mortal boyfriend would observe it . . .
And understand it . . .
But instead of preening satisfaction, the conclusion had him snorting then scowling.
Boyfriend? Mortal? Understanding?
You mean all the things you can’t relate to her about?
“Fuck that.”
He ditched the snort but not the scowl, spitting it from discreetly gritted teeth. Underneath the facade, he granted his psyche full permission to vent.
Fuck. That.
He was Apollo of Olympus, damn it. If he desired to bring the mortal boyfriend game, she’d get it with a board that put every Tom, Dick, Harry, and Prince Charming to shame. They only dreamed of hitting his dream date game.
But exhaustion was a different topic. A subject he’d fought to fully fathom, evidenced by his numerous attempts throughout the eons, but could never fully crack.
He’d tried all the tricks, from normal to drastic, but had never known the bliss of craving a dreamless sleep, a long massage, or a long gulp of water after a workout.
Though his efforts hadn’t led him to a speck of firsthand empathy, at least he now knew the signs of when a human needed those physical essentials. Like the human swaying right in front of him.
Aha. Got you now, droopy little kaiju.
“All right, fine,” he pretended to capitulate, raising both palms. “You want to play noble lone wolf, fine with me. But you’ll eat and hydrate before you go.” He toggled his regard to Lois again. “Have you eaten since we left Natasha’s place?”
The writer glanced away with purpose. “Only if a couple of wafer cookies from your brother’s pantry count.”
“That settles that,” he declared. “Is pizza and salad good for everyone?”
Irowen snorted. “Are goblins thick crust snobs?”
He quietly chuckled, though resisted the temptation to rub at the string again. While he’d be empowered to zap a message straight into her brain regarding her cranky quip, he still opted for the old-fashioned way: a hot glower to directly deal her some swerve for the snark.
Did you know a slice of Underworld pizza also makes an interesting flogger, Little Monster? Yeah, neither do any of your goblin friends.
As he hoped—well, expected—the woman’s mouth popped open. She’d gotten the message, every syllable, without a single need for the lyre string messenger service. She heard him that well. Connected to his frequencies that clearly. Comprehended him that completely.
Facts that should have sent him running that very moment, on more than the pretense of heading out for the pizza.
But he didn’t flee. Not for the pizza, which he could handle by simply hailing a couple of the trainees from Kaw’s team on break in the condo’s aviary, but especially not because of the larger epiphany here.
Connection. Comprehension.
Being heard. Being seen.
Bridges he shouldn’t be building with a mortal. Links she didn’t even want with him anymore; she’d just made the point baldly clear. Severed his obligation with sweet and smooth convenience.
Which fully explained why he promised a fifteen-minute return with the pizza, only to duck into an alcove behind Menhit’s Forge in hopes that Herc’s little writer decided to go investigative reporter all over Irowen’s odd attitude.
Thankfully, Lois lived up to her fictional pressroom namesake at once. As he watched the intrepid little thing square her shoulders and step toward Irowen, he made a mental note to send flowers and chocolates to all three of the Fates. At least one aspect of this crazy night was going as planned.