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“You did. Here’s the rundown of what happened while you were out,” she said. “I learned you’re an omni-shapeshifter, so you can stop trying to hide it. And I’d kinda appreciate an explanation about why you haven’t shifted into, oh, I don’t know, an Astra, then snuck into their midst and killed them all?”
“I hate shifting into people,” he grumbled, his insides bracing as if preparing to jump out of his skin. “I become the other person on a molecular level, which leaves a mark. But more than that, I need their blood to do it.”
She gaped at him. “Are you saying you can access their thoughts and memories if you shift into their image?”
“I’m saying it messes with my head, leaving me feeling as if I’m me but not me, even when I return to my own skin.” A weakness he rarely shared with others. Rarely? Ha! Try never. Not even Hades knew. So why had Rathbone just handed the information to Neeka? “Why? Is there something you don’t wish me to learn?”
Her features softened. “First, that sucks for you. It’s hard enough being ourselves, yeah? Second, no. Read their minds if you wish.”
That was why he’d done it. She got him. “I’ve enjoyed being myself lately,” he admitted. Since meeting her. A fact he almost...feared.
“Yes. Well.” She cleared her throat. “Moving on. Azar poisoned you, but I saved the day by acquiring the antidote. Yes, I’ve added an unnamed boon to your bill, and youwillpay. I’ll tell you what I want when I decide. Now, I’ll give you fifteen minutes to clean up, then we’re leaving this little paradise whether you’re ready or not.”
“I’ll take however long I need, carrot.” Which would be fifteen minutes, and not a second more. He scanned the paradise in question. An unfamiliar house with colorful walls, tons of windows, and bedazzled furnishings. Through the glass, he spied a lovely purple ocean lapping at pink sand. “Is this your home?”
“One of them.”
He liked it. Felt comfortable here. Her personality shined through. Vivid, wild, and bright. It struck him as a place to rest and recharge, more of a home than the palace had ever been.
He rubbed the sudden ache in his sternum.
“Here. This is yours.” Neeka reached into a pocket in her skirt, withdrew a small glowing orb, and tossed it in his direction.
Lore’s hiding place. The ache worsened. He held his wife in his palm, yet he’d never felt less connected to her. Why? Why was he irritated by even the thought of dealing with her right now? Because of his doubts?
The same doubts Styx once displayed?
Had Styx spoken true regarding his dealings with Lore? Had Rathbone misjudged her from the beginning, allowing desire to color his thoughts? Not just any desire, but a unique obsession a goddess of her class would have no trouble manufacturing, thereby convincing a young warrior he’d found his one and only...
But had he?
His gaze returned to Neeka.
“Well?” she prompted, shifting from one sexy foot to the other.
“Well what?” he demanded with more force than he’d intended. If Lore had tricked and betrayed him, rousing false desire inside him...
He ground his molars.
“Do you want the Astra to acquire a piece of your precious Lore, or are you the Wrath of Blood and Bones? Superhero name pending. Because that’s what will happen if we’re late for our very important date.”
The mátia narrowed. “What date?”
She cringed, as if she felt sorry for him. “Lookit. I’ve been probing into the depths of my subconscious. Information hidden in shadows, visions I’d forgotten, tidbits left by the Hall of Secrets, that sort of thing. There’s no easy way to tell you this, so Imma just blurt it.” She paused to draw in a deep breath. Held it.
And held it.
“Neeka,” he growled.
“Give me a second to center. Geez,” she said, exhaling with force. “Okay, here goes.” She drew in another deep breath, closed her eyes, and lobbed multiple balls of information at him. “Centuries ago, Hera hired a fae to join your stable, conceive her grandson, and bail on you. Congrats! It’s a boy, and he somehow stopped aging at sixteen. His name is Maximus, and he’s being kept in a world called Aweland. He’s currently in possession of a bone, and we’re going to steal it during his birthday party. You ready?”
20
“Do not stroke the ruby choker,” Neeka muttered. “Do not.” She repeated the critically important mantra inside her mind again and again, the words a lifeline to her sanity.
Head high, she ventured toward a Queen of Hearts–esque garden behind a castle straight out of every fairy tale ever written. But dang it, the choker snaking around her neck seared her skin—because the choker was Rathbone!
That’s right. She wore the King of Agonies. He currently pressed against her thumping pulse.
