Gasps and a few groans. I bite my lip at my classmates’ bemoaning the extra work he’s just tacked on to the weekly assignment. He’s such a hard-ass, but I completely love it. Yes, even as I struggle to figure out when I’ll actually meet the demand as one of his students, my schedule being what it’s been.
Maybe I can give him my summary orally. Later.
Maybe if I do it naked, he’ll give me some extra insights too.
I bite my lip harder and struggle to untangle my thoughts from memories of our more intimate moments as he kicks off the lecture. But within minutes, I’m lost to the literary themes instead and this man’s obvious, addicting passion for the material—from the wasters to the wrathful, carrying Dante further along his journey. Maximus lingers on Dante’s shift in tone, the gradual hardening of the heart and lack of pity for the fallen. Though Maximus observes the shifts without his own judgment, I still feel strangely saddened.
I take notes dutifully, looking forward to sharing all my thoughts with him later. Dante’s lapses in compassion strike harder than they should. Then again, I’m not like everyone else. I’m not a distracted undergrad. I’m more fallen angel than human. And I’ll never be able to walk away from this heritage.
I’m thankful when Maximus doesn’t meet my gaze for most of the class. If our interactions in here were weighty with double meanings before, it’s so much worse now. Because as he talks about the flaming red towers and iron walls of hell’s capital and its swarming crowds kept behind guarded gates, it sounds more real than ever. As daunting as it could very possibly be.
What if the city of Dis is more than one man’s dream of hell? What if the gates closed to Dante had opened for me days ago, to punish me for my own rebellions? I wonder if that’s what Maximus is thinking too. If he is, he doesn’t show it.
I’m not taking such avid notes anymore.
Instead, I sketch nervously in the margins of my notebook, wondering whether coming today was the best idea after all. Perhaps further rumination on the subject of hell isn’t the best thing for me right now, at least until my future is less uncertain.
The artful cadence of my professor’s voice pulls me from the worry and back into the lecture though. I try to concentrate on the words and the strength of hearing them in his beautiful baritone. The poetry instead of the literal threat.
I notice where Maximus pauses and the small moments where his own thoughts seem to wander before he begins reading a new passage of note.
“Take heart. Nothing can take our passage from us
when such a power has given us warrant for it.
Wait here and feed your soul while I am gone
on comfort and good hope; I will not leave you
to wander in this underworld alone.”
Maximus gently closes his book. He’s ominously quiet for a long moment, though his pace is casual along the front row of students.
“This feels like a big moment, doesn’t it? They’ve finally arrived at death’s kingdom. The place where all the fires of hell burn. But they’re met with rebellious angels who will give only Virgil passage. Not Dante. Yet Virgil gives Dante these words of comfort. Why?”
A long silence ends with someone calling out from the class. “Faith?”
Maximus purses his lips with a nod. “All right. Why?”
Another long silence. He finally meets my eyes, the question beaming silently between us. I smile softly and lift my hand.
“Kara?” My name is a mere murmur on his lips, lacking the sharpness of his typical professorial tone.
It’s not personal, but it’s intimate enough to make my heart knock a little harder against my ribs.
The curious energy spiking in the room is matched with the noisy twists of bodies in seats to stare up at me. Of course sitting in the back again would do little good. Not when I’m so much more than Kara Valari these days. I’m half of one of the most talked-about couples in LA. And my other half is a six-foot, seven-inch golden god walking among men. If they only knew…
“Well,” I start, “God has given them warrant for their journey, which means that divine aid should allow them passage. ‘At his touch all gates must spring aside.’”
I know Maximus’s face well enough to recognize his fight to smile. Instead, he pinches his brows together and adjusts his glasses, quickly hiding the other tells that he’s satisfied with my response.
“Miss Valari has made a good point,” he finally says. “Which also brings us perfectly to next week’s reading. Will the Great One arrive and save our poetic duo?” He drops his book on the table like a judge adjourning the court. “Summaries due in my office by Friday. Late delivery is an automatic incomplete. You know the drill.”
