Chapter 10
“You are crying.”
It’s not the three words I want to hear from Cary. Honestly, I don’t know if I want to hear anything from him. But just seeing him standing in my doorway is a sudden rush of relief I’m unprepared for.
Because he’s not Max. Or my parents. Or one more person expecting something from me.
He stares at me for a long moment.
I’m still coming down from the panic attack. Eventually, I drag a hand over my cheeks, feeling the wetness on my palm. I take a small step back, leaving the door wide open for him.
He doesn’t walk through.
“You can come in,” I say. Then I squint at him. “Wait, do I have to invite you in? Is that a thing? Are Deathless like vampires?”
Sighing, he breezes past me. “They wish.”
I pause, blinking. “Vampires are real?”
He throws a glare at me over his shoulder. But the corners of his lips are rising. “Why? Are you scared?”
“The only thing I’m scared of is how many black clothes you own.”
Tonight, he’s in a flowing black trench and fitted pants. His pushed-back hair curls behind his ears. The cut of his V-neck is deep. His long throat and sharp collarbones are visible. So much smooth, pale gold skin.
I do my best to avert my eyes.
“Why were you crying?”
From anyone else, the tone of voice might sound like concern. But not from Cary. From him, it’s an observation wrapped in a question.
I smile flimsily. “Put too much hot sauce in my ramen.”
Slowly, he takes in the apartment. My knocked-over ramen cup leaking broth into the carpet. Max’s mug of cold coffee on the kitchen counter. Unwashed dishes in the sink. Diana batting my balled-up dirty socks around.
Cary raises an eyebrow at me. “You like spicy things. I remember.”
A blush scorches my cheeks when I realize how he knows that. Our first conversation at the pizzeria. The pizza toppings. Well, it wasn’t much of a conversation. But that was his fault.
He continues looking around from his place near the sofa.
Something hits me. “How did you know where I live?”
“I am a Deathless.”
“You’re a stalker,” I accuse without any heat behind my words.
“August, do you truly believe you are worth that kind of attention and effort?”
I gasp, scandalized. He gives me a blank stare. I want to punch him. Right in that pretty perfectly shaped jaw. Before I can, I hear a soft meow.
Diana has abandoned my filthy socks to strut up to Cary. For a second, I think she might swipe her claws at him. Defend my honor. Instead, she sniffs one of his boots, then rubs leisurely against his leg, purring.
“Traitor,” I hiss at her.
Diana happily ignores me.
“She’s not usually this…friendly,” I say.
Cary lowers to one knee. He stares into Diana’s enormous gold eyes. She meows again. Carefully, he scratches behind her ears. Ducking his head, Cary whispers words I can’t hear to her.
She purrs again, sweetly.
“What did you say to her?” I ask.
Cary stands, avoiding my question. “I am here to escort you to Aides,” he says. “For Milos’s celebration.”
Today has been so long, so heavy, I almost forgot about that.
He tilts his head. “Did you change your mind?”
“N-no,” I blurt. “I still want to go.”
I need to go.
The television’s bluish glow cuts across the angles of his face. Moonlight reflecting off an arrowhead. “Then let us go,” he says with a slight hesitance.
He turns toward the door.
“Hold on!” I look down at myself. My stained T-shirt. Bare toes wiggling on the carpet. The front door is still open, and a small breeze passes through the hole in my joggers. Shyly, I admit, “I don’t really own anything to wear to a celebration.”
His eyes drag over me. “Nothing?”
“Do you want to look in my closet?” I chew out.
There’s that little twitch to his lips again. Almost a smirk. “Are you inviting me to your bedroom?”
Heat runs through me like a flood. He lets out a muted snort. Cary actually finds this funny.
“Your current attire is not a problem,” he says.
God, I hate the way he talks. No, I hate that I’m growing accustomed to it. That I find it a little endearing.
I glance around the apartment. My next questions feel so silly: “How are we getting to Aides? You need water, right?”
He nods.
“Are we going to fill up the kitchen sink?” My face screws up. “Or get in the shower?”
The second I say it, a new rush of embarrassment sears my skin.
What is wrong with me?
Did I just invite the ferrier of souls—a god who’s also a pain in my ass—to get in the shower with me?
When I look at him, there’s a thin haze of gold around Cary’s eyes. Bright as sunset. It disappears in a blink. Long, sure fingers wrap around my wrist. He’s right in front of me. Unnamed sweetness pours off him.
Bending his head, he whispers into my ear, “You ask too many questions.”
Aminta is waiting at the end of the bridge after we cross. The breeze off the black sea flutters against the material of her jade gown. Peacock feathers, bold and lustrous.
Cary stops in front of her. “Aminta.”
She bows. “Lord Cary.”
A wry smile teases my lips. I cough into my hand, “Lord.”
