Blood of Zeus: (Blood of Zeus: Book One) Read online

  If that’s all he is. Because right now, more than ever, I’m starting to wonder.

  When I look away from the bed, he’s watching me. Intensely. I have to grab the edge of the kitchen table to stay upright from the force of his feelings. There are so many, all at once, and I feel my cheeks color before siphoning away some of it.

  “There are two kinds of people in this world, you know.”

  “Yeah?” He crosses his arms.

  I smirk. “People who make their beds in the morning…and those who never do.”

  He can’t seem to resist an answering grin. “And what kind of person are you?”

  I hear the answer play in my mind first. “I’m like you,” I echo. By the time the words leave my lips, the meaning has changed and I’m reminded why I came. At least one of the reasons… “More than I think you realize.”

  Seemingly immune to the subtext, he strolls toward the kitchen table and reaches into the side of his carrier bag hanging on one of the chairs. “I guess academics can be a type.” When he returns, the earring is dangling from his long, elegant fingers. “Here you go.”

  I hold out my palm, and he drops it there without touching me. His careful avoidance bothers me.

  “Thanks.”

  His lips twitch to the side. “It seems like an expensive piece, so I held on to it thinking I’d see you Friday. But I didn’t.”

  I look down at the sparkling gems against my palm, knowing I should respond to him with something more than thanks, especially because I’ve been spared from telling my mother that I lost it. But nothing springs to my lips.

  “You only have two excused absences for the class,” he adds.

  My nostrils flare as I meet what I suspect is the practiced look of a disappointed professor. I register only slight guilt for missing the class. I read the assigned cantos, wondering where he’d put the inflections and how his energy would change when he recited it in class. It was almost enough to make me show up despite other plans.

  “Not to worry, professor. I did my homework.” I whip out a stapled assignment from my purse and shove it into the space between us. “I came for the earring, but I also came to talk. It seemed to me that the lecture hall maybe isn’t the best place for us to do that.”

  He shifts his jaw. “And my apartment is?”

  A frustrated growl vibrates deep in my chest, inaudible but a marker of emotion that’s been pent up for too long. “At least this way you won’t be at risk of destroying school property if things get too intense.”

  He releases a long, quiet breath before moving into the kitchen and retrieving a bottle of water from the refrigerator. “What exactly do you think is going to happen here?”

  I can’t tell if his tone is mocking or hopeful. Does he crave these moments between us, or am I being ridiculous for insisting they exist at all? I pull in a deep breath, reminding myself to trust my instincts above all else.

  “Whatever it is, I’m not going to pretend it isn’t happening.”

  Another beat. A long one. Too long.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Kara.”

  I hold my ground. “Why? Because you can’t control yourself around me?”

  He sucks down nearly the whole bottle. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe it’s the same for me too. Did that ever occur to you?”

  “All the more reason to keep our distance. I’m not getting involved with a student, regardless of how tempting you are.” He pauses, raking his gaze over me too quickly. “Please, just go, Kara.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  He tosses the empty bottle and walks toward me slowly.

  “I’m asking you for the last time. Go.”

  He might intimidate other people, but there’s a kind of agony in his eyes as he stares down at me. I don’t fear him or feel sorry for him. The idea of weakening his defenses or poking his ire only spurs me on. And I know the best way to do it.

  “Make me,” I whisper.

  His voice drops low. “Stop this.”

  “I’m serious, Maximus. I’ve watched you mold metal like putty in your hands. Kicking me out of your apartment should be no problem.”

  “That’s exactly why…”

  When the last of his thought seems to fizzle in the air between us, something snaps inside me. I take a fistful of his T-shirt and yank down, lifting myself to reach his mouth as I do. Everything happens fast. Searing and inevitable, the way lightning chooses a single blinding moment to strike.

  It starts with the crash of lips. My fingers in his hair. Then the race to get into his arms. His strong hands cup my thighs at the fringes of my shorts, guiding my urgent climb until my legs are cinched around his hips. The full-body contact inspires a needy moan that I bury in our kiss.

