Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
“No.” I’m capable of putting together a simple meal in a pinch, but when a person is as busy as I am, they learn to delegate. I can’t do that with many of my business responsibilities, so I farm out as much personally as possible. “I have a chef who usually preps a week’s worth of meals on Sundays.”
Aurora moves closer into the fridge. “That’s not a week’s worth of meals.”
“No, I had her do something special tonight.” I realize how that sounds, but I don’t take the words back. They’re the truth. “She’ll come around this Sunday and get back into the swing of things, but this week was irregular.”
“I see.” Aurora peers at the food containers. “Interesting.”
“Are you allergic to anything?” Something I should have asked before, but I didn’t even think of it.
She shakes her head. “No.”
I bring out a bottle of wine and pour us each a glass. We drink in what’s almost a comfortable silence as we wait for the oven to preheat. It dings its readiness, and I put the container into the oven and set the timer. Then I motion for her to follow. “We’ll wait in here.” I lead the way into the living room and sink onto the couch.
After the briefest of hesitations, Aurora sinks down next to me. Does she realize that, even a few days ago, she would have chosen another seat, would have put as much distance between us as possible? I don’t comment on it, though. A patient hunter gives the prey plenty of time to settle in before making their move. It doesn’t matter that this woman makes me feel frenzied and out of control.
I will have patience.
I sip my wine and study her. She looks good here in my home, dressed in the clothes I purchased her. A feeling almost like possession rises up in me, but I stifle it. This isn’t the time or place for such messy emotions. Not yet. I need her to want me first. Crave me. Desire me like a fire in her blood that she never wants to douse.
Then, and only then, will she be mine.
22
Aurora
“I would like to know what drove a thirteen-year-old to make a deal with Hades.”
I flinch. I thought we were done talking about that. I really should have known better. The rage on Malone’s face when she found out my age at the beginning of the deal was a fearsome thing. “It’s irrelevant.”
“It hardly feels irrelevant. If the rest of the territory leaders knew what he’d done, they’d string him up, leader of neutral territory or no. Especially Ursa. There are lines, even for the likes of us. What he did crosses them.”
She’s working herself up again, and while part of me almost enjoys this moment of Malone feeling protective of me, I refuse to indulge this line of talking. “We’ve already been over this.”
“I remain unsatisfied.”
I reach out and give her arm a squeeze. “I chose this. There’s nothing more untoward going on than there usually is in the Underworld, in this city. It’s not worth going in there and fighting with Hades. The worst he’s done since I moved into the Underworld is be overly over-protective of me. That’s it.”
“He’s not the only one.” She murmurs it so quietly, I’m almost convinced I misheard her. She picks up her glass and takes a long drink. “What could possibly drive a thirteen-year-old to show up in the Underworld, let alone make a bargain like that?” A question she’s asked several times now. One I’m no closer to answering.
I look away. I’m a coward in so many ways. If I can’t enact my revenge, the least I can do is shove what she did in her face. If she’s feeling protective of me, if she cares even the slightest bit, surely she’ll feel guilty for the fact that her actions put me on this path?
The moment I break my silence, this thing between us ends.
That should make me happy. She’s my enemy, after all. It doesn’t matter how good it feels to fuck her, how high I fly when we scene. She is the enemy. But that word feels flimsy and untethered. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Silence for a beat. Two. Finally, Malone says, “I don’t suppose it’s a happy story.”
“It’s not.”
The soft stroke of her finger down the side of my face has me opening my eyes to find her searching my expression. I’m not sure what she finds there, because she nods almost to herself. “Growing up as an Amazon is very different from a lot of other places. We value our children above all else. All we do—the ambition, the hostile takeovers, the territory skirmishes—are to pave a better life forward for them. We spoil them and let them have free rein until they hit high school. Then they begin training in earnest.”