Page 21 of The Demigod Complex
Castor’s eyebrow hitched. “That kiss downstairs—so out of character for you in too many ways to count—tells me you’re terrified of him.”
She shifted on her feet but couldn’t look away because of how he held her. “I just didn’t expect to see him. Now that I know, I’ll be ready. I’ll be fine.”
He scowled. “There’s that word again. Fine isn’t good enough.”
Castor released her, stalked to the wet bar, and got out strong whiskey. If she didn’t know him better, she would say he was furious. No. That idea was ridiculous. Castor in a rage brought lightning, and none was coming. Not even static electricity.
“Are you afraid of him?” He poured a couple of fingers in two glasses, picked them up, and crossed the room to her.
She took the glass he offered, took a sip, and made a face as the sharp taste of alcohol hit her tongue. “There’s nothing Kaios can take away from me now. And with my own personal superhero around as a bodyguard, he can’t hurt me.” She tipped back the rest, coughing at the sensation of the fumes burning the hairs out of her nose.
“I’m hardly a superhero.” He muttered the words before he tossed back his own.
She wondered if he was thinking of his wife’s demise. Leia had never learned the details beyond that he’d had a wife who was gone. But, as a demigod, did he blame himself? Or had she been human, and he’d had to watch her go?
Either situation was heartbreaking. Still, he wasLeia’shero. If his heart for the people he helped hadn’t won her over, the way he tried to protect her now would’ve sealed the deal. Not that she’d ever tell him. Even if he had kissed her back, he wouldn’t want it. She was his assistant only.
Instead she waved a hand. “I can handle a werewolf.” Maybe. “Besides, demigod trumps werewolf every time.”
He choked out a rare, rusty-sounding laugh. “Don’t let them hear you say that.”
She dredged up a smile and handed him her glass. “I think I’ll take a nice long bath if you don’t mind.”
As she turned away, he called her name. She looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in question. “I won’t let him hurt you tomorrow, Lyleia.”
The unmistakable sincerity in his voice was almost her undoing. “Thanks,” she managed around the lump taking up permanent residence in her throat. She made her escape to the bathroom with more haste than grace. Whiskey was her kryptonite, and as the kiss Castor laid on her downstairs combined with the affection in his gaze just now, she was fighting the urge to wrap her body around his. If she could get through the next few days without making a total idiot of herself—or dying—maybe she’d rethink the direction her life should take after this.
Whatever that was.
Chapter Eight
Castor waved away the waiter who’d wheeled in a cart of food with a gruff “thanks” and fiddled with the placement of what he’d ordered, setting the items up on the coffee table before moving the cart out of the way.
Stupid to feel edgy. He was the son of Zeus, a successful and very rich man with a mostly fulfilling life. And he was about to make a romantic gesture.
Nerves strung tight through him, making him as edgy as a nymph at one of Dionysus’s orgies.
Leia had been in that bath for ages. Damn tempting to join her but making a move on her tonight would be the worst possible timing. Yes that kiss had given him hope—until she’d stated it was a ruse at least—but with everything she was dealing with, all because of him, only an asshole would try something.
This was about Leia.
She’d looked so fragile, her pale skin practically translucent, only emphasizing dark circles under her eyes, as she’d gone into the bathroom. Trying so hard to be brave, but werewolves were fucking unpredictable and dangerous because of it, and this one clearly had it in for her.
To have to face him…
Castor shook his head and tweaked one of the dishes into a better position. He hoped. Aesthetics for an airplane were more his thing than arranging a relaxing meal.
“What’s this?”
He turned and his nerves settled at the sight of her. Dry, wrapped in a white terry cloth bathrobe, something black and silky peeking out the bottom, and damn appealing, her blond hair a cloud around her face.
“How do you do that?” he asked.
Now he was turning into her with the non sequiturs.
“Do what?”
“Come out dry and…perfect.” He couldn’t stop his voice from dropping on the last word.
