Cruel Seduction (Dark Olympus, #5) (52)

He might not be actively behind the assassination attempts now, at least not to my knowledge, but all that means is that we’ve moved on to the next stage of whatever his plan is.

I move back from her, just a little. The cuts on her legs drip blood, but none of them seem particularly deep. Still, they’ll have to be checked for glass before they’re bandaged.

What am I thinking?

Why the fuck do I care if Aphrodite is bandaged properly or just straight-out murdered? Yes, the bullets would have hit me, too, but that’s not what I was thinking when I went for her. I wasn’t considering the danger to myself at all. “Do you have a first aid kit?”

She lifts a shaking hand and stares at it. “What must you think of me? Sheltered Olympian princess, right? Never seen violence once in her life.” Aphrodite laughs bitterly. “If only that were the truth.” She waves a hand at her desk. “Bottom drawer.”

Now’s the time to leave. Her sister will arrive with her people, and the last thing I want is to face down Ares again.

Except I don’t leave.

I round the desk and pull open the bottom drawer. I snort at the sight of the perfectly normal first aid kit. “I half expected it to be gold.”

“Themes are important.” She watches me come back with dull eyes. “My brother might prefer simpler things, but my father liked his gold. I’m Zeus’s daughter, and there’s no point in having survived what I did without reminding everyone of that fact. The gold in this office serves its purpose.”

There’s no way I can crouch, so I drag the other chair closer. “You’re Zeus’s sister now. Why not give up the gold shit if it reminds you of your father?” Minos has a file several inches thick on the last Zeus. He was corrupt and violent, covered in a thick, honeyed charm that this fucking city ate up.

I’m nearly certain Minos crafted his approach to the press by using Zeus as an example.

“I’m my father’s daughter.” She says it likes she’s pronouncing a curse.

I lean down and grab her ankle, carefully lifting her leg to drape over my thighs. “I need to see if there’s glass in the wounds.”

“Hephaestus.” She pauses. “Theseus.”

Hearing her say my real name in such a serious tone gives me pause. “Yes?”

“Why?”

She doesn’t have to elaborate. It’s the same question I’ve been asking myself since the adrenaline started to wane. “I don’t know.” I carefully clean the scattering of wounds and then prod them gently. “Any sharp pain?”

“No.”

Good. “You’ll need to get these checked by someone who actually knows what they’re doing, but at least I can bandage it.”

I can feel her watching me as I take care of the first two cuts. Even without looking, I can sense her shock fading. Sure enough, she sounds sharper when she finally speaks. “You seem to know what you’re doing. Then again, I’ve seen you naked. Your scars speak for themselves.”

I glance up, fully expecting to see some kind of vindictive expression, but there’s only a soft understanding. I shrug, trying to keep the tension from clinging to my shoulders. “I’ve seen some shit. It’s nothing to write home about.”

“You would say that.” She gives a broken laugh. “I have my scars, too. My father valued perfection too much to ever leave a permanent mark, but sometimes I’m sure I can see the ghosts of bruises from his fingertips.” Another laugh, quieter this time. It almost sounds like a sob. “I guess after this, I’ll finally have some physical ones. Can’t hide the violence anymore.”

I’m not prepared for the sheer rage that hits me. This woman is as much a monster as I am. Different, yes, but no less dangerous. She was meant to be an opponent met on equal ground. And yet…

“Yeah, well, that fucker is dead and you’re still here being a pain in my ass.” I say.

The thought of what her father must have done to put that tone in her voice makes me want to break something. The knowledge that I’m at least partially responsible for the state of Olympus…for the fact that its people are now turning against the Thirteen, against her…

I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t know how to feel about any of this shit. I can’t fight a fucking ghost, and I’m already doing a shitty job of fighting myself when it comes to everything about the last few days.

“Yeah, I guess I am, aren’t I?” Her laugh is a little ragged, but warm enough that I find myself smiling in response. I keep my head down. There’s no point in letting her know I’m worried about her. She might get the wrong idea.

Instead, I finish cleaning her leg and shift to the next. I repeat the process, again finding no glass in the wounds. We fall into an almost companionable silence, at least until I guide her foot to the ground and sit back with a slow exhale. “There.”

“If you’re petitioning for a blow job, I might actually be convinced.”

Just like that, I’m back to the moment last night when Adonis wouldn’t let me go to my knees. I don’t want Aphrodite on her knees either, not when she’s covered in bandages. I’m not prepared to examine what that resistance means. I just shake my head. “That’s not why I did it.”

“Which brings me back to my original question. Why did you do it?”