I want to experience what Harpoc, Mister Ancient Sexy Bod God of Secrets, does in his realm, how he seals secrets, where he hides them, what rules govern them, everything—including why I’m some “special case” when it comes to never having heard about secret magic before—because I plan to stop that damn double standard if it’s the last thing I do. There’s too much suffering and injustice in this world because of it.
He’s a dangerous god. I’ve known it since I met him, but now the notion makes me smile.
I put my hands, one on either side of his face, and smile. “Harpoc, I would be pleased to help in whatever way I can.”
He leans forward, tweaks my nose, smiling, then pecks me on the lips. “Thank you.”
I can’t stop smiling, and my inner voice groans again.
Harpoc floats Midas back to his burial chamber at the heart of the burial mound and we close the place up again.
Standing out front, I say, “I need to get my stuff in Mycenae before we go”—I wave my hands—“wherever it is you call home.”
He chuckles. “I’ve already handled that.”
I furrow my brow.
“I sent them on ahead.”
My mouth drops open. “You knew I’d say yes?” He hasn’t stopped smiling since.
A corner of his mouth quirks up. “I hoped.”
I stuff my hands in my coat pocket, hiding a smile, but as I do a horrifying thought occurs to me. “Harpoc, you’re the god of secrets, I’m—” I look myself up and down. “—I can’t possibly be dressed properly for your… empire.”
Empire. Damn. My heart starts racing.
Lord save me, what have I gotten myself into? I’ve fallen for a freaking god who’s loaded, and I know absolutely noth… thing… about…
My thoughts falter.
Ah! I’m so far out of my element that I don’t even know what I don’t know anything about.
I’m just poor, artifact-and-baklava-loving, sweats-wearing, little ol’ me.
Harpoc chuckles, making me frown.
He wraps his arms around me and draws me against his chest.
Somehow it doesn’t slow my heart. I’m feeling lightheaded; I’m going to have a heart attack.
“I promised I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Do you really think I’d let you be embarrassed?”
“I… I don’t know. I guess not.”
“You hold a rather low opinion of me, I see. We’ll have to remedy that.” His voice is filled with mirth.
He takes two steps back and motions for me to stay put. “Anything in your pockets you need to bring with you?”
I furrow my brow. “What…?”
He repeats his question and I remove all the crap I might need, my phone, Kleenex, a hair band, a rubber band—yep, I’m a real MacGyver—and more, and place it on the ground.
He smiles at the pile of junk. “You’re sure that’s everything?”
“I’m leaving that sheet of plastic.” The one still neatly folded in my coat’s breast pocket.
That makes him guffaw as he shakes his head. “Okay, then close your eyes.”
“Why?”
He holds up a hand, staying my tongue. “Trust me.”
I roll my eyes. Him and trust. Trust and him. But I do as he says and shut my eyes.
I feel his gaze devouring every inch of me, and I want to fidget, at a minimum open my eyes again, but I don’t. Instead I scrunch up my face.
“I promise it won’t hurt either,” he whispers into my ear, making me start.
I didn’t hear him approach.
“A bit jumpy aren’t you?”
I just scrunch my face harder and ball my hands at my sides, tension eating me up.
And then I feel it. The strangest sensation I’ve ever felt, something like a million of those tiny Styrofoam packing beads swirling around my legs and moving higher and higher, to my waist. It’s invasive in not a good way, and I’m glad I’m still wearing my jacket because I don’t do well with invasive; it takes everything I have not to sidestep to get away.
When it continues longer than I can cope, I crack open one eye… and nearly shriek because all I can see is what looks like black smoke swirling in my vision.
I slam my eye shut again and focus on controlling my breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
Then just like that the sensation stops.
“Open your eyes.”
Harpoc’s expression is neutral, but intense, when I do. He’s looking me over.
I glance down to see what he’s looking at and my brow shoots up. I’m in completely different clothes.
My hands investigate the feel of the soft, slate-color leather long coat that’s trimmed with fine black decorative stitching along the lapels. Six silver buttons, three per side, with a design I’m sure means something to Harpoc engraved on each, line either side of the front below that. The bottom of the coat angles from the back to the front adding a feminine touch.
Black leather boots lace up to the knees of my leather breeches, and I find my phone and everything else I took out of my coat, in the pockets, and snort. Of course.
Harpoc’s grinning as I run my hands over it all again. I can’t stop touching it.
“There’s a hood, a nod to your hoodie.”
I twist, and sure enough, glimpse an ample hood, then pull it up and partway across my face. “I can be an assassin in this.”
Harpoc bursts out laughing.
I ooze with excitement and carry on because I’ve never worn something so fine.
He pushes back the hood, then gently brushes my unruly auburn hair behind an ear.
I only barely suppress a shiver at the intimacy, but my stomach’s butterflies are as excited as me and take flight.
“You like it?” There’s desire in his eyes as he holds me, a hand on either
