Page 30 of Apollo

Wen spurted a sharp laugh. “And you believed that?”

Rizon wheeled toward her, ferocity firing in his stare. “It’s barely a meter of stretched sheep’s gut. There are six more like it on the instrument! I had no idea that—”

“What?” Apollo dented the doorjamb with one emphasizing pound of his fist. “That what, you moronic malakas? That because it’s not a golden treasure, it isn’t imbued with the full powers of your Phoebus, the sun god supreme? The forces that mortals have no fucking concept how to use? That in the wrong hands could mean some very bad things for their entire realm?”

The demigod fell to his knees, shaking harder at the words Apollo used in place of his fists. Rightly so. Wen shook too, struggling to remember the male who’d just held and kissed her with such needy tenderness. That incarnation was long gone, replaced by this . . . god. A vengeful one. Not just a sexy sorcerer who could bulls-eye her with glowing arrows and summon tornado transporters. A freaking divinity who looked ready to level a city or five because of his displeasure.

Thankfully, Rizon appeared to have figured that out too—or at least she assumed from his cowering shoulders. A premature choice. As soon as the milkweed raised his head again, impatience and insolence defined his wan features. It wasn’t a good look for him.

“I made a mistake, Godship. I understand that, and I fully own my foolish lapse. I have made the brave decision to come clean about it, falling on your mercy and beseeching your kindness for a subject who has never strayed from your service before.”

“Okay, jab a pin right there.” Though Wen managed to wrap the line in rose petals, she jabbed a look at the demigod full of thorns. Openly suspicious ones. Her instincts weren’t kidding. That arrogance didn’t do a damn thing for the slick little sleeb.

“A . . . pin?” Rizon flung it like his own accusation. “Into what? Your Godship, you know I don’t mind whatever mortals you enjoy consorting with, but I do take offense to one of them speaking out like this in front of you.”

“Uhhh . . . ” She leaned out from Apollo’s shadow with a pointed cock of her head. “Not exactly accurate there either, buddy, but we can fix that.”

Rizon grunted. “Excuse me?”

She wouldn’t get a better cue than that, so she stepped fully between the two males. If that defiled some Acropolis lah-dee-dah-ry, Apollo would have to deal. This was for his own good. His own gut already had to be checking him about this bizarre stunt from the twitchy demigod.

“Okay, now I’m dishing the disrespect right in front of the big guy,” she offered. “But hey, what a coincidence. Rizon, my darling, so are you. What do you say we compare notes?”

“What are you talking ab—” The schlub huffed and narrowed his eyes with an impressive air of insult. No, why are you even still talking? Do you not realize that your pretty head has left the Godship’s pillow? Or bedroom floor. Or wherever he last fucked you. In any case—gleerrgh!”

Though Wen was denied the treat of introducing Rizon’s trachea to the new sound, she happily gifted the experience to Apollo. Perhaps a little more than that. On the satisfaction scale of watching his pissed-off profile, with his laser-etched jaw and flaring nostrils, happy only moved the needle halfway. Holy shit. She’d seen enough men in their primal state to know they could often be more stunning when seething, but his Olympian blood was a gamechanger for it right now.

This little episode was going to be more fun than she first thought . . .

“Apologize.”

But only if she could talk Apollo out of committing the murder beneath his low threat.

“Do it, you filthy putanas yos. Right now. Apologize to her.”

So much for the diplomatic plan.

“Hey.” She clamped as much of her hand as possible to the shelf of his shoulder. “Hey. Apollo. Let him go. I can handle this.” By bracing her stance wider, she finally gained enough traction to dislodge his hold on the gasping demigod. “I said I got this. Plus, he’s no good to us as a corpse. Yet.”

Rizon faltered from her last line, which perfectly destabilized him. Now he’d tip harder and break faster. Every instinct in her body already screamed that they desperately needed that speed.

“All right, demigod,” she stated. “Your turn now. Go ahead. Make me shut my mouth, step back, and get lost so you boys can properly talk. It’s as easy as giving back what you took from Apollo, right? Surely that’s what you’ve come back to do in exchange for his mercy and kindness?”

It was easy to draw out both the words, since the supernatural guys reacted like every pair of mortal men she’d ever met. In one way, their jolt of incensed energy was vindicating, but she didn’t have time to gloat. They had to get to the bigger truth now, readily out-zapping every moment that led up to its utterance from Apollo’s terse lips.

“But you can’t do that, can you, Rizon? Because you don’t have the string anymore, do you?”

CHAPTER TWELVE

All Apollo wanted to do was close his eyes, suck down several deep breaths, and reset his operating mode. From raging hard-on to straight-up rage wasn’t the simple vibe line he’d always assumed it’d be.

But clearly, assumptions weren’t the proper accessories for this not-so-little adventure.

“Ah. How astute you are, as usual, Your Godship.”

On the other hand, he could’ve put millions down on how well-rehearsed that line would flow out of Rizon. Depending on how long the little shit had actually been without the string, there was a slight chance of the follow-up being as creamy-crooner smooth.

“As you have properly surmised, I am temporarily without the string . . . ”