Page 16 of Apollo

Her expression grew more thoughtful. “Do I want to know how many ‘unexplainable’ disasters would suddenly make sense because of that?”

“Probably not.”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “Thought so.”

He had no doubt she’d done just that: a realization that rattled him. Things were easier when she was just a mission character with a label—CrazyTunes on the Chandelier, Bleeding Girl in the Foyer, even Little Mothra or Miss Marple—but not as Irowen Steed, flesh and blood female with a captivating clockwork mind and a logic system that knew what to do with it. But not predictably so. She surprised him at every turn, in the most fascinating ways. More than any nymph or muse or demigoddess he’d dated in the last hundred years, that was for sure.

But that wasn’t why he slid his drink to the side as chimes sounded across the club, commanding every male in the place to wrap up their “date” and move along. As soon as he caught the eager males already hovering nearby, sizing up Irowen with lust which appeared deep as DNA, a matching reaction dominated his own instincts.

No, not matching.

Already this shit felt deeper than mere reflex, causing his blood cells to percolate and his muscles to twitch. Yeah, to the point that he shot to his feet, extending one arm, a guttural but respectful growl at his lips.

“Move along,” he told the onlookers, one ogre and a pair of demons, enforcing the order with a dip of his head. “I’ve got unfinished business with Ms. Steed.”

After half a minute, in which the three of them looped a few looks as if ganging up on a god would be a wise choice or not, they turned and respectfully bowed his way. But as soon as they turned and stepped away, Irowen started in on an openly caustic giggle.

“Unfinished business?” She stood up along with him now, spreading both hands on the air. “You plan on making that one the zinger cliché of the night?”

As soon as he cocked his head the same direction as hers, he found himself copying the smirk into which she’d turned her laugh. Controlling himself was an impossible ask with this new yet appropriately lopsided view of the world.

“Do you plan on remaining here all night, then?”

She straightened all too quickly.

“Fair point.”

He liked her more in lopsided mode.

“I’ve got a better one to make,” he stated before she could add another quaint quip, though he could really do with one at the moment. Maybe she’d finally say something snarky enough to save him from himself. From this better idea that probably wasn’t . . .

“Why am I scared about your idea of better?”

Okay, that was definitely a good dose of snark. But not enough, because here he went anyway.

“You shouldn’t be. I mean, isn’t it obvious now?” he rejoined. “We’re after the same goal, Irowen. Hunting the same person.”

She took her turn to twitch. “Okay, color me lost, Glow Worm.” Then mutter that with adorable tension while coiling her arms across her chest. Ohhh, no. He didn’t want to think about her chest. While she wasn’t as endowed as an Amazonian prinkipissa, she had enough to spur at least one fantasy of her nipples between his fingers—before he leaned in and did other things to them. Fuck. “You’re after Reks Byrd. I need Natasha Korra. And last time I checked, your guy’s jet was dropping wheels for the Tokyo leg of his world tour, while my girl and your brother disappeared to who-the-hell-knows-where—”

“No.”

Narrowed eyes from her. “No . . . what?”

“That wasn’t her.”

“Who wasn’t who?”

“The woman you saw earlier. The person Herc scooped up in the atrium. That wasn’t Natasha Korra.”

Her astonishment, a wilder spark across her face than he’d expected, also permeated her reply. “And you’re basing that delusion on what?”

“Not delusion,” he countered. “It was an illusion.”

“Color me still lost. Neon crayons this time, please.”

“That was Korra’s assistant,” he explained. “Her name is Lois Lance. She’s the reason we got into the mansion . . . the right way.”

His last three words, inked with extra emphasis, didn’t deter her visible jolt after his first sentence. “Hold up. That woman you brought to the mansion . . . she was the same one who came in here earlier, right? Who sat down right over there with your brother? So unless Hercules is prone to mooning at more than one woman in the same night . . .”