She managed to nod, somehow found the strength to tear her gaze from her arms and lift it to meet his.
His eyes were blue. Warm blue. Calm blue.
She focused on them as she followed him, taking unhurried deep breaths before exhaling them just as slowly. The panic subsided as she fell into rhythm with him.
“Good. That’s good.” He smiled for her. Not a grin, or the sort of smile that accompanied a joke. It was soft. Serious. Alluring. “Just keep breathing. You remembered something, right?”
She nodded.
“That’s good… Now let it go. Whatever you remember, just let it go right now.” He lifted one hand to her forehead and smoothed it over her brow. “Whatever is going on up here, it needs a little more time. You just want to keep ticking over until your mind feels ready… until you’re stronger. Believe me, I know. Blacking out is my talent.”
His smile stretched a little wider.
Lured her a little closer.
“You forget things too?” She swayed towards him and then away again when she realised what she was doing and panic shot through her.
She couldn’t trust him. He had made out that he couldn’t trust her, not until he knew more about her and was sure of her. That went both ways. Until she knew more about him, and about his brothers, and had some answers, she wasn’t trusting anyone.
“All the time. I find it best not to think about it.” The sorrowful edge his eyes gained told her that he wanted to think about whatever he kept forgetting, that it hurt him when he couldn’t remember things. He looked at his hand where it had fallen to rest against her cheek and cleared his throat as he edged backwards, away from her, and dropped his hand from her face. “You, ah… you seem fine now.”
He looked around the room and then back at her.
“You want some food? Keras probably has something fancy in the fridge.” He moved away from her, heading for a door off to her left, between two dark oak bookcases.
Marinda took in her surroundings again. “You live here?”
He scoffed as he paused near the door to look back at her. “Hell, no. Well, sometimes.”
And she had the feeling he didn’t particularly enjoy the times he did live here.
“It’s my brother’s place.” He glanced around the lavish room and shrugged stiffly, as if trying to let something that was bothering him roll off his back and failing dismally. “It’s not that fancy.”
Was he jealous of this home his brother had? Or upset about it? She wasn’t sure, but the guarded edge his expression gained warned her he didn’t want to talk about it.
Marinda hugged her cello closer to her chest as she tried to imagine how expensive everything in the room was. The chandelier alone had to be worth thousands of euros.
Her father had worked tirelessly to be able to afford the cello she clutched and had tried to give her everything, working his fingers to the bone.
She bet the one who owned this place, and even the man waiting for her in the doorway, wanted for nothing. Whatever they wanted, they could just buy it. Because they were gods?
“So, food?” He smiled again, another easy one that held no real emotion, looked designed to placate and please.
She shook her head. “I’m not really hungry. I’m not really… anything. I think I should feel all these things, but… I don’t. Or maybe I don’t know what to feel because I don’t know what to think.”
He eased a step back into the room, his smile fading. “I get that. Right now, you’re probably spinning. I didn’t help. I’m not sure if I dragged you into this mess… or if… I want to trust you.”
But he couldn’t, just as she couldn’t trust him. He might be with the enemy, the ones who had killed her father—the ones who were after her. In his eyes, she might be with his enemy. Whoever they were and whatever they wanted.
His face twisted, he ran a hand over his hair and shook his head. “I sound so damned grave and serious.”
She preferred him that way. To her, everything right now felt grave, solemn—dark. She had never been one to take things lightly. She had always approached life in a more serious manner, valuing things like hard work, study and making an effort in any given situation. Doing things to the best of her abilities.
The gravity of her situation wasn’t lost on her, was at the forefront of her mind. It was no time for jokes. Her father had been murdered. Someone was targeting her. And she might have… she didn’t want to think about that street and what had happened there.
“Food will do you good. Fuel in your belly. Always cheers me up.” He cracked another smile, marking a difference between them that had her feeling as if they were polar opposites, and that it wasn’t a good thing.
Part of her knew he was trying to lighten the mood and brighten her spirits.
The rest of her was deeply aware that they couldn’t be more different.
Did he ever take things seriously?
“I don’t mind staying here from time to time. Not really. But Keras can be… difficult.” He chuckled, the sound coming from the other side of the door. “He says the same about me all the time, but at least I’m not denying my feelings, bottling them up rather than acting on them.”
Marinda rested the cello case against the end of one of the cream sofas and followed him. More pieces of tonight came back to her. This man, Calistos if she was right, had mentioned someone to the one called Keras.
Enyo.
Keras hadn’t been happy about the mention of that name.
And then he had done something that astounded her.
He had disappeared.
“If you ask me, it’s dumb, and everyone is a bit tired of him snapping at us whenever someone brings her up, or she pays a call to Marek to help us. Keras needs to cut loose from time to time, take a leaf out of my book for a change.”
Which led Marinda to one conclusion.
