Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
There’s nothing about him that’s impressive. There’s sure as fuck nothing about him that’s worthy of Ariadne.
I’m under strict instructions not to murder any of the Thirteen until the barrier comes down, but I’m tempted to defy that order here and now. The final bar we’ve ended up in is the most threadbare of the bunch. The floors beneath my feet are sticky, the barstools appear to be in danger of collapsing under the next patron, and the booths near the back are bathed in shadows that invite shady dealings. It’s one of those booths Dionysus has retreated to. I can’t see him from my current position, but I can see the back door. He won’t get away without my knowing it.
The bartender—a short, plump person with a bald head, pale skin, and star freckles tattooed across the bridge of their nose—stops in front of me and sets down a tall glass of beer. I frown at them. “I didn’t order this.”
“Compliments of the owner.” They jerk a thumb toward the booth Dionysus disappeared into.
Son of a bitch. To not drink is cowardly. To drink is foolish. I’ve witnessed how many substances this man has access to. Surely some of them are deadly. While I’ve been considering taking him out, he might have been watching me watch him and thinking the same thoughts.
Only one way to find out.
I pick up the beer and walk to the booth where Dionysus is slouched. He doesn’t flinch at my presence, but judging from how dilated his eyes are, that might be because he’s incapable of sensing the danger he’s in.
“So. It is you. I thought I saw a hulking monster shadowing my steps. Very spooky.”
“It’s me.” I survey him just like I’ve been surveying him all day. It doesn’t matter what angle I come at this from. The truth is that I don’t understand him. As far as I can tell, he’s the personification of all of Olympus’s vices. Selfish and indulgent and completely oblivious to the danger all around him.
Dionysus heaves himself forward and braces his elbows on the table. He seems to be making an effort to study me back, but he keeps getting distracted with other things. The hazy light hanging over the booth. The spill of some liquid near his elbow. His nearly empty glass. Finally, he sighs. “Have you come to kill me?”
If I were a different person, everyone’s willingness to believe I’m there to murder them might irk me. But I’ve spent my entire life cultivating a reputation that is not to be fucked with. When people think you’re too dangerous to cross, they don’t cross you. Even Minos, who has held my leash for half my life, hesitates to yank it too hard. That’s just the way I like it.
“Well?”
The truth is I don’t know why I’m here. I might not like him, and I certainly don’t understand him, but as long as Ariadne is engaged to him, I know exactly where she’s at. It gives me leverage that I fully intend to use. “I’m not going to kill you…yet.”
“How comforting. Cheers.” He raises his glass and drains the dregs. I have to fight not to wince at how thick they look. Surely that can’t taste good, but it doesn’t seem to faze him in the least. He raises his dark brows. “You haven’t touched your drink, friend. For someone who doesn’t seem to have much respect for me, you sure act like I’m a threat.”
“I’m not your friend.” I can’t tell if he’s provoking me with the intention of making me look like a fool or if he really has poisoned me. No, I’m thinking like an Aeaean, not like an Olympian. They fight their battles with words and public perception, not with knives and poison.
At least they do since the last Zeus died.
I hold his gaze and drain my beer in a single drink. I’m mildly irritated to discover it’s the best beer I’ve ever had. This man might be a fuckup in a number of ways, but he knows his alcohol. I set the glass on the table with a clink. “You’re set to marry Ariadne.”
“That’s what they tell me.”
I wait for some kind of gloating or pride or even lust, but he seems completely indifferent to his pending nuptials. “You act like you didn’t choose it.”
“I didn’t. If I had my way, it would be the permanent bachelor life for me. Don’t have much interest in marriage or relationships in general, and Dionysus isn’t a legacy title, so there’s no need for me to procreate.” He shudders delicately. “Thank the gods.”
“Then why do it?” I don’t know why I’m asking him. It doesn’t matter why he’s doing it, only that he is. If he doesn’t want to get married, perhaps that’ll save Ariadne from being put in a position where she has to sleep with him. I don’t know what she would do if that choice was before her. I sure as fuck don’t like thinking about it. “If you try to force her—”