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“I don’t care if you can,” she said. “I asked if you will.”
“You seem to think everything is simple, a decision that comes down to yes or no,” he said, frustration coloring his tone. “If Poseidon does not know of Medusa’s importance now, he will once I confront him.”
“Then don’t confront him,” she said.
“How else do you expect us to find her?”
“I’ll do it,” she said.
“No,” he said immediately.
He could not even entertain the idea. Poseidon was a dick. A royal one. Especially to women. There was no way he would put Ariadne through that.
“Poseidon knows nothing about me,” Ariadne argued and then shrugged. “To him, I am a mortal woman searching for…my sister.”
“Do you think he will care?”
“No,” she said. “But perhaps he will care about what I have to offer.”
“And what do you have to offer?”
She said nothing and Dionysus took a step toward her.
“What do you have to offer, Ariadne? Information on my operations? On maenads? Will you sacrifice a hundred lives just to save one?”
“You think I would betray you?” she asked.
“Your loyalty is with your sister,” he said. “And I do not blame you, but it means I cannot trust you.”
She said nothing, but her anger screamed at him.
“So you’re giving up?” she said finally.
“I am not giving up!” he snapped. “But I need time to think, and you’ve made it really fucking hard for me tonight.”
Their eyes held and then she looked away, crossing her arms over her chest, as if she wished to distance herself from everything that had happened, including him.
He should not be surprised, and it should feel like nothing, but it didn’t.
It felt like rejection, like the sting of a too-sharp blade to the chest. He knew what had happened tonight was only situational and to have feelings about it meant that he’d developed some kind of expectation, and that was ridiculous.
This—whatever existed between them—was far too angry to be anything more than something both of them would regret.
Like tonight.
“There’s a room down that hallway where you can sleep,” he said. “A bathroom too. I’ll…uh… Do you need something to wear?”
He looked at her long enough to see her nod.
“Please,” she said, her voice a whisper.
“I’ll be back,” he said, walking down the adjacent hall to his room.
When he opened the door, he was met by frigid air. He’d been gone so long, he had yet to change thecontrols to warm his apartment, though he should not have to. It was summer. It was supposed to be sunny and hot. Instead, the snow grew heavier day by day.
He snatched a shirt from his drawer and took it to Ariadne.
“It might be cold in your room,” he said. “I’ll…adjust the temperature.”