The room breaks into a rush of movement and chatter as everyone files out. I’m in no hurry to follow them. Instead, I wait for the curious lingerers to give up and leave too before walking down the stairs toward Maximus.
As I get to the main floor, he’s packing his laptop and paperwork into his messenger bag.
“Thank you for another intellectually thrilling lecture, Professor Kane,” I tease.
He traces his tongue along his lower lip the second his eyes meet mine. “Thrilling, eh?”
“Positively stimulating, if you ask me.”
He laughs. “Really? You are by far my most appreciative student. I’m afraid everyone knows it now too.”
I shrug and stop in front of him. “Well, I’m not afraid. We’re definitely not a secret anymore.”
“Honestly, that part is almost a relief.” He takes his glasses off and slides them into a side pocket in his bag.
“Why does a man who heals in seconds wear reading glasses?”
His expression freezes a moment as he contemplates my question. Then he breaks with an awkward laugh. “All right… You’ve got me.”
I lift a brow. “Busted?”
“Completely busted.” He softly laughs again. “I started wearing them at interviews when I was trying to get a teaching position. I was younger than most of the other candidates and didn’t really look the part. Still don’t, so I guess I just stuck with it.”
I hum quietly and draw my fingertips down the front of his shirt, my nails ticking along the buttons. “So you think if you wear them, people will be able to concentrate on what you’re actually saying and forget you’re only twenty-seven and built like an immortal god?”
His eyelids get heavy. His breathing quickens. “Something like that.”
“It’s very Clark Kent. I like it,” I murmur, lifting on my toes to kiss the corner of his mouth.
He turns enough to capture my lips and make it a full kiss, inciting his own breathy hum when we part. “What were you saying again, about that stimulating lecture?”
“Just quietly admiring your intellect. And figuring out how I’m going to make time for all the extra work you piled on us this week.”
“We have all night.”
I draw in a deep breath through my nose and step back on my heel to create a few inches of space between us. “About that.”
He sets his jaw. “Let me guess… Veronica is dead set on us going to this damn premiere.”
“No. She’s dead set on me going.”
He frowns. “Without me?”
“She thinks it’ll give people even more reason to talk. We’ve been inseparable all week. Stepping out to a major event like that without you will be fresh news. Everyone knows we’re together now, so pretending like maybe we’re not is even juicier.”
He works his jaw harder. “Will Arden be there?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t ask, but it’s not really his scene.”
“It’s Kell’s scene, though. Piper Blue is the star of the film. She’s one of Kell’s best friends, right?”
“She is. But this is a lot different than a meeting alone at his office. Red carpets are chaos. No one gets a chance to socialize until the after-party, and I’ll be on my way home to you by then. It’ll be safe, I promise.
”
Even safer without Maximus being there, I silently remind myself. When my mother posed the compromise, I didn’t balk for that very reason. Mainly because she never extends trade-offs like this, so appeasing her and keeping Maximus out of the limelight is a win-win.
Except that now he doesn’t seem overly thrilled. Still, I recognize a glimmer of acceptance in his eyes.
He tugs me close again, lowering his mouth to mine. “I just hate being away from you.”
“Ah, parting is such sweet sorrow.”
We pull apart as a voice from the back of the hall cuts into our romantic haze. We look up together in time to watch as Z saunters in, his voice as unhurried as his footfalls down the stairs.
Maximus joins me in shifting back by a step. His father’s dressed in beige linen pants and a short-sleeved white button-down today. His fedora is back and tilted on his head, matching his crooked grin.
“What are you doing here?” Maximus’s tone isn’t as cold as it’s been toward Z in the past, but it’s not exactly warm either. “Do you have news?”
Z doesn’t speak until he’s joined us on the lowest level of the lecture hall. “Some,” he answers lightly, shifting his focus to me. “Hello, Kara.”
