Page 9 of Apollo

A crazy bubble of laughter nearly breached her own lips. It beat a bunch of other options, most notably the consuming shiver that his black ice syllables scraped along her psyche, but no way would he get the satisfaction of seeing that either. Instead, she mimicked his expression with the intent to copy his tone, as well—

But he never gave her the chance.

Her two seconds of deliberation gave him the opening to lurch up and away, wheeling toward a well-stocked wet bar with stained glass cabinet insets.

“You need to hydrate before I tackle your other wounds.” He pulled out a crystal water glass and filled it to the brim from the tap. “Healing is useless without support from your internal systems. After you drink this, we can get back to . . . ”

The hell we can.

While managing to stay silent about it, she still regretted the rebellion. More precisely, her stupid word choice. Every syllable blared louder in her brain than whatever he continued to ramble about. She peered past him, out the bay window overlooked by a striking array of bird perches, before analyzing the buildings beyond as if she’d just landed in a new city instead of a new dimension. The colorful cityscape was like nothing she’d ever seen, dark but detailed, sensual yet somehow comfortable. Shadowed mountains rose in the distance, etched along one side by a velveteen river. It was as if Hades had allowed Hallmark to take over for filming a small-town romance flick.

“Shit.” It burst in a rasp as her spine jolted straighter.

Hades . . .

Then even straighter, as her synapses did race with his bold baritone again.

Hell, hm? If you insist . . .

Holy . . . shit.

No.

Holy . . . something else; some other spirit or saint that would make Sister Margaretta turn over in her grave. But what good would that do? Because if he’d been serious, and they really touched down somewhere south of the topsoil . . .

It wouldn’t change a thing.

The voltage in her spine switched wattage as soon as the affirmation struck her psyche. And then her nervous system. And then its decrees to her muscles and bones, kicking her whole frame up off the couch and across the room.

She bit back an agonized hiss. Another. The pain was still excruciatingly real. Nevertheless, she made time to get in a few prayers that his back would stay turned as she stealth-sprinted the rest of the way to his front door. She also thanked herself for never slacking on the free lessons with Chris and Lee, the ex-Special Ops guys she’d recruited a couple of years ago for the tactical team, who’d more than earned their nicknames as the “silk specters”. Every tip and trick they’d taught her, mercilessly embedded in her brain, flowed down and into her muscle memory—

Until she made it all the way out onto his porch.

Then his yard.

Then across it, only slipping half an envious glance at his flawless gold and green roses, before hurrying out onto the road that led—

Where?

Blending with the scattered but festive crowd seemed the best way to learn that answer, though it wasn’t like she could saunter up and ask any of the individuals who comprised it. If she’d wondered whether she’d actually touched down in the Underworld before, this collection of demons, dragons, vampires, and wraiths doused every drop of the doubt within thirty seconds of her dazed perusal. A few of them seemed to notice her gawks but didn’t blink a lash or twitch a horn in return. They merely primped their sparkling accessories and trendy outfits as if her own “adornments” weren’t twenty tracks of blood across mission gear that was ready for an incinerator. Apparently, they were on missions of their own, toward a destination where their finery might become part of a bigger collection. A much larger crowd.

Aha. Exactly what she needed, perhaps even where she’d find someone who had a line on how to contact Nao Ito. Every minute she delayed reconnecting with the man was another chance for the criminal to toy with Genny’s fate.

So, she fell into line at the edge of the casual procession.

Though the rest of the throng paid her little mind, she still dove her gaze to the road and pulled the collar of her tactical jacket over as much of her face as possible. Despite her new sight limits, she ordered her senses to stay alert. Behind her, there were still no sounds of the rock-god-angel giving chase. Not far ahead, the road’s shiny ebony bricks took on reflective glow from brighter light sources. She didn’t dare look at the way up to clarify exactly what was going on. It was comforting enough to be shielded by a growing crowd in a more public setting. As soon as a trendy dance beat subtly throbbed in the air, she smirked with a matching mood of surprise. So, the devil did let his denizens have some fun every once in a . . .

“Shit.”

The word was more of a spit than an exclamation, but she didn’t have time to be sorry. Mortification had a way of choking it out of her like that—along with everything except her pounding pulse in her throat and the clanging disbelief in her ears. They dueled for domination in her senses as she looked ahead and reread the ornate neon sign ahead.

Underworld Café

And then, at street level below it, a glowing handwritten addition:

The wait is over!

The Underworld Café is grateful for your patience.