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“Arrogant,” she muttered.
“Obsessed,” he corrected without apology. “You have haunted my dreams, sweet Sofie.” He traced his fingertips over her brow. “Those amazing eyes, as blue as an arctic sky and circled with frost.” He brushed a light caress down her cheeks. “Your satin skin. Your sweet scent.”
“Sweet?” Sofie arched a brow. She was many things. Sweet wasn’t one of them.
He leaned forward, pressing his face into the curve of her neck and breathing in, as if savoring her scent.
“Chamomile,” he murmured. “My favorite.”
Her hands lifted, but instead of pushing him away, Sofie grasped his shoulders. It was that or melt into a puddle of desire.
“How many females have you used that line on?” she demanded.
“One.” He nibbled a path down the length of her neck, the feel of his teeth against her skin sending jolts of delight through Sofie.
She ached for him to break through her skin and drink her blood. Not because she wished he was a vampire. The feel of his scorching heat was oddly addictive. But because…
No. She squashed the dangerous thought. This place was obviously messing with her head. Or maybe it was Ryshi who was toying with her. Either way, she needed to concentrate on why they were in the labyrinth in the first place.
“Ryshi.” She pressed her hands against his chest. “This isn’t the time or place.”
He lifted his head to study her with those stunning eyes. “Will there ever be a time and place?”
She tried to say no, but the word wouldn’t form. As if it was stuck in her throat. Or maybe she was just unwilling to close the door to the possibility of taking Ryshi as her lover.
“Maybe,” she finally conceded.
“Better than no.” Ryshi brushed a light kiss over her lips before slowly pulling back. His expression hardened as he glanced toward the nearby hedges. “All right. I suppose we should try this again.”
* * * *
Bertha was attempting to process what was etched onto the spear. It was a difficult task. Not only because she hated processing anything, but because it was next to impossible to imagine anyone believing Levet was some sort of god.
Not that her nephew wasn’t a wonderful creature. He was loyal and funny and he had a heart bigger than his brain. But he was also a magnet for disaster and more likely to create a catastrophe than to offer salvation. How desperate did the minotaurs have to be to choose such a creature?
With a shake of her head, Bertha dismissed her amazement. Right now, the only thing that mattered was the fact that someone was going to be sacrificed. And knowing her nephew, it was probably going to be him.
“I have to do something,” she muttered as the vampires returned to their lair, leaving her alone with Hades.
Hades shrugged, his expression revealing his indifference to Levet’s ultimate fate.
“The leeches have sent a creature to retrieve your relative.”
Bertha snorted. “A thief who was so untrustworthy he was locked in the Anasso’s dungeon? Hardly the sort of hero I would depend on to rescue my favorite nephew.”
A faint smile curved his lips. “We can’t always choose the tools we’re given to accomplish our goals.”
Bertha sniffed. Obviously, he was referring to her and the part she’d played in stopping the ifrit. He should be on his knees in gratitude. Who else could have performed such a miracle? Still, she refused to allow herself to be distracted.
She needed a way to get to Levet and pull him out of the labyrinth. Which meant that she was going to have to have some help.
“You’re a god,” she said.
He nodded. “I am.”
“Why can’t you get him?”
“I can’t penetrate the magic of the labyrinth.”
