by Laura Kaye
Slowly, she made her way to the front door. As her hand gripped the doorknob, fear erupted in goose bumps all down her arms. Last time she’d opened this door, a vengeance-seeking, snake-headed creature from the Underworld had stood there. How much weirder could this whole situation get?
Don’t even ask that. Right.
She pulled the door open and stepped out onto the thankfully empty porch. Late summer heat surrounded her, and the shift from the dimness inside to the brightness outside momentarily stole her remaining vision as her eye adjusted. Counting her paces, she eased herself down onto the top step—no way she wanted to chance the walk to the barn—and then called for Seth. Finn stood watch next to her, his breath a steady pant.
“What’s the matter?” Seth’s voice came from the direction of the lean-to storage area that formed one side of the barn.
The sun’s glare made it hard to track him in the distance. “Why does something have to be the matter? I was just taking a break from the computer and thought I’d see how things were going.”
“Last contractor’s here right now. They should be wrapping up soon. I’m not sure how quickly we’ll be able to get this done, though. Contractors are always busiest this time of year, and with all these storms—”
“Seth?” a voice—Chrys’s voice—called from a distance.
“Be right back,” Seth said.
Laney sat up straighter, her ears straining to hear what they said. Who had Chrys brought with him? When their voices trailed off into the barn, she chanted an internal prayer that Chrys would win over Seth. Maybe ten minutes later, their voices emerged again.
“Come on up,” Seth said. “Let me introduce you to the owner.” Footsteps approached. “Chrys Notos, this is Laney Summerlyn. She owns the farm.”
Laney pulled herself up by the railing next to her.
“You don’t have to get— Here, let me help you,” Chrys said, grasping her other hand.
She didn’t really need the assistance, but she reveled in the opportunity to touch him again. “Thank you. I’m Laney.”
“Chrys,” he said in that deep voice she…really liked.
When the handshake went on for a moment, Seth cleared his throat. Laney dropped Chrys’s hand and met her manager’s gaze. “Chrys is with Olympic Construction, and he has a crew available to start right away,” he said.
“That would be great.” She scanned her gaze between the men. They contrasted like a yin yang symbol, Chrys with his blond waves and golden skin, and Seth with his dark hair and farmer’s tan. Seth wasn’t a small man, by any measure—he could carry her butt, for goodness sake—but Chrys was at least four inches taller, his shoulders broader.
“Based on his estimate and availability, I’d recommend going with Olympic, assuming the references are good,” Seth continued.
“I’d be happy to provide you with some,” Chrys said. A sheet of paper crinkled. “But I hope you’ll be able to decide soon, because we’ve got other customers wanting estimates. With so much work around, my crew won’t sit idle for long.”
Ooh, he’s good.
“Understood.” Seth held out his hand. The men shook. “I’ll give you a call later tonight.”
“That’ll work. Look forward to hearing from you,” Chrys said. “And, Miss Summerlyn, nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as breathy to Seth as it did to her own ears. What the heck was wrong with her, anyway? She was acting like some lovesick teenager. As Chrys’s footsteps retreated down the path, Laney forced normality into her voice. “Well, that’s good news, huh?”
“You’re all flushed. You feeling okay?”
“Sure.” She waved his concern away. In the distance, a truck engine started. Gravel crunched under its tires. “It feels nice being outside after being cooped up all week. Wish I could ride.”
“Don’t even go there. You know the doctor said—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” She hated it, but she did know and she wasn’t going to do anything stupid. “So, what are you thinking?”
“I’ll make some calls and we’ll get this set up if everything checks out.”
“Okay, great.” Bracing against the railing, she hiked herself up a step.
“Damnit, Laney. You’re not supposed to do steps.” He appeared next to her.
“Done, see? I got it.”
He huffed.
“What?”
“I try to help, and I get Miss Independence. Pretty-boy contractor offers you help, and you’re all ‘thaaank youuu,’” he said in a high-pitched sing-song voice.
