Chapter Five
Admittedly, Wen had no idea goblins could be this dreamy.
Also admittedly, she scoured her mind for a less cringey way to express the reaction, even if she kept it to herself.
But damn it, sometimes a word was that perfect, and a goblin was just that combination of the charm, consideration, and concentration that a girl needed after being arrowed in the chest then hauled off to Hell by a tenacious taskmaster with a singular but very secretive plan.
“Okay, you can’t just pause right there in the story, little miss,” said Shin, aka the dream goblin, before dipping his head enough to drop a hock of his shiny black hair across his smooth green forehead.
Wen almost decided he must be Elphaba the Witch’s long-lost cousin from the land of Hotness, except the thick curls at his nape took new form as a wormlike creature with feline eyes and a kittenish smirk.
“What did you do after finding the fellow who deserted the princess at the altar, then finding him in bed with her mother?”
Why the worm wasn’t more disturbing, she had no clue. But the little beastie looked equally interested in her answer, so she shrugged off the perplexity.
“Since the king was paying the tab, I gave him a ping and told him he was getting a nice two for one.”
The worm-kitten giggled but Shin opted for half a smile. “Nice. But that was probably in how one looked at it, no?” He wrapped that by pushing away his soju then stretching all six of his elegant fingers across the table, seeking her hand with new tenacity. “What’s your idea of nice, Irowen Steed?”
“Shut up.”
The interruption was so different from Shin’s gentle flirtation, her brain didn’t process its reality for several seconds. When she finally joined the goblin and his little friend to snap up a startled look, Apollo was clearly prepared with his next gritted command.
“Now get up.”
“A-Apollo?” Shin stuttered. “Y-Your Godship. What a surprise to see—”
“What part of what I just said wasn’t understandable?
” came the surly comeback, at once stealing every drop of volume from Wen’s vocal cords.
Damn it. How had the asshole angel caught up to her so fast?
But even more confusing, how could he still be this astoundingly gorgeous but surprisingly testy?
What did he have to be so churlish about, when he looked that princely and perfect even in bare feet and a blood-stained suit?
Her blood . . .
Though by now, she was dripping more sweat than blood. Poor Shin, now matching her glint for glint, literally tossed off a few drops while nervously jolting to his feet.
“Excellency On High,” he blurted, sounding like a ground soldier caught with his hands on the general’s wife. “I—I did not know that Ms. Irowen and you were—or are—well, what I mean—”
“Skip the thesis, please.” Though his tone finally eased, he dotted the decree with a lordly flick of his finger. “And skip to the part where you get lost.”
Wen rolled her eyes. To his credit, Shin was more graceful about things. With subtly arched brows and a smooth but miffed frown, he countered, “Ms. Irowen and I were just at the end of a fascinating discussion. I also believe there are only a few minutes remaining in this round of—”
“And I believe that insubordination to a god of the Acropolis is punishable by a few hundred years down in the sixth circle. Or was it the ninth?”
The goblin careened around on one heel, already dipping a deep bow her way. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Irowen. Take care.”
“Same, Shin. Thanks for putting up with all my war stories. Maybe next time—”
She saved herself the trouble of the rest, since the goblin already raced back to the bar with a finger raised for two more sojus.
Ruing the chance to start a good friendship was pointless, so she funneled the frustration into her new glower at the male who slid into Shin’s place like an arrogant prince reclaiming his stupid throne.
Ugh; why did he have to fit that role so well too?
He was regal and beautiful. Sculpted and smug.
Drenched in lofty ease that should’ve looked ridiculous—
Unless it was actually wielded by a god.
She scowled again, this time at herself. Why was it so hard to just mentally pulverize such thoughts the second they set in? Instead, she let them sit and congeal, locking her dread and spine in place.
It was impossible to ignore how the remainder of her wounds quickly followed suit, the gashes closing and healing like an invisible surgeon tending her extensive battle damage.
But noticing the miracles and acknowledging the pretty god for them were different matters.
The jerk could toss her into the sixth circle before she simpered all over him with platitudes.
He certainly didn’t look lacking for the edification.
“Sure,” he murmured then, as if agreeing with exactly that thought. “And you are very welcome.”
With a stiff sigh, she sat back. But then, after another uncomfortable beat: “Okay. Are you really a god? Sunbeams in your hair and lightning in your fingers and . . . stuff?”
