Heart of Fire (Blood of Zeus #2) - Meredith Wild Page 0,54

It’s better than continuing to stand here, suppressing my immediate answer. It’s one thing to be dealing with a new strain of terror courtesy of Hades. It’s another to add all that anxiety onto Kara’s plate.

Though to some degree, it looks like I already did.

“Maximus?” She sets aside her laptop and the textbook from which she’s working. “Talk to me, please. What’s going on? What happened last night?”

I lean against the wall, resigned to the pointlessness of offering lame excuses for my apprehension. She already knows it’s gut-deep and real. From there, she can—and probably has—skipped to its correlation to last night. She deserves to know it all, but only after I straighten it all out enough to talk about it.

“Poseidon… Po… He was there too. He told me some things I’d never known. He and Z also had some time to hash things out.”

“Z told me that.”

I push off the wall, giving away my surprise. “When?”

“Last night. He was here when I got back from the premiere. You’d already passed out.”

I give my head a small, fast shake. Why did my father stick around after the ordeal at Labyrinth? I won’t waste time considering any noble motives. He isn’t exactly a nighttime story and lullaby kind of guy, though I remember him walking me into the bedroom, making me drink some water, and watching me collapse into bed. “You talked?”

“Yes.”

I nod. “How did the event go?” I try to make it sincere and conversational. Not easy when all I want to know is one thing. Was Arden there? If so, did he dare put his hands on her? “Who was there?”

Kara scoots to her feet and folds her arms. “Uh-uh, Professor. No side hustles on the main subject. Your evening fun report is far more vital than mine.”

It sucks to concede how right she is. As strongly as I want her to climb back into the dress with the innocent color and the sexy neckline and then reenact her red carpet game just for me, what happened at Labyrinth can’t just be washed out to sea.

“Well, what did Z tell you?”

She twists her lips. “Not enough.”

“But he said some things.” I persist. “Like what?”

A sharp huff tumbles from her. “Isn’t this the part you’re supposed to be filling in? Or did you get so obliterated that you really don’t remember?”

I pivot hard, tilting my head. “Is that what you think? That I finally got a chance to meet with the people deciding our fate, and I hit the sauce first?”

She looks away, uncomfortable. She drums her fingers against her elbows.

“Kara. Look at me.” Thankfully, she does. “I was coherent for every second of what went down with Hades.”

Her shoulders sag. Her eyes are tender. “I believe you.”

I release a big breath. “Thank you.”

“So what did happen?”

Her plea is so desperate, it edges on a sob. My gut responds by contorting into a new pretzel. I don’t even try to loosen the mangle of my heart. But if I want to salvage either of them—and save the life of the woman I’m brutally in love with—I’ve got to start putting my head to work again. Which means I have to hit her with my next miserable words.

“I can’t talk about it yet. I’m sorry.”

I don’t blame her for flinging up a hand, blocking my sincere approach.

“Kara. I have to get some distance from it, okay?” To wrap my head around how to tell her that the king of hell has now seen her naked. And aroused. And…more.

And that I let it all happen.

“To put it together properly, I have to pull it apart first.”

She lifts her head, showing me the smoke in her eyes. As always, she’s as magnificent in her indignation as her passion, and for a moment, I’m stunned into silence. But then I remember that this memory might not always be mine alone. That one day, maybe even soon, Hades will be back to “borrow” it for a few minutes.

No.

Just. Fucking. No.

I’ve got to get some answers about this. And right now, there’s only one person I know to get them from.

The determination becomes motivation. I push closer to Kara, relieved when she stands and lets me pull her in and nestle her close. “Thank you for understanding,” I murmur into her adorable top knot, which still smells like a whole salon’s worth of pricey products.

“Who says I understand?” she mutters into the dip at the center of my chest. “I trust you, though,” she goes on,