“I did not do that.” Did I?
He scoffed.
“What are you? Twelve? I was just being polite.” She pushed through the front door and concentrated on the sound of the retreating truck. With Chrys leaving, did he have one of his gods here watching her even now? Man, Seth would go ballistic if he knew…
“You’re doing too much walking.”
“I know. I just needed a break. I’m going a little crazy in here.” Laney took a deep breath and prepared to make nice. “Maybe I’ll try the cane again.” She settled onto the corner of the couch.
“Yeah? I think that’d be good. I can pick it up for you tomorrow.” Her fridge opened and closed. The crack and fizz of a can of soda followed. Proof of how long she’d known Seth. He always just made himself at home.
“Okay,” she said with a yawn. This day had taken more of a toll on her than she’d realized.
“I’m going to drive out to the cottage site before I head home. The builder was out again today and I want to see how things are going. Need anything before I leave?”
“Can you grab my iPhone and ear buds off my desk?” Lying here and listening to a book sounded like another plan she could get behind. Seth returned a moment later. “Thanks,” she said as she accepted the phone from him. Oh, and a soda, too. Always taking care of her.
He kissed the top of her head. “Stay off your feet tonight, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she whispered, her voice stolen by the memory of Chrys kissing her hair before. Her body went hot at the remembered feel of his lips… “See ya,” she managed as Seth reached the door.
The silence rang loud after he closed it behind him.
“Is anybody here?” Laney whispered to the empty room, feeling like an idiot. No response. Crap, until the roof work started, maybe whoever was here to guard her would have to remain invisible. Not relishing that thought, she untangled the cord to the ear buds and heaved a breath.
Her constant lust for Chrys was going to be a problem. But, holy crap, she couldn’t help it. Not only was he hot as hell with his sexy, tousled hair and his piercing green eyes and muscled shoulders you could just imagine holding and gripping, but if men could be beautiful, he truly was. Wholly masculine and utterly sensual at the same time. Like a big cat with its stealthy feline movement that could turn lethal predator in an instant.
Unhelpfully, her mind conjured the feel of his hand holding her wrist, his tongue invading her mouth.
To be with him, just once…
Not freaking likely. Him being a god, and all. A supreme god, thank you very much.
Ugh.
Laney slipped in her ear buds and opened the audiobook application on her iPhone. She stretched her legs out, hit play, and settled back into the comfy cushions. God knew she could use a good escape right about now. And how ironic was it that her novel was more believable than her life?
…
We are running out of time, Boreas thought as he walked back and forth across the living room, Teddy in his arms. The baby was doing everything within his power to resist sleep. His mismatched eyes—one brown and one bright blue, just like Owen’s—would droop until his long, dark lashes spread out on his cheek, then pop back open again. Megan was dead on her feet, so Boreas had sent her to nap. He didn’t mind his grandfather duties one bit.
And, anyway, it gave him a chance to mull over the
problem of Eurus, the Olympians, and the fraternal feud among the Anemoi.
Knock, knock, knock.
Frowning, he approached the door and looked through the spyhole. Tabitha stood on the other side, a covered bowl in her hands. She’d clipped her dark blonde curls up off her neck, but a few tendrils hung down and framed her cheeks, occasionally lifted by the late summer breeze.
She knocked again.
“Boreas?” Megan called. “Who’s there?”
Boreas stepped to the bottom of the staircase and looked up. “I’m sorry, Megan. It’s Tabitha. It looks like she’s here for a visit. I can’t really…” With his fur robes and long white hair and beard, he wouldn’t fit anybody’s definition of normal. He frowned.
“Don’t worry about it. Couldn’t fall asleep, anyway.” Holding the bannister, Megan descended the steps, her large belly leading the way. His granddaughter would be here in two months’ time and, like her older brother, she would also be half human, half divine. Megan reached the bottom and held out her arms. “I’ve got him.”