He shrugged, still looking more deliciously ready for a music video closeup than a cold museum carving. “Lightning is my dad’s thing. But if you need sunbeams from my hair, or perhaps from other . . . anatomical regions . . . ”
“Ah, yeah; that’s super okay,” she flung back, hating her hesitancy when he added half a suggestive smirk to his suggestive drawl. “For now, I’ll just choose to believe you.”
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The move only emphasized their curious verdigris. “You really do, don’t you?” Without waiting for her confirmation—surprise, surprise—he went on, “And your name is Irowen?”
“Just Wen.” She dropped her hand, reluctantly grateful for to do so without a thousand shots of pain up her arm. “Only TSA and wannabe goblin princes attempt to go there with the full name.”
“Okay. Wen what?”
It was time for her to indulge the curious-not-curious side stare. “Aren’t you going to find out anyway?”
“Yeah, well . . . ” His new shrug was more a rolling motion, making the mint-green tips of his hair stand out against his suit’s dark shoulders. “Thought you’d want to save me some time and effort.”
A soft yelp of laughter escaped before she could help it. “Because why?”
“Because it’s possible we’re after the same thing. More precisely, the same person.”
That did it for the laughter. “Are you serious?” A large smudge persisted on the glass where she indicated toward the atrium with an angry finger.
“Natasha Korra was right inside there, beside your brother”—holy shit, so the big guy really was Hercules—“yet you powered up your nuclear tornado and helped them escape.”
“Yes,” he volleyed. “From you.”
“Why?”
He tsked with conviction. “Nope. No more answers until I get a few more from you, Ms. . . . ”
“Steed.” She already knew he meant it and probably had ways of learning her truth anyway, so the minor share was a no-brainer. A deep and disconcerting intuition told her it’d probably be the easiest part of the conversation.
“Ah. Ms. Steed.” At least he was cordial in return, even adding a gentlemanly nod. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
But then he had to go and add that smooth rhetoric, the implied sin about as far from gentlemanly as he could stray.
Why, with every note of the velvet-on-sandstone remark, did her mind conjure images of him doing other things with those expressive lips? Why did had every syllable of it done so, besting the efforts of every other human in at least three years?
Yet in the same count of seconds, she was positive he’d snuck into her mental movie theater and gleefully brought his perverted popcorn to watch.
She sniffed and drew her spine stiffer. “Let’s stick to the subject, Mr. . . . ermmm . . . ”
“Kyrios is fine,” he filled in, newly and blessedly businesslike. “I use it when I have to sign mortal world paperwork.”
“Ah,” Wen drawled. “Like buying castles and yachts and small countries?”
“Among other things, yes.”
Well, damn.
Still she used the moment to clear her throat and then ask, “What does it mean?”
He motioned to a waiter, who already seemed to know the purpose of his swirling hand motion. “Lord. Master. Sir.”
Choking had never felt so good. Or shitty.
“Of course it does,” she finally mumbled, to be met by his fresh chuckle.
Thankfully, their unplanned pause became a chance to let the dust settle before the waiter arrived with a pair of cocktails on his glowing tray.
The liquid in both caught the tray’s light with their iridescent gold color, while smelling too divine.
“What is this?” she prompted.
“Gin and liqueur of elderflower, with splashes of ginseng and ginger. The herbs will aid with your healing. Enjoy.”
She pushed the glass goblet away. “It sounds lovely, but I don’t—”
“Drink it, Irowen.”
Yes, sir.
Though she barely bit the acquiescence into silence, her eyes already flared from astonishment.
What the hell?
Men obeyed her orders, not the other way around.
She’d sworn as much when she and Genny snuck away from New Chance House for the last time.
Nearly ten years had gone by since, and she’d never harbored half a thought of breaking the pact.
No male, even the dramatically beautiful god who’d scraped her up and saved her, would change that.
She told him as much by lifting her water glass instead of the cocktail and then riveting her gaze to his while draining the H2O. As she hoped, and nearly expected, the move seemed to amuse him—at least long enough for her to rally back to something besides lame chit-chat.
“We’re running on a timer or something here, right? So why don’t we jump in and address the shattered chandelier in the room, hm?”
His eyes glimmered a few shades brighter, until the light green practically sparkled silver. “Clever yet relevant,” he replied. “I’ll allow the point. And, I suppose, the question you’re bringing with it.”