Page 34 of Hercules

Because Polo Pony could braid solid gold strands into his mane for all his rightness.

The sneaky little operative…she wasn’t running her own show. It was obviously, obtrusively clear—to the point that he called himself ten kinds of an idiot for not clicking the circuits together before now.

The efficiency of the SWAT-style “drop-in” at DeLux’s atrium. The speed and efficiency at which she’d been coming at them ever since, especially the unexpected antics here. Then the additional factors, like the formidable fires in her glare, the athletic fluidity of her moves—and the detailed intel that’d allowed her to show it all off to them at close range.

Shit.

“As thoroughly as my ass would love your juicy smooch, adelfós, bigger concerns prevail.” Apollo’s own hands coiled atop his haunches. “I have to make sure this woman survives. And you have to make sure that one does.”

Before Herc could process that his brother had lifted a hand and swept it around, indicating at Lois, Apollo already drew an outline of blinding gold flames to encompass them both. Spark strings that became the instant modeling clay for the woman’s apprehension.

“Okay, cut. Cut,” she yelled, pumping her hands up and wide. “We did this ditty already, gentlemen. Not a chariot ride we’ve got to take again!”

“Clever.” Apollo’s rejoiner was impressively—and thankfully—swift. “But inapplicable. The chariot’s taking off, Ms. Lance. And you’re our VIP passenger.”

“Seriously? When my actual chariot is right outside the door?” She huffed so hard a fresh flush suffused her cheeks. “Especially when we all can agree I’m not the mortal you guys need around anymore? Come on, guys. Let’s just unhook the horses and cut to the better chase. Roll out your nondisclosure clause, or Olympus pinky swear oath, or mind-erasing jinxy words…whatever you need to know I won’t run to the gossip outlets about any of this, okay? And then we can all—”

“No.”

Herc’s interruption snapped her head up. The fire ropes reflected in her eyes, underlining her irritation. “What—”

“Apollo’s right.” He grunted and glanced in his brother’s direction. “A rare thing, but sometimes shit aligns.”

“And now you’re right.” Lois sniffed again. “Because this smells like a pile of steaming bullsh—”

“Careful.” His new intrusion blazed her glare hotter than Apollo’s force fields. He tried to be troubled as to why he wanted to cock a grin in return. That’d just notch her hotter, right? So the point was what, again?

“Careful?” she spat back. “Of wh—”

“You want to be caught on camera with all that spicy language on your lips, Scribester?” He jogged his head back around, toward one of the glossy domes in the ceiling. It was undoubtedly patched into a good-sized security room in the building. Maybe a remote guard shack too. “Especially because we still have no idea who’s interested in the footage.”

“Or who will be, after tonight,” Apollo supplied.

Lois’s shoulders dropped. “Damn it.”

Her rasp was as good as a surrender, which meant Herc could pump his fist toward his brother. He had the freedom, no longer having to stress about dragging the woman through Polo Pony’s portal with him—

If that were only the case.

More accurately, the shackles that bound him to it.

In the form of her wide whisky eyes, penetrating his focus and dizzying his mind. Then her fingers against his chest, clutching with the pressure of unforgiving steel. A fierce, unfightable force—like the strength of her fear.

“Lois.” He took the blades from his chest and used them to carve the two syllables with power of his own. The determination pushed higher, riveting his stare to her face. He gripped her tighter. “Hey. Lois. I’m right here, and you’re okay. Do you hear me?”

Her head wobbled, perhaps an attempt at a nod, though her eyes were taking more cues from that crazy dove in her spirit. Her sights were wild ricochets, eyeing the spreading fire around them as if every flame were a hungry demon.

“Lois,” he prompted again. “Look at me, damn it.”

He didn’t wrap it all the way in a snarl, but the looser swaddle was enough. As soon as she complied, he was waiting with a similar expression—or so he hoped. Even if nuanced communication was like riding a bike, his gears were pitifully rusty. Meg had always pedaled those routes better than him, and he’d been more than happy to let her.

“Hi there,” he said, pulling her closer as the wind and fire howled higher. Her limbs came willingly despite the tension that commanded her face, meaning he’d succeeded in not coming off as a total ogre. Still he added, “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

She attempted another head move, though it wasn’t as simple to decipher. She was either reluctantly agreeing with him or fighting off a sneeze. At last, she groused, “Easier than pondering where the hell your brother’s going to zap me next.”

Not a ridiculous point, though Herc couldn’t afford more than a brief nod while hitching her even closer. He wasn’t sprawled on top of her for this “zap”, but like electricity itself, a force was just as mighty if rewired properly. Now if the woman herself would only believe it too…

“Wherever it is, you won’t be alone.”