This man didn’t place much value on love, and he took pleasure where he could get it.
In other words, he was a player.
He poked his head around the door and grinned at her. “Coming?”
Did he really take nothing seriously?
She stared into his eyes.
Or was it all an act to conceal that pain she could feel in him?
Chapter 9
“Calistos?” Marinda stepped into the bright, large kitchen.
“Yeah?” He didn’t take his head out of the huge double refrigerator that stood against the right wall of the kitchen, at the start of the white cupboards.
So his name was Calistos then. The first piece of information she filed away. The first of many she was determined to get before the night was through. She needed to know if she could trust him.
And if he could help her.
“You mentioned you were from the… Underworld.” Something she was still finding difficult to believe, even when she now knew that she had been there.
That black-walled bedroom she kept seeing had been in that dark realm.
“Yup.” He twisted away from the refrigerator and dumped an armful of ingredients onto the black marble counter of the enormous island. He rifled through them and then paused and lifted his head, looking at her. “You got questions about it?”
She nodded.
He waved a hand towards the stools on the other side of the island to him. “Take a seat. I’ll answer any you have, if I can… provided you do the same for me.”
Marinda nodded again. She couldn’t really remember much so she didn’t have much she could tell him. She was getting the better end of the deal.
She removed her dirty, sodden coat and tried to figure out where to put it. Everything was immaculate. Wherever she chose to put it, she would ruin something.
She settled for holding on to it, trying to ignore how wet it was and how it chilled her.
Calistos rounded the island, took it from her and tossed it onto a Queen Anne wooden dining chair that she hoped wasn’t an antique.
He caught the grimace on her
face as he turned away from the dining table and shrugged it off. “Keras would just get them re-covered. He might burst a blood vessel about it, but it’s on me… and him. I wanted to take you to London.”
Marinda paused halfway through pulling one of the black and gold stools out from under the lip of the island and looked at him. “London?”
He nodded. “That’s my gaff. I rule it.”
Like a king? She doubted that, almost called him on his choice of words, but didn’t think it would have any effect if she did. He looked pleased that he apparently ruled London.
London.
Where her father and Cass had told her to go.
That feeling that this was the god her father had seen her with, the one she was meant to trust, increased, stirring a need to know more about him and this world she had fallen into, one where she strangely felt she belonged.
She pushed up onto the stool as he rounded the island again and watched him as he sorted through the hoard of vegetables, packaged meat and other products he had scattered across the black counter.
“I’d offer you a glass of wine, but no booze allowed.” He shrugged, rolling toned shoulders beneath his dark green T-shirt.
“Like no human medicine.” She canted her head and studied him closely.
He nodded as he put several ingredients aside.
“Messes with us.” He flicked her a glance. “Might mess with you too.”
Marinda shook her head. “I’ve had wine. No ill effect other than a hangover that made me regret giving in to peer pressure.”
He turned his back to her, went to the cupboards on either side of the stove, and rifled through them. “Did it at least taste good? I mean, I’ve had ambrosia, and that was… a real kick. Is it like ambrosia?”
She wasn’t sure what ambrosia was, so she shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I like talking to you.” He slapped a few cans down on the counter of the island and grinned. “Get the feeling you’re honest.”
She liked talking to him too, mostly because this all seemed so normal, and it was making her forget what had happened only a few hours ago.
And also because he was the first man she had met who she felt comfortable talking to. In fact, she didn’t feel nervous at all.
“Ah…” He scratched his chin and planted his other hand against his hip, his eyes on the ingredients. A slow smile curled his lips and his blue eyes glittered with mischief as they landed on a package of duck breasts. “Keras would throw a fit, using his fancy food for this… but how about cassoulet?”
Her heart missed a beat.
Sorrow flooded her, cold and numbing.
Tears stung her nose and the backs of her eyes.
“Did I say something wrong?” His face fell.
She shook her head. “No. Just, my father used to make me cassoulet when I was younger, whenever I’d had a bad day.”
And the last few days had been the worst of her life.
She didn’t want to cry, but the thought of someone making her favourite comfort food for her right now had the tears threatening to come.
“Well, I guess today qualifies as a bad one.” He looked as if he might smile, and then he turned away from her and pulled some drawers out, gathering pans he set on the stove. He didn’t know the half of it. “I… uh… you know my name and—”
“Marinda.” She managed a small smile when he looked back at her. “Marinda Pelletier.”
“Calistos. Just Calistos. But you can call me Cal.” He cracked a grin. “Calistos is what I get called when someone is pissed at me. Ninety percent of the time, Keras is the one calling me that.”
From what she recalled about his brother, she could see why. Keras had come across as a serious type, much like her. She had always wanted a sibling, but she couldn’t imagine having one as easy going and playful as Calistos.
