Page 2 of Apollo

“Herc, I don’t think she’s one of us.”

“Hold up. So . . . what . . . she’s . . . mortal?”

And no way had she overheard them exchanging all that, as if she’d crashed through some weird boundary between realms and was actually bleeding out on a marble floor on Mount Olympus.

No. No.

That was definitely, absolutely the blood loss talking. It had to be . . .

“And a fighter. So maybe we won’t have to answer to Hades for an unscheduled soul, after all.”

“And maybe we’re burning minutes dicking around while this virago fully restores. Hey. Brother. Are you listening? Just because it looks human and bleeds human doesn’t mean it is one of the pitiful creatures. Are you going to just wait out the verdict? Then what? What’re you going to do if you’re suddenly on the bad side of a gorgon? A manticore? A hydra?”

And maybe this assignment had made her officially crazy.

But with that ineffably beautiful man on approach toward her again, was sanity worth the trouble? With an angel like this to escort her into forever, who wanted to be sane?

Take me away, Angel. I’m ready for the ride.

“Mortal or monster, this female needs to survive.”

No. No. Riding usually means forward direction, Gorgeous . . .

“Not exactly where I was going, man.”

What he said, Angel. Listen to the god giant.

“Apollo. She’s a she-snake in the garden. Do you really want to keep her around just to see what she does the next time you step on her?”

On second thought, the god giant is an idiot.

Not the conclusion she was set to act out on, especially since that meant forgetting the chandelier sconces that had turned her into a human hors d’oeuvres on their tines. In short, as she forced herself to try an actual lunge toward the big guy, inviting an avalanche of torment through her whole body. The pain was so intense, she swore it was from the blood audibly rushing then spurting from her wounds.

Until it wasn’t.

The agony was once more replaced by his voice, thick with stress but lined with strength, commanding his brother and the female by his side to leave as fast as they could. There was a bunch more bickering about that from the big guy—damn, his name wasn’t actually Hercules, right?—before the angel flicked a few fingers as if simply striking a match.

But the resulting blaze?

Matches only hoped to grow up into this blaze.

This fresh funnel of fire and wind that swept up, just like the flaming tornado that had appeared earlier at DeLux, climbed to fifteen then twenty feet. When it got that high, she barely reined back a grimace while bracing for what came next. But why? If fate delivered on the exact same scenario, all three members of her opposition would be swept up and away into the blazing cyclone. It’d be scarier than shit to watch but only for a few seconds. After the strange trio was gone, she could lie here and finally die in peace.

Sure enough, the giant and his woman flew up and into the whirlwind. But the stunning golden angel, the new bane of her existence, remained where he was. The only thing that moved in or around him were the tips of his hair, appearing like green gamma rays as the surreal tsunami whipped through them. Otherwise he didn’t vacillate by an inch, even when blood oozed across the floor and reached the toes of his pristine dress Pradas.

Her blood.

She battled the urge to vomit, not good when a chandelier bulb still sprouted from her stomach like a disco xenomorph. But the skirmish came with one perk. No longer did the glow around his hair make him seem a gilded seraph. Now he was more like a demon who’d snuck through a corner of the clouds to spy on heaven and spotted her as a special souvenir to take home.

Why?

You don’t want me, buddy. I don’t make instant firestorms. My eyes don’t glow like it either. I’m really broken goods, especially now. You know that, right? You see that, yes?

Only he didn’t.

Dear God, he just kept striding over, smirking mildly but striding precisely, as if he’d heard every word of her little protest and was now ready to play with her to prove the point. Shit, shit, shit; he came close enough to crouch beside her, those damn Pradas squelching in her blood pond as he leaned deeply over her . . .

In the moments before his expression changed.