Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
The silence stretches between us, growing strained and awkward. I motion to the door leading outside. “Shall we eat?”
“I suppose.” He cautiously follows me across the lovely little paved walkway to the main house. He’s so tense, as if he’s ready to jump forward and catch me should I stumble. But that’s a fanciful thought. Poseidon might have taken care of me, but he doesn’t ultimately care about me. I can fight for that to change, but it’s entirely possible he’ll still throw me to whichever enemy requires the sacrifice of my life—especially if it means his people have a better chance of living.
It’s what I would do. You can’t be loyal to everyone, so you have to choose wisely.
I’ve set up a haphazard seduction in the kitchen. In another time and place, there would be candles across every surface, soft music playing in the background, and delectable desserts designed to be foreplay. Best I can tell, though, Poseidon only keeps what’s strictly necessary on hand. I suspect whoever his cook is buys a week’s worth of ingredients and then cooks them all into meals that can be reheated for him and the revolving number of his people who stay in the guesthouse.
As such, I only found one half-burned tea light, a dusty bottle of wine, and some lasagna ready to be reheated. It’s hardly my finest work, but the shock on Poseidon’s face makes me wonder if anyone’s ever done something like this for him. Surely they have. He’s handsome and powerful and shows every evidence of not being a complete monster. He should be beating prospective spouses off with a club. And yet in all our research of the Thirteen, he’s never been publicly attached to anyone.
“What is all this?”
I grab the first plate of lasagna and slide it into the microwave. “Dinner, obviously.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. Why are you going through all this effort? It’s not necessary. You’re as safe as it’s possible to be in Olympus right now.”
It’s really cute that he thinks so, but if he’s not lying to me, he’s far more naive than I would have thought. I’m not safe. All it will take is Zeus demanding my head, and there’s not a whole lot Poseidon could do. He’s one of the other legacy titles, so theoretically he could push back and actually be successful, but why would he? He owes me nothing. At least…not yet.
A few minutes later, we have two steaming plates of lasagna in front of us and I’ve managed to wrestle out the cork of an expensive bottle of merlot so I can pour us two glasses. Poseidon is still staring at the food as if he expects it to be poisoned, but before I can decide if I should address that, he takes a tentative bite.
I wait while he eats for a few minutes, allowing him to settle in and relax. A little. This man doesn’t seem to relax completely…ever. There’s no reason for that to make my chest feel funny. Just because he’s a palatable enemy doesn’t make him any more of an ally.
I sit back and sip my wine, determined to see this plan through. “I thought we could play a game.”
“A game.” He sets his fork down carefully and appears to give me his full attention. “Now we get to the heart of why you’ve gone through all this effort. There’s no point in making it a game. Be direct and ask for what you want.”
Be direct? The very idea is laughable. If I tell him I intend to seduce him so he’ll be emotionally compromised and therefore keep me safe, he’s liable to haul me back to the guesthouse and lock me in again. Better to circle around until I can come at this from an angle I’m sure will give me the advantage.
I smile and take another sip of my wine. It is quite good, full-bodied and dry on my tongue. “My only aim is to get to know you better. You’re something of an enigma, and since you’re my captor, I would like to learn everything I can about you. I propose we ask a question for a question. I have information that you want, I guess, for all the good it’ll do you. And I’m curious about you. It’s win-win from where I’m sitting.”
“A question for a question.” He seems intrigued for a beat, but then he shakes his head. “No matter what you say, I can’t guarantee you’ll be honest. There’s no point to this game.”
At this juncture, I have no reason to lie. Withholding information will just convince him I know nothing that’s useful. I’m not certain my information is useful, but the time for secrets has long since passed. It sailed away with my sister. Maybe if I’d been honest with her from the beginning, we wouldn’t have reached that point where the choice was to potentially watch the only person I care about in this world be cut down or to sacrifice myself so she has a chance at happiness. Secrets have a way of breeding complications.