  I open my lips, an invitation for more. He takes it, giving me his taste and more of his bruising grip as he yanks us tighter. I relinquish my need to breathe to stay inside the kiss as long as I can. Eternity this way would be fine, I think, inside the chaos of my mind.

  When I finally drag myself away for air, I lift my gaze to the ceiling so he can kiss my neck. The bristle of his facial hair along my sensitive skin has me closing my eyes. Sucking in another fevered breath along with his masculine scent. Digging my fingernails into the meaty flesh of his muscular shoulder.

  He growls and walks me backward until my back hits the wall. Hard.

  I lower my gaze to the fire in his. I don’t have to guess that he’s both angry and every ounce as turned on as I am. I feel it spilling out of his pores, saturating the particles of air around us, seeping into me where we’re connected.

  His chest moves with ragged breath. I think he’s going to kiss me again, but he surprises me by taking my wrist and yanking my grip loose. He threads our hands and slams them into the exposed brick above my head. The bite of friction, stone against skin, is surpassed when he takes my mouth in another consuming kiss.

  I’m on fire. Fully consumed. I hardly notice when he repeats the motion with my other hand, pinning me with the force of his massive magnificent body. But it’s the weight of his desire that keeps me here. It’s too good. Too heady. I whimper against his mouth because I know the last of my control is slipping away. And I’m sending it off without a shred of remorse.

  I thought I knew about temptation until this moment.

  When he suddenly pulls away, the separation feels like a thousand nails tearing at me. His grip stays firm until he lowers me to my feet and stumbles back a step. We’re both catching our breath, but what gives me pause is the look in his eyes. Like he just committed a murder.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you looking at me that way?”

  He shakes his head, his gaze darting all around me and to the floor. I start to pick up on the little details. The brick dust around my feet. Then the reddish-pink scrapes along the tops of my hands. I lift my gaze to his.

  “It’s nothing, Maximus.”

  “Nothing?” The word tears from him.

  “What’s the difference?”

  I take a stride forward and yank up the sleeve of his T-shirt, where tiny red blood stains mark what I created moments before. Except nothing is there but smooth skin.

  He brushes me away and takes another step back. “You need to go, Kara.”

  “No.” It falls out before I can stop it, but it’s more a sound of astonishment than rebellion.

  “Kara.”

  “No,” I repeat. “Not until you tell me—”

  “Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t even start—”

  “You…healed.”

  He averts his eyes. “And you haven’t. Another reason this needs to stop.”

  The storm inside me is raging. The lingering physical desire is going to war with the need to know more about him.

  “You can’t hurt me,” I insist.

  “Seems like I can.”

  “Not the way you think.” I turn and size up the Kara-sized imprint indented into the brick. True enough, a human my size might no
t have fared so well. I face him again. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on with you? What’s really going on with you?”

  He’s quiet. His back is to me, his frame both impressive and intimidating, even as his breathing evens out. My purse has fallen to the floor, and he bends down to pick it up before slowly pivoting to me. He hands it to me. I take it even though it’s a call for me to leave.

  More tense seconds pass before he finally speaks. His posture is rigid, his expression too. “You want to know what’s going on with me?”

  The low and ominous tone sends a shiver of dread through me. Then I notice his hands are shaking.

  “Yes,” I whisper, though suddenly I’m not sure I do.

  “When I was eight years old, I paralyzed my best friend because I didn’t know what I was capable of…what kind of violence is inside me. It didn’t stop there.” He closes his eyes briefly—long enough for a deep V to form between his brows. “Every day of my life is about control. And that control doesn’t exist when I’m this close to you. I’ll never make that mistake again. If I unleash that shit on you, I’ll never be able to live with myself. So please, Kara. For both of our sakes, please, just go.”