I offer an awkward wave because Maximus is even more intense now.
“What news?” he presses.
“Just a meeting. One that might go a lot smoother if you joined,” Z replies coolly.
My breath catches. “With who?”
“My brothers happen to be in town. Figured they might want to meet their long-lost nephew.” Z grins then and slaps Maximus affectionately on the arm. “What do you think? Up for a little family time? Get your mind off missing your beloved for a few hours?”
Maximus and I share a knowing look. A meeting including Hades means Z will be negotiating for my safety. For my freedom. And that’s exactly what we need to happen. But it doesn’t mean I need to feel comfortable about it.
“Should I be there too?” I ask.
Z clucks his tongue a couple times. “I think not. Let’s see how this goes, and we can see about introducing you to the in-laws a little later. Sound good?”
“He’s right,” Maximus says to me, skipping clear over Z’s innuendo. “I don’t want you near them until we hear what they have to say. The safest place you can probably be is at the premiere with your mother.” He looks back to Z. “When?”
Z turns his palms up. “Ready when you are.”
Chapter Thirteen
Maximus
We don’t take my truck to Labyrinth this time. After Z pries me away from a final kiss with Kara, he snaps his fingers, and we’re standing in the vestibule of the Olympian watering hole. Outside, there’s still a beach and waves and a cloudless sky. But this time, the surroundings don’t vaguely resemble Ventura. I’m not even sure we’re still in America.
I am sure that I don’t really care. It’s time to focus on the business at hand. No matter what story Z is trying to sell me here, this isn’t a family reunion. It’s a negotiation. That simple. That vital.
Do I wish things were different? Of course. For so long, I’ve begged Mom for the keys to my past. Now they’re just steps away. As easy as sitting down with my father and my uncles, ordering some nectar from the back, and listening as they tell me stories from my childhood. Memories that have been taken from me.
Except even that’s not the important point right now. I’m here to fight for Kara, no matter what it takes.
“Son.”
Instinctively I bristle at the word until better sense takes over. The fortitude in Z’s undertone is exactly what I need right now. I heed him with a silent glance.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Does it matter if I’m not?”
He nods, but it’s just the top of his head. His stubbled jaw is already firmed. “Said the wise kid to his proud dad.”
It’s the boost I need to keep moving forward. By his side, I move through the mullioned glass doors that slide apart on our approach. Beneath the wide, arched doorway and into the main room of the bar, I’m slammed by perception-pounding shock, along with the most unsettling realization.
Walking into the Labyrinth before earned us a few stares, but none like the two men pinning their otherworldly gazes on us. The seasoned surfer and the brooding hellhound, obdurately serene.
And obscenely familiar.
Z and I come upon their slick mahogany bar table.
I stop a couple of paces behind Z like I’ve just run into a cement slab. That fast, my recognition has morphed from shock to outrage.
“You’ve been following me,” I blurt.
Z looks over his shoulder, an eyebrow arched in question.
I jab my chin at the pair before us. “You got past the security gauntlet at Yamashiro. Then the parking garage at my apartment building. Now, here you are.”
Only this place can’t be found with a GPS and doesn’t seem to have bribable doormen. I don’t see the men’s cameras anywhere, which solidifies what I fear to be the truth. They’re not paparazzi working the celebrity beat. They’re my fucking uncles.
“Do I get an answer?” I bite out.
The surfer has a walking cane, its grip carved out between two tines of an ornate trident. He nods toward an open chair. “Why don’t you relax and have a seat?”
My feet refuse to move me an inch closer. “Why don’t you tell me why you’ve been following me for nearly a week?”
“Why the hell do you think? Sit down and quit your posturing.” The hellhound growls it with a sinister energy that matches his crimson three-piece suit. He drums the table, making the blood-colored gems decorating his fingers glimmer in the dim light. I don’t miss the pin on his silk tie either. It looks like a snake wrapped in a cypress leaf. Even in the human realm, nobody could mistake his king-of-hell vibe.
