Heart of Fire (Blood of Zeus #2) - Meredith Wild Page 0,36
for. The plot point that should have Kara’s ears perked, but nothing about my little demon is close to perky. Anxious is a better word, based on how she tosses the photo down as if it’s caught fire.
“Arden.” She shakily clears her throat. “An essay about every single one of these pieces isn’t urgent.”
“Or necessary.” My voice verges on a growl as I watch her tension spiral. I want to punch the wall, but flexing my intellectual might is clearly the better choice for helping her right now. That, and I’m curious about where he’s going with all this. “Megara was Creon’s daughter,” I push on. “A princess of Thebes. She was given to Heracles as a prize of war and then bore him several sons.”
“Bravo, Professor.” Prieto smacks his hands together—applause that sounds more like he’s hailing a dog. “And now for the bonus-round points. What eventually happened to the happy couple?”
“I can assure you, it doesn’t have anything to do with this piece of art and what we want to bid for it.” Despite her adamant claim, Kara fidgets through every word.
I abhor how her unease seems to feed Arden’s arrogance, represented by his new preen. “Oh, come now. Every story matters. Certainly you know it, yes?”
“Heracles was struck with madness, killing Megara and their children,” Kara finally says. “Happy now? Can we finally move on?”
He pushes buoyantly back to his feet. “Call me cruel, but that’s actually my favorite part.”
“But it wasn’t Heracles’s fault,” I argue.
“No. You’re right, of course. It’s deliciously tragic. With Hera being so overcome with jealousy and so dedicated to destroying his happiness at its pinnacle, he simply had no chance.” He pivots and regards me with a bold stare. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
I shrug. He’s just messing with our heads for his sick sport. I’m sure of it, even as new concern fires through my thoughts. Sport or not, the game is still on, and he seems determined to make it as ugly as possible as fast as possible.
Kara claps her own hands together. “Okay, gentlemen. Story time is over. I think everyone in this room is too overeducated to waste any more time on these pointless retellings.”
“I must humbly disagree.” Arden circles around and resettles onto both feet with confidence. “You gave me a theme, and by the fires of hell, I’m committed to it. Besides, you are the one who brought such an interesting plus-one to the party.” He uses the notation as an excuse to again examine me. His concentration is no less cutting and calculating as before. “You have such heroic possibility, Professor. I shall be watching and waiting with rapt interest to see how it all plays out. In all its tragic glory.”
With those words, Arden’s revealed more than an ancient threat. As if there were any doubt, he’s revealed who—or what—he’s really rooting for. My failure. My imminent doom. Despite the new sprint of my heart, I pretend that his story is just that. An ancient tale that couldn’t possibly touch our lives here and now.
“You know what, sweetheart?” I murmur, tugging her back to my side. Just the cinnamon scent of her hair brings an invigorated smile back to my lips. “I think you’re onto something. This meeting really is going nowhere.”
I raise my gaze back up and over to Prieto, positive I don’t have the slick smirk as mastered as he does. But I’m also the one leaving with the woman he still clearly craves and will never have. It’s more than a fair trade.
“Maybe it’s a better idea for us to go through this batch by email,” Kara offers gently to Arden. “You have my address. I can respond right away.”
“Of course.” But his pupils remain razor-sharp, and his smile gives way to a terse line. “But I’ll have to copy Veronica. The general who signs the checks is allowed to inspect the troops, after all.”
Kara releases a resigned sigh. “If that’s what she wants, that’s not a problem.”
The journey out of Arden’s office has my head nearly buzzing with relief. But Kara’s demeanor stays locked in that pensive space as we ride the elevator back down and walk across the tropical courtyard toward the valet stand. Right after we enter the long exit archway, she twists her head up and around, peering back at his office like a heroine in a gothic Victorian novel.
Then, even in the shadowed light of the tunnel, I watch her go totally pale.