  Chapter Ten

  Maximus

  After defying me again and again, she did exactly what I wanted. That doesn’t mean, in the six hours since, that I’m any happier about it. The essays I have yet to grade are still glaring at me, courtesy of the blinking cursor on my laptop, waiting for my digital red pen. Any attempts to distract myself have failed miserably—from books, my soul’s true escape, or even the sight of the slightly smashed bricks in my wall, bearing a disturbingly familiar outline.

  Instead, I’ve been pacing. From one end of my apartment to the other. I stopped counting the laps at around a hundred. Why does it even matter?

  Around midnight, I quit long enough to wipe out the last two slices of pizza. I’d debated whether to take the pizza downstairs to Jesse, a pathetic excuse to seek advice I’m not sure I need. He always gets the last piece. It’s tradition with us. But when Kara showed up, he rolled out of here like his chair had rockets. Didn’t stop him from flinging me a zinger of a smirk as he did. Can’t say I blame him. Not with Kara appearing like she did, freshly tanned and smelling like sunshine and cinnamon. In two seconds, the guy’s look had conveyed a thousand direct messages.

  You know where to find me when you’re done, dude.

  But you’d better not be done until tomorrow morning.

  Just a reminder: I’m only three floors down from you.

  Kara’s parting look was far more devastating. She left without a word, as if she knew her sad silence would wreck me. I almost wonder if she could foresee my restless pacing and fighting as I deal with what I told her—what, in her eyes, amounted to a crap excuse for a confusing condition.

  A confusion I’m still struggling with. Still reaching for answers that aren’t there…that have never been there. Long ago, I resigned myself to not ever knowing. To hiding the monster inside for the rest of my life.

  So why the hell am I still so conflicted about it? And, down to this second, pacing over it? I already have my answer. Kara’s woken up all the instincts. The fire. Even the violence. Except she isn’t horrified. Not by any of it. She doesn’t think I’m a monster. She’s not pushing back with fear. She’s shoving back with questions.

  With that, she’s opening the door to things that are harder to accept. Feelings I’ve long buried. My own curiosity. The deep-seated need to find answers.

  The conflicting thoughts are a skirmish in my skull. They brim over, electrifying the air with palpable energy.

  It’s now three a.m., and I’ve officially declared sleep my enemy tonight. After changing and running the eight blocks to my twenty-four-hour gym, I push myself through a workout that has the three other lunatics in there with me—film stuntmen keeping up their game—openly gawking. Other days I might care. This morning I don’t.

  By the time I jog back home and shower, it’s time for Recto Verso to open. When I go, I’m often the first one in the door—usually for the exact reason Sarah cites as the brass doorbell jingles over my head.

  “Bad dreams?”

  A fine dust swirls through morning rays illuminating the front half of the store. She turns away from me to whip up my daily latte and then hands it to me. After accepting it, I reach over the long bar into the syrup well and add a shot of cinnamon flavoring to the savory brown liquid.

  One of her brows jumps. “All right, then?”

  I blow some of the foam off the top of my drink. “How about you let me get at least halfway through this before you start the interrogation?”

  She answers with nothing but a soft chuckle. Probably a wise move considering I’m this jittery before the caffeine hits.

  At last I mutter, “Why did you instantly go there? I mean, about the dreams?”

  At first, that earns me nothing but a subtle smile. With Sarah, the look could mean anything from “take out the trash” to “I know the path to world peace.” Right now, I sincerely hope it’s neither.

  “You have the look,” she offers at last.

  “The look?” I narrow my gaze and twist my lips. “Like what?”

  “The look you always get.” She shrugs, but not very convincingly. The movement causes the sequins on her classic Bowie tee to flash in the Tiffany-style lighting. The coffee bar has more muted light than the store’s reading areas, for which I’m grateful at the moment. Dimness is good for downplaying confusion—though I’m likely not very effective at it either. “Like you haven’t just been dreaming.”

  “Oh?”