Maybe it was a little big brother syndrome too. Keras had looked close to forty, maybe even over forty, while Calistos looked no older than thirty. She imagined a ten-year age gap probably made Keras protective of his younger brother.
Calistos opened all the ingredients, lifted the oil to put it in the pan, and then looked over his shoulder at her. “Before I do this, I need you to do something.”
She frowned at him, curiosity running through her. “What?”
“Swear you won’t ever tell my brothers what you witness here. It’ll be our secret. None of them think I can cook.”
Why would he want to keep that from them?
He didn’t look as if he was going to proceed without her agreeing, so she nodded. He turned his back to her and went to work.
Marinda ran over the things her father had said, using the time Calistos wasn’t facing her to think about Papa and what had happened. She didn’t want Calistos seeing the tears in her eyes, or how deeply her heart hurt as she tried to focus on what her father had told her and shut out the images of him that accompanied his words.
The thing that stuck with her was the fact that all those bedtime stories he had told her apparently weren’t stories at all. They were things he had seen. It still sounded incredible, and impossible. She had loved those tales, listening to him talking about warriors who had sounded like superheroes to her back then, people who were capable of incredible feats and had awesome powers.
If she remembered those stories correctly, she could use them to confirm that her father had been telling the truth and he had been able to see the future. It would go a long way towards making her feel more comfortable around Calistos, and would make it easier for her to believe him and the things she had learned so far.
She picked a place to begin at as Calistos seared the duck breasts and sausage, and the other meat he had found in the refrigerator. The smell of it was already delicious, transporting her back to better days.
She had talked to her father in their cramped kitchen while he had cooked, unburdening her heart. Now she was going to do the same with this man, and hopefully at the end of their conversation, she would believe the things that were happening to her.
“You have six brothers.”
He spun to face her, an incredulous edge to his eyes as he stared at her. “What did you just say?”
She swallowed, suddenly realising that she probably should have explained a few things first since he wasn’t sure whether she was working for his enemy.
“My father told me about you when I was young. I remember the stories… Although I thought they were just that—stories.” She tensed when his eyes narrowed on her, her pulse jacking up despite her attempts to remain calm. Getting flustered was only going to make her appear nervous and even more suspicious. “He said they were the future. I didn’t believe that… but now that I’m thinking about them. You have six brothers… don’t you?”
He nodded, lowered the spatula and looked as if he wanted to say something, but wasn’t quite sure where to begin.
She beat him to speaking. “Gods who come from a dark realm. Each with incredible powers. With a mission… What was it now… oh… Something about… protecting people. Normal people. People of this world.”
“Mortals,” he said, his tone dark, as serious as she had ever heard it. “But not just mortals. We’re protecting both worlds.”
His eyes narrowed on her, suspicion glimmering in them.
“I’m telling the truth. I don’t lie, and I’m not with your enemy. I don’t even know who your enemy is.”
“Well, for one, there’s a few unknowns among them, and the biggest one is female.”
She scowled at him. “And you think I’m her?”
His frown eased. “No. I don’t know what you are.”
She leaned towards him. “My mother came from the… Underworld. Papa told me. She died when I was born.”
“Any idea what species she might have been?” He took a step towards her.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I was human.”
That calculating edge entered his eyes again.
“When we
met in the hospital… What am I asking? You drank the waters.” He sighed. “Do you remember any of what happened?”
She frowned as she thought about that night. Her memory of it was still patchy, things still coming back to her. “Some things. Bits and pieces.”
“Do you remember me speaking a foreign tongue?” His stormy eyes searched hers.
Marinda pursed her lips and lowered her focus to the kitchen island as she went over everything she could remember about that night and frowned again as something came to her.
She tilted her head back and met his gaze. “I do. I remember you speaking Russian or Greek or something.”
“Did it hurt you?” His fingers flexed and he lifted his hand, hesitated, and then scrubbed it around the back of his neck.
Had he wanted to touch her?
She shook her head. “I remember other people being in pain… Wait. That was because you spoke that language?”
He nodded and his expression turned awkward. “I’m not meant to speak it in this world.”
“I didn’t understand it… but then when you took me to the Underworld, I could understand you.”
He shrugged. “Everyone in my realm understands it. Like a universal translator in the air or something. I don’t know how it works. What’s important is that it didn’t hurt you in this world.”
This time, her eyes searched his. “What does that mean?”
“You’re definitely not human. Only people from the Underworld aren’t hurt by it. My brothers for example. Gods and goddesses. Hellspawn… breeds that live in the Underworld.”
That was no comfort at all. She felt human. She felt the same as she had before. No. She didn’t. She wanted to feel the same as she had before her father had died, but she didn’t, and she wasn’t sure it was just the trauma of losing him that had her feeling different.
Calistos: Guardians of Hades Series Book 5 Page 9
