Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Circe’s fingers brush mine as she plucks the bottle from my hand. She holds my gaze as she takes an equally long pull. It’s only when she passes it back that she speaks. “I’m not interested in fighting you and Hecate. We all want the same thing—yes, yes, different methods and all that.” She waves that away as if it’s a minor disagreement instead of a dichotomy of morals. “I love her. You love her. If we continue down this path, one or all of us will die and nothing will change. Which means we’ll have failed.”
I take a shorter sip this time as I consider her. She’s not entirely wrong, but… “Are you willing to stop killing the Thirteen and the legacy families?”
“Not entirely.” She shakes her head slowly. “I admire the positivity of your plan—whatever it is—but if you exile the Thirteen—especially Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon—it’s only a matter of time before they come sniffing around again. Or their children do. A new government system is a fragile thing. So many of them fail before they have a chance to solidify. Olympus is already going to be faced with steep stakes because this city has spent the entirety of its existence being safe and mostly removed from the rest of the world.” She accepts the bottle and tips her head back, her throat working as she swallows. “Even without the corruption inherent in our system now, we’re likely to fail when facing foreign governments attempting to influence or dominate.”
I don’t drink often, and it’s been hours since I ate last. The soldier in me is demanding I stop now before I lose my regimented constraint. Instead, I take another pull from the bottle. There’s no possible way to taste Circe’s mouth over the burn of the bourbon, but I’m half-convinced I can. “By that logic, it doesn’t matter if we—you—kill them or not. The obstacles are ruinous already. A few extra molehills won’t make a difference.”
“That’s certainly one angle to take.” Her smile widens, and holy fuck, she has a dimple. “I choose another.”
I stare at the divot in her cheek for a beat too long. “You only want them dead for revenge.”
She steps a little too close to take the bottle, and this time, she doesn’t retreat. She drinks deeply and sets it on the counter. “I prefer to call it justice. They’ve more than earned their fates.”
I shake my head, making the room swim. Damn it, I’m drunk. This was foolish in the extreme; it’s like I fucking want to die. “No wonder you and Hecate get along so well. You both talk in circles for your own amusement.”
“Atalanta.” She says my name on a sigh. She slowly reaches up to cup my jaw. Her calluses brush against my skin, and fuck if the reminder that she works despite her socialite appearance isn’t unbelievably sexy. She brushes her thumb over my cheekbone, trailing it down the scar that runs vertically under my right eye. “You said her name. Her real name.”
I guess I did. “Yeah.”
She leans in. She’s a good six inches shorter than me, and she has to tip her head back to maintain her hold on my gaze. “What if we table the discussion on working together for the time being?”
“We were never talking about working together.” A trap. It’s not even a good one, but I’m too tired and buzzed and turned on to care. “But sure. I’ll play. What do you want to talk about instead?”
“I don’t want to talk at all.”
Understanding dawns. I laugh in her face. “So you’ll use sex to manipulate me into seeing things your way? Nice try. It won’t work. Not for me and not for Hecate.”
“I know. I don’t expect you to believe me, but this is just desire. No ulterior motives.” She exerts the tiniest bit of pressure, drawing me down, down, down to my doom.
“You’re right. I don’t believe you.” There’s a laughable amount of opportunity to step away, to put a stop to this, to remember all the reasons why this woman is the enemy. I don’t do any of it. Instead, I grab her hips and pull her flush against my body. “But I don’t want to talk, either.”
I kiss Circe.
23
Atalanta
I am so tired of thinking. Of trying to be seven steps ahead of anyone around me. Years and years of existing as part of the world and separate at the same time I try to save it. Kissing Circe is damn near suicidal, but she tastes like bourbon and warmth and I can’t make myself be logical and noble right now. I just want to feel.
I lift her, not remotely surprised to find her light enough that the move barely pulls on my injured shoulder. There’s a brief moment where the bed calls, but that feels unbearably intimate for what this is. I don’t like this woman. I want her, but I don’t like her. Instead of moving us somewhere more comfortable, I set her on the counter.