Page 73 of Hercules

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“Erastís? You okay?”

Lo felt her head nodding, though the move wasn’t connected to her brain in any way. Something in her senses was more of the catalyst, a helper bee for all the newly pollinated flowers in her imagination. Blooms that were forced to move aside as Herc pushed into her immediate view. It was an unsteady regard, as if he pulled up a mental multiple choice about how to best regard her.

She giggled. Then again. “Hey, buddy. I said I’m okay, didn’t I?”

“No.” Against a backdrop of actual flowers—seriously, how had the giant pot of them just appeared like that?—the man’s face was gorgeous, even with its pronounced frown. “You said, ‘If this is hell, I don’t want to be a good girl.’”

“Ah.” She was aware of the fast flare of her gaze, as zippy as the cute bee that clearly thought Herc was another flower. “Okay. Guess I did say…” When she couldn’t figure out an ideal flower name for him, she defaulted to a chastising frown. “But to be fair, what kind of NDA do they make you guys sign down there? Fire and brimstone, my creamy ass. The place is more like quaint tourist village waiting to get its own film festival.”

“Your ass is much tastier than basic cream, Matia Mou.”

Though his face kept up its multilayered collection of unrecognizable emotions, his drawl matched the casual vibe of the Underworld avenues she’d just referenced. Both aspects were stark contrasts to the modernistic, six-foot-high planter pot they were now crouched behind.

“As for film festival ideas, for every god’s sake, keep them very much to yourself,” he ordered. “Polo Pony’s already too cheeky with all his modern entertainment ideas. We don’t need him thinking—”

“What?”

Lois jolted, though less from the familiar voice that barged in on them than where it was swinging the incursion.

Ohhh Toto, we aren’t in the Underworld anymore.

Even weirder, Apollo himself had followed them out—

Into the International Arrivals terminal at Haneda Airport.

“Adelfós?” Apollo prompted, jacking his brows. “What exactly do I not need to be thinking?”

Lois wouldn’t admit it aloud, especially because they had no time for fraternal bantering fun right now, but her anticipation of Herc’s comeback was stupid on a dorky fangirl level. So much so, she didn’t grasp that she wasn’t going to get the treat—until Herc hammered the point in with a visible seethe.

“You first,” he bit out. “Where the fuck are my thoughts not supposed to be going now?”

Correction. Herc was likely fantasizing about lopping off other parts of his brother’s anatomy—a fact that was glaringly clear because she now shared the sentiment.

From the moment her gaze fully slipped to Apollo’s side—

And identified the god’s plus-one for this soiree.

She attempted a pair of determined blinks, but there was another fail whale for the tote board. She still saw what she saw—before consciously fighting back a growl to back up Herc’s fury.

But why?

There was the logic that did click, bringing a strange new strength in her resolve. A transcendental strength in her senses. Excellent timing, because Apollo wasted no time about following her gaze’s trajectory then twining his fingers with those of their new guest’s—

Around the very digits that had pulled a trigger to shoot a falmouth dart into Herc.

An hour after that, doing the same thing to him with a hail of actual bullets.

And here the she-thug was, in the flesh, enjoying his brother’s apparent blessing.

Seriously?

Lo couldn’t help a fierce shake of her head. But the reset attempt was futile. She was really seeing that flawless fawn skin and candy-green eyes. Even her hair, a riot of shiny curls which were previously hidden by her cowl, made sense. It was as black as her soul.

Yet Apollo only seemed to clutch her tighter, escorting her like they were all meeting for a double date on Wilshire instead of huddling in a corner of Haneda Airport.

What the hell was going on? Because Lo couldn’t detect any reality show cameras behind the pair, or even hiding in the planter—though that was all that made sense.