My blood is pounding. My pores are on fire. But there’s nothing in my mind to anchor these feelings to. There’s no validation for this. There’s no memory for this. Nothing except an eerie whisper at the back of my senses. Like it or not, despite the men’s obvious deceit, they are my blood. Outside of Mom, that’s never meant much to me. But as I stand here now, it means more than I ever expected.
Z, pretending not to notice the friction between us, waves to where Honey’s drying off glasses behind the bar. “A round of the good stuff from the back.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, circling the table to take a seat between the two strangers.
“You will be. Soon.” Z lowers into one of the plush chairs like it’s become his personal throne. “Po. Hades. This is your nephew, Maximus. Maximus—”
“I think we’re fine with skipping the introductions,” Poseidon cuts in, though I suspect more to get to the meat of things than to rebuff his brother. He strokes his silvering blond beard, exposing some smaller braids twisted around seashells, before sweeping out his free hand. “Like the boy said, we’ve been keeping an eye on him already. His existence wasn’t exactly a secret.”
“Was news to me, actually,” Hades adds. “Not that I would have cared one way or the other.”
“Now there’s a charming first impression,” Po mutters.
Honey breaks the tension by distributing a small tumbler of dark-brown liquid to each of us. “On the house, fellas.”
Hades snickers. “They always are.”
Honey shrugs. “What can I say? I like to stay in business.”
Po and Z toss half theirs back in single gulps.
Hades takes a more conservative swallow, all the while peering at me over the glass. “You’re not drinking.”
I push the glass away. “I’m not here to drink.”
“No?” He kicks up his brows, black as raven wings, which frame his equally dark eyes. “Then you must be here to discuss the disobedience of one of my subjects.”
“Her name is Kara,” I reply through tight teeth.
Z clears this throat loudly. “Brother, I think you may be overloo
king a detail there.”
“I don’t think I am. She belongs to me, and you’re all here to talk me out of taking what is rightfully mine. It’s boring, gentlemen—and frankly a little pathetic. I have better things to do.”
I ball my fists, the rest of my body tensing as I ready myself to rise and correct him, no matter what it takes.
Kara is mine.
But Z beats me to the argument. “Technically, Kara is only a little more than half your subject,” he offers matter-of-factly. “Human blood runs through her veins too, which means she’s my subject as well.”
Not an inch of my tension relaxes until I finally catch where he’s going with all this. I finally see his very interesting—and hopefully useful—point. At last, I get down a couple of calming breaths.
In the meantime, Hades is impaling my father with a dark glare. “The Valaris are mine,” he utters with lethal seriousness. “Giovani Valari may be human, but he became my subject the moment he crossed the threshold of my kingdom.” He pauses before his tone goes even lower. “I don’t get in the way of justice in your world, Z. Don’t get in the way of it in mine.”
“You misunderstand me,” Z counters. “We’re here, after all, in the middle ground. Everyone wants to sort it out.”
“There’s bound to be gray area from time to time,” Po chimes in. “That’s obviously why Z’s brought us here. I’m sure it’s not for the pleasure of your sunny company, brother.”
Hades snarls and leans forward. Po doesn’t flinch, only anxiously twists the trident in his grasp.
“This isn’t a gray area,” Hades goes on. “The word is disobedience. Lest you’ve forgotten, it means refusing to honor the rules. Neglecting authority. Disregarding your betters.”
Z releases an exasperated sigh. “Fellow deities, it seems you’ve both forgotten an important detail here.” He looks to me, but I’m unclear why. My confusion doesn’t waver his definition. “We make the rules.”
Hades shifts his scrutiny to Z. “And we’ve had thousands of years to make them. If we’re constantly challenging expectations to suit our whims, what is the point of having rules at all?”
Heart of Fire: (Blood of Zeus: Book Two) Page 11
