Rise of the Blood

went to bed last night. That’s right, I said “we” and “bed”. Couldn’t wait to see the look on my mother’s face when she heard we were sharing a room or the inquisition my father was likely to unleash on Nick. Nick, I had to practice that. Bad enough we’d be shacking up. If I couldn’t even convince my family we were on a first name basis….

“I can’t kick the thought that I’m forgetting something important.”

Then it came to me. Oh, Hermes’s hairy arse—it wasn’t the thought I had to kick, it was the habit. The ambrosia. I still hadn’t thought of a way to take it with me. Without it—sweats, shakes, loss of concentration, cramps, pain and a better than average chance of death. So, nothing serious then.

“Me!” Came an announcement from the doorway to the apartment. “You’re forgetting me. But now I am here, and all’s right with your world.”

Oh hell to the no. Jesus?

I stared at him and his flaming-red luggage.

“How did you get in?”

“Nick buzzed me up.”

I looked at Nick.

“I did ask first, but you were sort of…frantic at the time.”

“But…but…” I stopped, took a deep breath and said, “Jesus, you are not going to Greece with us. I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t fit in my carry-on. Hell, I’m not even sure your personal items would fit in my carry-on.”

“Not to worry.” From the man-purse slung over his shoulder, he produced a colorful piece of paper with a barcode. It looked suspiciously like a boarding pass. “I have my own ticket.”

“But—”

“You said that.”

“But—”

“Chica, it does not bear repeating. Apollo said that he had it covered, and he does. I am here to run your interference.”

“What interference?”

“At the airport.”

I could feel steam about to come out of my ears. If I built up any more, I could power my own way to Greece. I gave him my dead stare, the one that brooked no resistance…if only my power ran that way. “Why would there be interference at the airport?” I asked through clenched teeth. One more evasion and I was going to blow.

Jesus cut his gaze to the side, a sure sign that he was about to prevaricate.

“Tori,” Nick cut in, “I think he’s going to have to explain on the way. Our cab’s here.” He looked up from his phone to me. I hadn’t even heard the alert, I’d been so focused on Jesus.

“Fine, but this isn’t over,” I said, trying to impress it on him with my look. Hard to do when he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I nearly gave myself a hernia swinging my carry-on over my shoulder. I was no wilting flower, but somehow by the time I was through loading it up with all my electronics, enough books to get me through umpteen excruciating hours spent in airports and on planes, and things like jewelry I couldn’t risk putting in checked luggage, it weighed a ton. Armani—Nick, dammit—didn’t risk a direct hit with it by offering his manly muscle.

He did, however, hold the door for us all, and I allowed it. After all, I’d have done the same for him, only he got there first.

I held my questions until we got into the cab—Jesus chose to sit up next to the driver, so my laser-like stare had no effect on him. I had to make do with my words. “Spill,” I ordered.

He looked back at me over his shoulder. “This is your interrogation technique? Spill? I think I deserve a bit more effort.” He crossed his arms over his chest and turned back around.

“Would you like me to move on to threats? I can, you know, starting with your job.”

Jesus gasped and gave me the stink-eye in the rearview mirror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I nudged Nick, who sat beside me in the back merely watching with amusement. The cabby, for his part, was still trying to fit our luggage into the trunk. The car rocked as he finally slammed the trunk shut and climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Oh, I don’t think there’s much she wouldn’t dare,” Nick said, catching on to his cue. “You’d better tell her. You know she won’t leave it alone until you do. She’s like a…um…a PI with a lead.”

He’d been about to say “a dog with a bone”, I just knew it. Lucky for him he’d held back.

Jesus sighed dramatically, the way he did everything. “Okay, but if he asks, you beat it out of me.”

I grinned. “We could make it very convincing.”

Jesus stuck his tongue out at me. Then he made me wait. He adjusted his seat, his belt, his cuffs, he cleared his throat, and just as I was about to launch myself over the center console and throttle him, he finally condescended to answer. “You know how Apollo said he was going to put to rest those rumors about you and him being you and him?”

“Yes,” I said, wondering what that had to do with Jesus and Greece.

“Well, he has a plan.”

A public affairs rep from the airline descended on us the second we set foot out of our cab. She snapped her fingers at someone behind her before we could so much as wrestle our luggage to the curb. I glanced over at Jesus, sure I saw Apollo’s fingerprints all over the suspicious red carpet treatment, but he only smiled and shrugged. Goldilocks, because that was how I was going to think of the blonde in the shapeless blue suit, seemed in a horrible hurry to get us off the sidewalk, past the crowd I could see gathered just inside the doors, and through security.

When the mob shifted, I understood exactly why.

Apollo’s plan apparently involved nearly six stunning feet of brunette bombshell. Only part of that height came from her sky-high rhinestone heels…or were those diamonds? Surely not diamonds. Whatever they were, there was no question about the breasts currently defying gravity in her strappy silver gown more suited for walking the red carpet than catching a flight. Although, perhaps that was what one wore in first class. I wouldn’t know.

Most stunning of all, she wore the ultimate accessory—Apollo Demas, looking more gorgeous than I’d ever seen him before, and that was saying something. He was dressed all in black—shirt, tie, suit, wingtips. His leonine golden hair stood out against it like the rays of the sun. His turquoise eyes were even bluer in contrast. And the glint in them as they gazed down on the bronzed beauty beside him and up again at the cameras flashing all around was luminous. Not to mention devastating.

I looked to Jesus. “Tell me they’re not on our flight,” I growled quietly, trying not to attract any attention as we veered very widely around the paparazzi pile-up.

He avoided my gaze.

“Tell me,” I repeated.

“I can’t,” he said. To his credit, he sounded like he felt badly about that. “He’s apparently coming out of retirement to do a very special film. There’s some wealthy financier putting up a lot of the money for it, hoping it’ll help revitalize the Greek economy. I think maybe you know him—Hector Papadopolous.”

“Uncle Hector?” I asked, stunned.

“Is he?” Jesus asked disingenuously.

“Let me guess,” I continued, “Brunette Barbie is Apollo’s co-star.”

“Serena Banks,” he said, with something like awe in his voice. “Hottest thing to hit Hollywood since…since maybe ever.”

He blushed at the glare I sent him. “I’m just saying,” he continued lamely.

I felt a pang of envy, which was as selfish as it was stupid. I’d wanted Apollo to move on, and yet… And yet what? There was no and yet.