Chapter Two #2
He knew Kaw understood that. The bird had better eyesight than anyone in the room, his god commander included.
He knew a woman was bleeding out at their feet: the female Apollo had to save now.
Holy shit, maybe more like ten minutes ago.
Though she could still breathe, her air came on shallow bursts.
She kept her eyes soundly shut. From her lips only thin gurgles emerged, borne on pale rivulets.
He spat out more profanity, this time reverting to his filthy Greek favorites. Was he already too late? Even if he healed her body, had her brain waved its last white flag on coherent thought? Had he already hit a dead-end and just didn’t know it yet?
Not an option.
He had to believe that part. To haul it closer with the same frantic intensity with which he fell to his knees then hauled her into his lap. To embed it into his psyche as hard as he wrapped his hands around to her two largest wounds, one at each side of her lower spine.
To let it burn his synapses just as he scorched his fingertips with healing energy, fusing her flesh together as fast as her biology would allow—and her new shrieks would permit.
Fuck. Her pain.
But why the hell did he keep caring about it? Especially when he was trying to do something about it? Even as he fought to communicate as much, leaning to still her struggles with his elbows around her ribcage and his lips grinding at her ear.
“You want me to help or not, Little Mothra?”
It was a last-second strategy to borrow the she-beast’s name, not knowing if she’d recognize the KaijuVerse vibe.
But her reaction, like a jolt of laughter and jerk of shock at once, was all he needed for now.
He had her attention; he could work from there to distract her from the pain until he could fully close her wounds. And then—
Damn it.
What was that expression some maddening mortal had coined, about the best-laid plans of mice and men?
And now, of gods. At least the one gawking back at him from this woman’s wide eyes, his reflection as creepy as a swamp kappa.
At the same time a similar bog of bewilderment took over his senses . . .
As he struggled to process what she pushed back at him.
At first, it was only pressure in his fingertips. The fires of his powers, except supplied with new kindling. Not just twigs and leaves. This was like a forest, with the trees bathed in honeyed sunlight. It was cedar brushed with rose oil. Pine boughs dotted with fresh cherries.
It was her, offered in full to the inferno of him . . .
Why?
With their gazes still locked, he was able to slam the question into her—only to see, with slamming certainty, that she didn’t know either. She was as weirded-out about this strangeness as him. And was clearly not used to the condition.
Which at once, led her to something worse.
The woman was . . . scared.
He didn’t doubt his discernment about that either.
Her gaze continued to show him just that.
Her fear wasn’t the normal oh-my-God-I’m-going-to-die kind.
It sprang from someplace deeper. Darker.
Her electricity, zipping in her veins, still broadcasted it all to every drop of his own blood—and he was helpless to resist.
She’d caught him up and pinned him down. Drained his powers but then given them back, twice as bright and bold. The thug in her death throes, instead revitalizing her savior . . .
Because . . . ?
Though his jaw worked up and down, biting at the air like a zombie chomping on non-existent brains, his own gray matter had nothing for that.
From the looks of things, neither did hers.
But the woman had a decent excuse, since they sat here in at least half a gallon of her blood.
He was just a pointless idiot, squandering away the ticking seconds . . .
Apollo. Anax! Are you listening? Quil himself confirmed it. Those cops are headed here. You have less than a minute.
Kaw underlined his telepathy by frantically hopping between the chandelier’s shattered chunks, all still slathered with this woman’s blood.
This mystery woman—for now. With a crime scene like this, it’d take the police a couple of hours tops to cross-confirm all her evidence and link it to the grim spectacle she’d left behind in the atrium at the DeLux.
But maybe that was for the best?
He shook his head with disgusted force.
For the best? In what fucked-up universe, exactly?
Maybe one in which a douchebag demigod hadn’t stolen one of his most valuable treasures and wasn’t scheming to unleash its power on a lot of unsuspecting mortals? Also one in which his most promising lead about the matter wasn’t locked in the head of the audacious female in his lap?
The guerilla who’d tried taking him out twice tonight.
Yet now, after he’d healed her most prominent wounds, was likely considering a lucky number three?
Like it or not—and he really did not—he still had to get the little monster out of here. To interrogate her properly, he had to heal her the rest of the way. To do all that, a dozen prying policemen definitely wouldn’t be helpful.
Damn it.
As if he’d yelled that part, Kaw punched the air with a new squawk. The bird’s most distinct cry had Apollo jerking his head up until his squad leader’s beady black gaze dominated the few feet between them.
You waiting for her to pull out a signed permission slip?
The crow cocked his head, as arrogant as a know-it-all teacher’s assistant. Yeah, that left Apollo to fill in as the grumpy principal. Not the comparison he needed at the moment.
“All right, all right.”
He punctuated with a dozen strained grunts while rearranging his hold on his little mystery assassin.
But intentions were simpler than accomplishments in the moment, since her remaining wounds ruled out a lot—make that most—effective carrying points.
She wasn’t helping either, thwarting his every move by flailing in ways that blatantly defied the physics of her situation.
“Zeus’s balls,” he muttered. “Want to work with me here a little, Mikró Thirio?”
Her responding snarl was weirdly comforting, counteracting the stupidly affectionate endearment that must’ve literally come from the idiot zip code in his brain.
“Go. To. Hell.”
Well, that worked too.
Sort of.
Not close to the extent she likely intended, based on both their reactions—her sharp yelp, his jerking cock—as he swung her downward, until their bodies were flush against each other.
But damn it, he had no choice about the new position.
Opening realm portals was a little like jacking off.
Fun and games the first few times, draining and tedious after that.
Even if he ignored the new awareness of her sweet little curves, the jump would be needle-eye close.
They had to mash as close as possible, whether his crotch got on board with behaving or not.
But how much blame could he place on the stupid thing—and the mind of its own, freely feeding arousal to every drop of his blood, as he forced himself to lean closer to the trembling little mortal and rasp into her ear . . .
“Hell, hm? Well, Little Monster, if you insist.”