Heart of Fire (Blood of Zeus #2) - Meredith Wild Page 0,40
too.
I bite my lip harder and struggle to untangle my thoughts from memories of our more intimate moments as he kicks off the lecture. But within minutes, I’m lost to the literary themes instead and this man’s obvious, addicting passion for the material—from the wasters to the wrathful, carrying Dante further along his journey. Maximus lingers on Dante’s shift in tone, the gradual hardening of the heart and lack of pity for the fallen. Though Maximus observes the shifts without his own judgment, I still feel strangely saddened.
I take notes dutifully, looking forward to sharing all my thoughts with him later. Dante’s lapses in compassion strike harder than they should. Then again, I’m not like everyone else. I’m not a distracted undergrad. I’m more fallen angel than human. And I’ll never be able to walk away from this heritage.
I’m thankful when Maximus doesn’t meet my gaze for most of the class. If our interactions in here were weighty with double meanings before, it’s so much worse now. Because as he talks about the flaming red towers and iron walls of hell’s capital and its swarming crowds kept behind guarded gates, it sounds more real than ever. As daunting as it could very possibly be.
What if the city of Dis is more than one man’s dream of hell? What if the gates closed to Dante had opened for me days ago, to punish me for my own rebellions? I wonder if that’s what Maximus is thinking too. If he is, he doesn’t show it.
I’m not taking such avid notes anymore.
Instead, I sketch nervously in the margins of my notebook, wondering whether coming today was the best idea after all. Perhaps further rumination on the subject of hell isn’t the best thing for me right now, at least until my future is less uncertain.
The artful cadence of my professor’s voice pulls me from the worry and back into the lecture though. I try to concentrate on the words and the strength of hearing them in his beautiful baritone. The poetry instead of the literal threat.
I notice where Maximus pauses and the small moments where his own thoughts seem to wander before he begins reading a new passage of note.
“Take heart. Nothing can take our passage from us
when such a power has given us warrant for it.
Wait here and feed your soul while I am gone
on comfort and good hope; I will not leave you
to wander in this underworld alone.”
Maximus gently closes his book. He’s ominously quiet for a long moment, though his pace is casual along the front row of students.
“This feels like a big moment, doesn’t it? They’ve finally arrived at death’s kingdom. The place where all the fires of hell burn. But they’re met with rebellious angels who will give only Virgil passage. Not Dante. Yet Virgil gives Dante these words of comfort. Why?”
A long silence ends with someone calling out from the class. “Faith?”
Maximus purses his lips with a nod. “All right. Why?”
Another long silence. He finally meets my eyes, the question beaming silently between us. I smile softly and lift my hand.
“Kara?” My name is a mere murmur on his lips, lacking the sharpness of his typical professorial tone.
It’s not personal, but it’s intimate enough to make my heart knock a little harder against my ribs.
The curious energy spiking in the room is matched with the noisy twists of bodies in seats to stare up at me. Of course sitting in the back again would do little good. Not when I’m so much more than Kara Valari these days. I’m half of one of the most talked-about couples in LA. And my other half is a six-foot, seven-inch golden god walking among men. If they only knew…
“Well,” I start, “God has given them warrant for their journey, which means that divine aid should allow them passage. ‘At his touch all gates must spring aside.’”
I know Maximus’s face well enough to recognize his fight to smile. Instead, he pinches his brows together and adjusts his glasses, quickly hiding the other tells that he’s satisfied with my response.
“Miss Valari has made a good point,” he finally says. “Which also brings us perfectly to next week’s reading. Will the Great One arrive and save our poetic duo?” He drops his book on the table like a judge adjourning the court. “Summaries due in my office by Friday. Late delivery is an automatic incomplete. You know the drill.”
The room breaks into a rush of movement and chatter as everyone files out. I’m