Heart of Fire (Blood of Zeus #2) - Meredith Wild Page 0,60
waking me up to how incomplete it really was.
Those memories are my strength now. Reminders of the destiny we’ve honored despite the costs are validation that we’ve embarked on the right climb together—and though the summit is still shrouded, it’s there. And when we get there together, there’ll be light. So much blinding, beautiful light.
I have to keep believing that…
“So the father god finally sussed it all out.”
Though Reg’s remark drips with dread that actually makes me feel a little defensive for Z, I’m thankful she’s spoken first.
“I’d been afraid of that,” she grumbles and downs a big chug from her own mug.
From here, I can smell the bourbon she’s added to her tea, affirming how wise the woman really is.
“From the moment I saw how dotty you were for the demon…and then on Sunday night, when the freak storm hit…”
“You figured it out then?” I lean forward as she drops her head into a hand. “And you still decided not to talk to me about it?”
She straightens quickly. “What should I have said? ‘I hope you’re enjoying this fine weather, love. Oh, and PS: You’re a demigod who likely just screwed a demon.’”
I bristle. “I didn’t screw her.”
While Reg means no blatant disrespect, the verb still needles me that way. She might as well know, straight out of this metaphorical gate, that I’m a lot more than dotty for Kara Valari.
“Fine. Semantics,” she snips before taking another long drag on her magic tea. “Carnal knowledge was had by all important parties. Why don’t we establish that as a hard fact and move on to the part where you caused a god-summoning storm?”
For a moment, I’m caught between two extremes. The urge to laugh but also to cry. They tie back to the same revelation. Being seen for who I really am but still being treated like the next normal Joe on the street. It’s like I’m a kid again and the woman’s about to assign me latrine duty for toppling a bookcase while playing hide-and-seek in the store with Jesse.
How I wish those simpler rules applied now. But this mess can’t be washed away with a few scrubbed toilets and some reshelved books.
Regina’s demeanor already tells me so. Her posture’s stiff. Her gaze is fierce with wordless entreaty. She doesn’t want to be right about her allegation. She wants me to say I have no idea what she’s talking about and that the storm was only some freaky barometric event. But I can’t. We’re past the point of covering the truth in the name of safety. I have to move forward now, and she has to help me.
During the pause I take for determining how to best express that, the bell at the front door jingles. Before turning to look, I know who it is. Mom’s presence already calms a lot of my soul, despite my brain warning me otherwise. But only now do I recognize how that protest has dimmed. Thanks to Po, I’ve finally been able to penetrate deeper levels here. Like Dante on his own journey, I understand more. I can forgive more.
“Hey there, buddy.” Her slip with my childhood nickname betrays her exhaustion faster than her weary tone. After we hug, I get a glimpse of her sleepy but anxious gaze before she drops into the wingback chair next to the cup of chamomile Reg has set out.
“Sorry I had to wake you,” I offer while she sips the fragrant brew.
“It’s all right.” My comment seems to have peeved her, and it probably has. Not because I woke her after a twelve-hour shift and approximately three hours of sleep but because I apologized for it. “It’s always all right. You know that.” She casts a furtive glance between Reg and me. “What’s going on?”
Reg whooshes a rough breath. It sounds like a laugh that she’s thought better of.
Mom frowns. “What’s happened, for God’s sake?”
“Now that one’s funny,” Reg says.
Mom clearly has no idea that I’m now in on the subtext. “Does this have to do with that young woman you’ve been seeing? The one you’ve been followed everywhere with? What has she done, honey?” She sets down her tea, concern stamped on her features.
“Mom.”
“You can tell me. I can be discreet.”
“Mom.”
“If she’s hurt you, I swear to God, the little brat should be taught what a treasure she has.”
“Her name is Kara,” I growl. “And I care about her. Deeply.”
“Shit.” Regina slides her head back into her palm. “I was afraid of that.”