Teddy roused at the hand-off, gave his mother a big toothy smile, and clamped his little fist around a strand of Megan’s shoulder-length blond hair. Boreas regretted the loss of the little guy immediately. He shifted into the elements, but remained in the room.
Megan tugged the door open and smiled. “Hey, Tabitha. How are you? Come on in.”
The other woman returned the greeting and stepped inside. She smelled of the flowers she loved to tend and of sweetness, like sugar. Boreas guessed Tabitha was in her late thirties or early forties, judging by the laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. He didn’t see them as a flaw. Not at all.
After a few moments cooing over the baby, Tabitha held up the bowl and said, “I made too much peach ice cream, and I know how much Owen loves it.”
Megan shut the door. “You are going to be his favorite person if you keep bringing ice cream over.”
“I’m glad to have someone to try out all these new flavors on. I’m like a kid in a candy store with this ice cream maker.”
Megan led her guest into the kitchen at the rear of the house. “Well, I don’t think you’re going to find a flavor Owen doesn’t like.”
“Good.” Tabitha deposited the container in the freezer. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.” She settled at the kitchen table. Tabitha joined her, crossing one long, tanned leg over the other. “I’m tired, but it’s not too much longer now.”
“Why don’t you let me babysit this weekend so you and Owen can go out? Or, seriously, I’ll watch Ted overnight and you guys could do a little getaway.”
“That sounds like heaven,” Megan said as she settled Teddy into the high chair.
“It’s only going to get tougher with two, right? And I’d love to do it.”
“I’d hate to put you out, though.”
Tabitha scoffed. “You wouldn’t, at all. I’m home by six o’clock on Friday. And I can paint while the baby sleeps.”
Boreas had known she taught art at the community college, but not that she painted. He found himself wanting to ask about her work, watch her as she stood before a canvas and created something from nothing. His ancient guilt over his wife Ori’s death surfaced, closed in, lingered. But it didn’t stop him from wondering about this human woman who fascinated him a little more each time he saw her.
Maybe it is time to move on. It had been more than a millennia since Ori died.
As his thoughts played with this idea, Boreas only half listened to the rest of their conversation. But he watched the woman, her little movements, her expressive face, how she gave Megan all her attention. And he found himself wanting to give in to his interest.
Zephyros’s energy approached.
Go to the basement, Boreas instructed as he materialized in Owen’s office. Ever since the fight with Eurus had escalated last spring, Owen had done his work with WinterWatch Environmental Foundation from his home office as much as he could instead of commuting to the headquarters in downtown DC.
Zephyros appeared next to him.
Owen spun in his desk chair, the large computer monitor casting him in silhouette. “What’s up?” he asked, rising.
“Tisiphone appeared at a human woman’s house this morning looking for Chrys.”
“Why—” Boreas and Owen began at the same time.
“I don’t know the whole story, but Chrys is going to fill us in tonight. I told him to come here. And he’s bringing the woman.”
Owen tugged a hand through his black hair. “Okay. Man, I guess the Olympians are done waiting.”
Boreas nodded. “Either that or this is just Hades sending out a feeler to see if he should force their intervention.”
Zephyros nodded. “Either way, it’s time to finish this.”
Tabitha’s presence moved above him. She was leaving. Boreas’s gaze tracked to the ceiling, where he could imagine her lithe frame in those denim shorts…
“Why don’t you just talk to her?” Owen asked.
Boreas glanced to his son. “What?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” He grinned. “No disrespect intended, my lord.”
Just what he needed, Owen and his brothers wanting to play matchmaker. Boreas scowled and turned to Zephyros. “Should we bring Father in on the meeting?”
Zephyros frowned. “Not yet. Let’s get the whole story and go from there.”
“Very well,” Boreas said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I know a baby who needs his Grampa.” He waited until Tabitha left and the front door closed before materializing in the living room. “My apologies, Megan. I’ll take him. You go back up.”
