So goes the afternoon with Harpoc’s reactions to my exposition continually cracking me up, but no opportunity presents itself to probe into his understanding of whatever language he and the sphinx spoke in, and perhaps, more importantly, whether it’s his secret magic that allows him to know other languages quickly and easily. It’s okay. I can be patient.
As the sun, at last, sends long, orange rays across the field, I turn to Harpoc. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For letting me blather on and on about old and dusty artifacts.”
“I actually found some of your interpretations enlightening. Like the purpose and use of some of the tools.” He wags his brows.
I furrow mine. “Do you know of a different purpose for some?” I’d given him the generally accepted understanding.
He grins as he puts a finger over his mouth and shakes his head.
Then why that reaction? Maybe the sexy dude thinks they look more like sex toys. I snort to myself. But it again feels like he’s hiding something. So what else is new?
His eyes stop dancing, and he glances over the site again. “You ready to go?”
I scan the field one last time, the blue tents a long ways down. It’s been an amazing day, one that I’ll never forget both in watching Harpoc’s reactions as well as—my cheeks warm—ogling his fine, fine bod. Of course, there’d also been the site and its artifacts. I squelch a snicker.
“Yeah, I’m ready.”
I draw my hand behind his back like before and breathe in his citrus and clove scent. It doesn’t feel nearly as awkward as it did the first time.
Watch yourself, Pell. You still don’t know much about him.
I ignore my inner voice as he draws me closer and shadows swallow us.
As before, I shriek as disorientation and darkness scare me shitless for what feels like an eternity and my stomach nearly empties itself.
Cursed tripskipping!
Thankfully there’s no flight involved this time—I won’t ask why. I certainly don’t miss it—because I find myself beside him in my ramshackle motel room. I’m never so glad to see it, smelly carpet, peeling paint, and all, once more. Perhaps there’s a certain charm to it, after all.
But the confines of my small room make things feel weird again as I step out of his arms—I enjoy feeling his firm arms around me, too much.
Snap out of it, Pell.
I head for the safety of my desk to lean against, then turn. “Um… would you care for a drink or something? We can go out for dinner, to a different place tonight.” I want to pepper him with more questions about his secret magic.
He smiles a smile that I’m quickly finding lights me up inside, then straightens the collar of his duster. “Thank you for the invitation, but I need to attend to a few things at home.”
I clear my throat, trying to push back sadness that besets me with those words. “Where is home for you?” I still haven’t placed his accent, and it can’t hurt to ask.
He forces a smile. “As I mentioned before, the less you know about me the better. I had fun today, though. Thank you.”
His eyes look tired all of a sudden, and I bite back the question of why? He said before it would put me in danger, but from who? What’s wrong with knowing more about him? Regardless, his tiredness tells me it’s been a while since he’s played like we did today.
I bite my tongue wanting to ask when… or if… I’ll see him again.
Just stop, Pell. Don’t be needy.
I rub my ring. Is that it, then? Is my opportunity to better understand him and his magic gone?
“Okay then, until later,” he says, then dark shadows swirl around him and he vanishes.
He said “later.” My stomach flutters, and my thoughts start to swirl. Is that definitely “later” or the noncommittal, “later” later? He doesn’t seem the type to flower his words. Wait, no, he said, “until later.” Is that different than just “later”?
Pell, get a grip.
I smile as I again chose to ignore my inner voice.
Who is this guy who’s crawled into my brain and is slowly making me crazy?
Chapter Sixteen
I fight my way inside the flap of the command tent’s undulating blue canvas. The rain has abated over night, but not the wind, and it’s still miserably cold. Welcome to Greece.
“Where’s Jude?” I ask, killing conversation between three of the guys who sit sipping coffee from paper cups at one of the picnic tables.
“And good morning to you, too, Pell,” Terin, the finds manager, says, chuckling.
I frown as I cross over to the coffee carafe perched on the food table alongside paximadi, a hard bread, hummus, yogurt, and fruit. My stomach rumbles in eager anticipation.
“Jude’s at the cistern. Irik dragged him out there first thing. Wouldn’t even let him finish his breakfast.”
I inhale sharply, and my stomach goes hard. “The cistern? Why?” I attempt to keep my tone light and fail.
“No idea.” Terin takes another sip of his coffee.
I grab a cup of coffee and throw a top on it, hastily slather hummus on a piece of paximadi, and stuff it in my mouth before heading back out into the elements.
My thoughts mirror the swirling gusts as I clutch my coffee and chew, sloughing my way through the mud past overturned wheelbarrows and buckets. What’s so urgent to have Irik drag Jude all the way out there before he finished his breakfast?
Harpoc resealed that room. He did. I keep telling myself.
Despite my best efforts, my mind can conjure no possibilities except that Irik has somehow found it, and my stomach twists.
Please, no.
Dust and faint voices greet me
