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Her eyes, already wide, get wider.
I gesture to her food. “Don’t let it get cold. It’s an insult to waste the best food Paris has to offer.” As one who often went hungry when traveling with my youngest brother, I ought to know. But I decide not to toss everything on my sweet, wide-eyed consort at once.
Her eyes linger on me, but she eventually tears them away to look back down at her plate, eating the bite of duck she’d cut earlier. Her body relaxes a little as she chews. Not even my apparently shocking revelation can distract her from the pleasures of the dish, which delights me in a way I can’t quite describe.
I, too, am particularly fond of the pleasures of the flesh. I take a long sip of wine, watching her.
“So tell me more about this particularly long life of yours,” she says after swallowing. “And your brother.” She picks up her wine glass and gestures toward the other side of my head. “Tell me about him.”
“I have a lot of brothers,” I transition smoothly. “Too many, some might say.”
I ignore the tightening of my jaw and instead tell her about Abaddon, the eldest, always sure he was the gods’ gift. And Thing, who lately renamed himself Kharon after he met his wife, Ksenia.
“Layden’s the youngest. Good with gadgets and computers. You’ll like him.”
She pulls out a small, square device from her pocket. “Good, I was wondering if there was Wi-Fi here cause I can’t get a single bar of cell reception. Do you know the password?”
I stare at her blankly, just like all of us tend to do when Layden starts going on about the strange pieces of plass-tick that light up in his hands. When did humans go and get so clever with their tools? Millennia of them barely figuring out what to do with fire and the metals they dig out of the ground, then you get chained to a wall for two hundred years, and they’ve gone and made the whole world light up.
She rolls her eyes. “Never mind. You said they’re on vacation? When do they get back?”
I wave a hand. “Enough about them. Tell me about you.”
“Me?” she laughs. “Pretty sure my boring life isn’t going to interest a dude who’s been around for thousands of years.”
“But you are my consort,” I declare. “All of you interests me. I want to know your past so I may know what has shaped you and brought you here to this moment.”
She takes another bite of her food and averts her eyes.
I frown. Hannah-wife is happy to chatter about herself, but I suppose Thing/Kharon’s consort is slower to open up. Unless you get her talking about her favorite subject, which consists of the types of blades best for killing a man. But I have a feeling it is not a former life as an assassin that keeps Lo-Ren’s lips shut so tight.
“Why will you not speak?”
When she looks back at me, her dark eyes seem lit with some fire I cannot understand. “Is this how it works in your world? You demand people jump, and they ask how high?”
I think back to the rest of my dealings with mortals, and though she has mentioned a particularly peculiar request, I answer honestly. “Yes.”
Her mouth drops open. “And that’s how you expect this to go with me?”
I frown again and blink. “You are a mere human, and I am a god. So it would be wise for you to do as I command.”
A squeak comes out of her as she leaps to her feet. “Are you serious?”
Though I am fond of humor, especially at one of my brothers’ expense, I was not making a joke. Yet, I sense the danger possible in how I respond. Which confuses me because things had been going so well up until now.
“Sit down,” I say reasonably. “Let us finish this meal and continue speaking as nicely as we have until this moment.”
She makes a scoffing noise, picks up her napkin, wipes her mouth, and then tosses it furiously down on the table. “No, thank you.”
I sense the thank you is not sincere and narrow my eyes. “Why have you become so intractable?” I question. “I was expressing interest in your past. I thought that would please you.”
She puts her fists on the table and leans in, once again making strong eye contact. But whereas before, there was a sizzle when our gazes connected, now there is a hard challenge there. “Sure. But first, you have to tell me more about the sleeping guy on the other side of your head.”
Heat floods my chest, and I take to my feet as well, mirroring her stance across the table. “That’s none of your concern.”
“Ha,” she cries. “So it’s fine for you to command me to tell you things, but I can’t ask about the elephant in the room?”
“My brother is hardly an elephant.”