She pressed a big kiss against Teddy’s neck, making him laugh despite his sleepiness. “Okay, munchkin. Be good for Grampa.” She tilted the boy toward Boreas, and he pulled the little lug into his arms. “And you never need to apologize.” She patted his arm, then turned for the stairs.
Perhaps he didn’t need to apologize but, given all the time he spent here, he did need to make a change. And it was time. Eons past time. “Megan?”
She paused in the middle of the staircase and smiled down at him. “Yeah?”
“After your nap, I was wondering…how are you with a pair of scissors?”
Chapter Eleven
Chrysander could only hope that the god he was about to visit would offer the help he needed.
Passing over his father’s ancestral citadel in Aeolia—yet again devoid of his energy signature—Chrys soared in over the Aegean Sea. The island of Lemnos, now a part of modern-day Greece, took shape in the distance. It was the part-time residence of Hephaestus, god of metallurgy, technology, and craftsmanship. He was the blacksmith to the gods, the maker of all of Olympus’s finest equipment and weaponry, and the father of manufacturing and industry. If anyone could help Chrys with Laney’s roof, it was Hephaestus. In fact, there was no one more overqualified to help.
Only potential snag? He was the estranged son of Zeus and Hera, Olympus’s royal and most holy couple—and signers of Eurus’s death warrant. Chrys was hoping the “estranged” part would cover his butt.
Coming in over the flat expanse of island, Chrys spotted tell-tale plumes of smoke in the distance, where the land turned rougher and more mountainous. Triumph roared through him. Hephaestus’s forge, and the smoke, confirmed he was here rather than at his more impressive palace and workshop on Olympus. He’d taken a chance coming here. Now he just hoped that luck held out.
The god’s compound wound around the base of a mountain. Chrys materialized in a traditional tunic a moderate distance from an ornate iron gate and made his approach on foot. Armored guards blocked his passage.
“I am Notos, Supreme God of the South Wind and Summer and Cardinal Anemoi. I humbly seek council with your master.”
“You are received,” the guards said in unison. They clicked heels and pivoted, creating a space through which he could pass. The gates seemingly opened automati
cally.
Hephaestus’s power radiated from the forge, making it clear where Chrys would find him. The workshop was a huge complex of buildings and workspaces mostly hidden behind a sprawling villa. A smith’s hammer clanked out a steady beat near the tall, pyramidal furnace stack that sat at one end. And that’s where he found Hephaestus, bent over his anvil.
Chrys took a knee and bowed his head.
Several minutes later, the hammering stopped. “Notos. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I request a favor, my lord.”
“Of course you do. Well, rise and let’s hear it, then.” His tone was gruff, but his grey eyes shone with curiosity when Chrys met his gaze.
“I need to right a wrong, and I was hoping you could spare a few of your artisans to assist me. It would be the work of no more than a few days.” Chrys explained the nature of the project.
“And why should I do this for you?” Hephaestus limped around his anvil and eased his hunched frame down onto a bench.
Chrys made sure not to stare at the god’s gnarled hands and twisted feet, for which he’d often been ridiculed and shunned. Being Zeus’s son offered him no protection in that regard. After all, Zeus had exiled him from Olympus for the very same reason. Or so it was rumored. Far as Chrys was concerned though, the dude was totally badass with a hammer, anvil, and a pair of tongs, so more power to him. “It will help me protect someone in danger. And I know there is no one more qualified to help.”
“Bah! Don’t blow smoke up my ass, Notos. Who is in danger?”
“A human. A woman. I crashed through her roof, and she braved a fierce storm to tend to me, despite the fact she cannot see.”
Hephaestus’s head tilted. “She’s blind?” He stroked his dark beard.
“Nearly so, yes,” he said, hope flaring. Hook, line, and—
“Hmph.” Hephaestus rose, a movement that took obvious effort, and retrieved his hammer. Spinning it in his hand, he said, “And what does all this have to do with the death sentence on your eastern brother’s head I’ve been hearing about?”