I’m expecting a glare from Cary. But it’s Aminta’s harsh green eyes that fall on me.
Hoping to win her over, I give her a friendly wave. I need to get my hands on that tablet tucked underneath one of her arms. “Nice to see you again!” I say.
My friendliness doesn’t work.
“Prince Milos instructed me to meet you,” she says to Cary, her scowl never softening. “To help get the mortal ready.”
The way she says it—the mortal—it’s like poison on her tongue. As if I’m a curse she wants to spit out.
I stop myself from bristling. Maintain my polite smile.
Cary steps closer to my side. His warmth is a surprise comfort. “I will accompany you,” he says.
Aminta startles. “You will?”
“Yes. To make sure he is presentable.” His mouth flattens, fingers flexing at his sides. “For my brother, of course.”
I bite my lower lip.
Is that why Cary brought me? Because Milos commanded him to? For no other reason? The thought makes my insides contort. But I don’t know why.
“Shall we?” Aminta leads us through the gates.
I follow a step behind Cary. The lobby’s empty, quiet. Aminta’s heels click loudly against the marble floors. We walk into the elevator. For a long moment, I wonder if this is all a mistake.
How can I win Aminta over? Get access to her tablet? And if I do, will I even know how to find London in there? Did I really see his name that day? Is there a map or something to help me get to where he is?
I shake the doubt from my head. I can do this.
Aminta directs us through a pair of crimson doors with ornate gold accents.
“In here.”
The private chamber is lit by more floating globes. It’s elegantly decorated. Two plush chairs with velvet throw pillows. Vases stuffed with tall asphodels, their white petals blooming the moment I look at them. Odd, like everything else here.
On the ceiling, a spacious blue sky is painted. Spun white clouds drift above our heads. Etched into the garnet wallpaper are golden-scaled snakes.
The far wall is made of mirrors. In front of it is a paneled privacy screen. Behind that, a suit waits on a satin gold hanger.
My mouth falls open. “Is that for me?”
I’ve never seen anything so stunning. It’s a deep navy. The slacks are creased. A banded collar on the shirt. But it’s the jacket that steals my breath—golden embroidered flowers stream from the left shoulder to the chest, down the right sleeve.
Daffodils.
When my fingers brush them, the petals shudder. I smile.
Aminta snaps her fingers. “Put it on. And be quick.”
I look around, wide-eyed. There’s no en suite. No secret side door with a changing room. Just the privacy screen.
“Here?”
She sighs impatiently. “Yes. We cannot have mortals running around Aides in their undergarments.”
Cary’s eyes flick over me. Fire bursts across my face. “I didn’t plan to attend the ball in my boxers, thanks,” I gripe.
“Good.” Aminta yanks the suit off the hanger. She shoves it at my chest. “No one wants to see that. Now change.”
I hold the garment close. “How do you know it’ll fit?”
Her face screws up like she can’t believe my audacity to ask that question. Irritation sharpens her glare. “Prince Milos has his ways.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means—”
Cary steps between us. “Minta,” he says, cutting off her hiss. “He is a guest. You can go. I will wait with him. Do not fear. I will ensure he does not wander.”
She hesitates. “Are you sure?”
A flicker of warning circles Cary’s eyes when he looks at me. He’s silently telling me to shut up. When I do, he says, “I am.”
Huffing, Aminta turns to the mirrors. She smooths out the bodice of her gown. No doubt to impress Milos. I fight the urge to make a face in the reflection. Her emerald nails tap along the tablet’s screen.
My pulse quickens.
“Do not be long,” she says, slicing off a glare in my direction.
After she’s gone, I whisper, “Thank you.”
He nods once, then motions to the privacy screen.
“You can change behind there. No one will bother you.”
He walks to the other side of the room. Turns his back to me. My neck warms at the kind gesture.
As I strip out of my stained T-shirt, I ask, “What are these celebrations like?”
“Lavish. Loud. Long,” Cary says dryly. “All things Milos loves.”
I snort. “I’m guessing you don’t?”
“Not at all. I usually avoid them.”
“You do?”
“Trust me, once you have been to one, that is more than enough.”
Does that mean he hates parties, like me? My fingers rest nervously on the waistband of my joggers. The screen is opaque, framed in black.
He can’t see me.
Inhaling, I quickly wiggle out of the joggers. “Will Henri be there?”
“Always.”
“And Poppy?”
“Oh, yes. She would not miss it.” I hear a fondness in his voice, even though he’s obviously trying to hide it.
I slide on the suit’s slacks. Then button the shirt. The jacket melts around my body, fitting me perfectly.
“Will you stay?”
I step from around the screen. His back is still to me. I clock his look from the long coat to his black boots. Not exactly ballroom attire.
His head tips back to watch the floating clouds. “Why? Do you need more supervision?”
“I can handle myself.”