Chapter Thirty
A voice came from behind her, but Tem didn’t have to turn around to know whose it was. Apollo immediately entered her mind.
You are without your chaperone.
Is that what you call Caspen?
What else should I call him?
He’s your brother, isn’t he?
That he is.
Tem turned to see Apollo stepping out of the water, his eyes on hers. He was already on his way to being hard. Tem tried not to stare at his cock, which was staring right back at her.
Apollo smirked. I always tell you: you may look if you wish. It does not bother me.
Tem was perfectly aware that it didn’t bother him. She could see it in the arrogance twisting his cheeks. Nothing bothers you.
He raised an eyebrow. Is that what you think?
That’s what I know.
Apollo approached her slowly, his footsteps steady despite the uneven terrain. What else do you know, Temperance?
The question was a challenge, and Tem was not in the mood to rise to it. I know you shouldn’t be talking to me.
Talking to you is hardly a crime.
The way you talk, it is.
Another smirk. Do you wish for me to stop talking? We could do something else instead.
No.
Her protest was weak. She knew it, and Apollo knew it too. He had nearly reached her side of the grotto. The air was warm—thick and humid—and Tem was having trouble breathing.
Shall I tell you what I know?
I have a feeling you’re going to anyway.
Apollo stopped right in front of her. He was shorter than Caspen but still far taller than Tem. She had to crane her neck to look up at him. I know you like it when I talk to you this way.
Tem remembered the last time she’d seen Apollo—how he’d made her come in less than ten seconds, his body pressed against hers as the sun rose above them.
Caspen wouldn’t like it.
That is not my problem.
Tem sighed. It was about to be hers.
And where is my dear brother tonight?
He’s talking to the council.
Apollo raised an eyebrow. A single drop of water slipped from a stalactite above them onto his shoulder. Tem watched as it slid down the expanse of his chest in an endless, wandering rivulet. She repressed the sudden urge to trace its path with her tongue.
Is that right? I am surprised he would leave you alone on the eve of the tournament.
I don’t need him to coddle me. I can take care of myself.
I see. And yet, I have cornered you. Would you say that constitutes taking care of yourself?
Tem closed her eyes. Apollo was infuriating her, as usual. It was impossible to talk to him without it turning into something else. Are all basilisks like you? she asked.
Like what?
Infuriating. He let out a soft chuckle at that.
You find us infuriating?
I find you infuriating.
In what way?
Tem opened her eyes. Apollo was standing too close, as expected.
That was already one way in which she found him infuriating.
But the others were more subtle: like the way he turned every conversation into a flirtation or the way he constantly made her feel exposed.
Tem settled on: You keep trying to sleep with me.
Apollo grinned with unmistakable triumph, his eyes raking over her. Tem was keenly aware that the tip of the claw was visible between her legs. She knew Apollo could see it. She knew he knew Caspen had made it for her.
Can you blame me?
Tem ignored the compliment. You could at least be discreet about it.
Is that really what you want?
Yes.
And here I was thinking you enjoyed my advances.
What could have possibly given you that impression?
Instead of answering, Apollo sent her a vision: first of her in the banquet hall, opening her legs in front of him.
Then of her in the field, after he’d taught her to petrify, her head thrown back in orgasm.
Apollo was right, and they both knew it.
Of course Tem enjoyed his advances. If they truly bothered her, she would have left the grotto already.
But she hadn’t. Her basilisk side preened every time he looked in her direction.
Only her human side recoiled, and that side was awfully quiet right now.
So tell me, Temperance. What else do you know?
She stared up at him, willing herself to focus. His eyes were a slightly different shade of gold than Caspen’s, darker, as if tinted with copper. They were rapidly being overtaken with black. I know you want me.
His mouth twitched.
Tem continued. And I know you only want me because it will make Caspen angry.
Ah. That is where you are wrong.
Am I?
Yes.
And what exactly am I wrong about?
It will not make Caspen angry.
Tem remembered the possessive pleasure that had flashed in Caspen’s eye when he’d realized Apollo was watching them in the banquet hall, how he’d displayed her for his brother.
And even if it did make my brother angry, it would not be the only reason I want you.
Tem didn’t dare believe him. Don’t say things like that.
Like what?
Things you don’t mean.
And how do you know I do not mean them?
Because you don’t take anything seriously, including this.
This?
Us.
Are we an us now?
No. We’re not. I’m just saying that—
You are saying that I do not take whatever it is between us seriously. And once again, you are wrong.
Tem sighed, looking up at him. He was still smiling at her, still being infuriating. It was impossible to have a conversation with someone who was looking at her like that. Apollo was acting as if he were in on some big secret that Tem had no concept of. It was unfair, and she was tired of it.
I take us very seriously, Temperance. How could I not?
Tem didn’t know how to answer that. She didn’t know the full story of what had happened between Apollo and Caspen—didn’t know the details of who they had both been with or what had happened to her.
But Tem was not a replacement for that person.
She was so much more than a prize in their game, and she refused to be treated as such.
Tell me something, Temperance. Why are you afraid?
Tem scoffed. “I’m not afraid.” She said it out loud, as if that would make it more true.
“No?” Apollo matched her tone. “And yet, you demonstrate all the characteristics of fear.”
“Such as?”
“Your heartbeat is accelerated. You are short of breath. I can smell your sweat.” He smiled, breathing in. “It is sweet.”
“Stop smelling my sweat, Apollo.”
“I cannot avoid what is offered to me, Temperance.”
“I’m not offering you anything. I’m just standing here.”
“You are standing here afraid.”
Despite herself, Tem knew he was right. And why, exactly, was she afraid?
Did she fear something in Apollo, or did she fear something in herself?
Which, ultimately, was worse? Tem had no idea anymore.
Ever since she’d been under the mountain, her sense of morals and what was right had utterly changed.
Basilisks didn’t act like humans. They lived by different rules here, prioritized different things.
It was impossible to tell right from wrong anymore.
“I…” she whispered, struggling to form the words. “Don’t want to lose myself.”
She knew in her heart that Apollo meant her no harm.
But that didn’t mean he was safe to be around.
It didn’t mean that she was safe with him.
He was dangerous in the same seductive way that all basilisks were dangerous.
He was depraved in a way Caspen wasn’t; he allowed himself to walk the line of morality.
If Tem allowed herself to walk that line too, she didn’t know where it would end.
She didn’t want to stray from the path of light—didn’t want to become something she was not.
“I would not let you stray.”
Apollo’s words were quiet, and Tem was struck by the meaning of them.
She’d never heard him say anything heartfelt and sincere like that before.
But if she allowed herself to believe him—to indulge in the fantasy that he had her best interests at heart—she would make herself vulnerable.
It wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.
Before she could decide how to answer, the hairs on the back of Tem’s neck stood straight up. Someone else had entered the grotto.
Apollo also straightened, his eyes still on hers as he said, “Hello, Brother.”