  The word is all she needs. Like Reg, Sarah knows not to play with small talk when I’ve been pacing instead of sleeping. “Like you had a dream, woke up, and then decided to act it all out for your stuffed animals.”

  I don’t know whether to laugh or swear. I settle for a weird mix of the two beneath my breath before responding, “I never had any stuffed animals, Sarah.”

  “I know.”

  Just like that, the lights seem even dimmer. Too damn dark. I straighten on my stool and smack my hands together, appointing myself official mood lifter. Seems only fair. “So. What’s new around here?”

  A weighted silence—resulting in my new misgivings. Unlike Reg, Sarah’s usually the first one to jump on the bandwagon for lightening the conversation. She has serious game at it too. The woman is up-to-date on every speck of pop culture gossip there is, from the top of the pop charts to the bottom of the fashion faux pas.

  “Well,” she finally murmurs, “I reckon that’s what I should be asking you now, yes?”

  “Hmm.” I take another sip of my latte, assessing her over the rim of the cup. The woman can be the queen of neutral composure and is out to prove it with irritating thoroughness.

  “You ‘reckon,’ eh?”

  She solidifies her stance, though the posture thing is only a backup for the resolve in her stare. “Aha. Now I get it.” She jabs up her chin. “You didn’t dream last night because you didn’t sleep last night.”

  I set down my mug with an equally purposeful clunk. “Not a statement I’ll be able to deny.”

  “Bollocks,” she mutters. “I was hoping to be wrong.”

  “But you pretty much knew you’d be right.” I arch a brow. “Right?”

  She frowns, readjusting her stance again. “But you’re only a few days into the new semester. What gives?”

  The uptick of concern in her tone is weirdly comforting. And greatly needed. I’m off-balance. I have been for hours. Probably longer. When a dam has a crack, it’s easy enough to ignore. But the crack is becoming a fissure, making me realize how much pressure has really built up behind it.

  I take another second to sip my cinnamon brew. The taste alone lends me courage to say my next words.

  “Tell me what you know, Sarah.”

  I’m prepared for her reaction, which is not much of one. After several long beats, she final
ly replies, “Uhhh…what I know? About what?”

  “Me,” I counter. “Any of it. Christ, even all of it, if you have that much. And I don’t mean a rerun of all the details I already have. I need the other stuff, okay? The shit Mom won’t ever talk about.”

  Before I’m even done, her lips compress. She leans over and wipes at dirt that doesn’t exist on the counter. “Your mother has never been the sort to drink with the hens and spill about her past, Max.”

  “I’m aware of that, but are you seriously saying she’s never let anything slip, even inadvertently, over all these years?”

  “I’m sorry.” The new tightness at the corners of her eyes shows me her sincerity. “On the few occasions I’ve asked, she’s answered by just shutting me down. And with…” She shakes her head slowly. “Well, with the kind of torment you hate inflicting on someone simply by asking. That probably sounds strange, but—”

  “No.” I stare into my cup. I experience the same thing every time I see Jesse struggle. Times that are few and far between, thankfully. But when they come, they remind me all over again of what I am and what I’m capable of. “Not strange at all.” I heave a frustrated sigh, wishing to God my latte would turn into whiskey. “Forget I asked.”

  Before I’m even done with the grousing, Sarah sprints to my side of the counter, hitching onto the stool next to me. “Maximus. My word. What’s going on?”

  The concern in her rasp has doubled. The same energy comes through with her hand on my shoulder. But how do I answer? How do I tell her that if this were Kara touching me, my blood would be filled with sparks, my mind consumed with awakening? How do I tell her that I can’t push aside that sensation anymore? That I can’t keep patching the dam?

  “I just need some answers,” I snap, wanting to take back the harsh tone when her gaze flares. “Does anyone get that? I crippled Jesse when we were eight. That was less than a year after Mom and I moved here, but I don’t remember anything about where we were or what we were doing before then. Not a single recollection or even a hazy memory.”