Shattered Gods (Dark Olympus, #10)(59)

I finally manage a full inhale. It’s the sweetest air I’ve ever tasted. I straighten slowly. “I don’t believe you.”

“That just proves you’re not a fool.” She grins, suddenly looking like a completely different person. There’s none of the carefully poised mask or the leader who convinced an entire city’s population to see things her way. Before I can decide how I feel about the change, she moves into the kitchen and starts digging through the cabinets.

It’s only then that I fully register that Circe is here. “How did you find me?”

She smirks over her shoulder at me. “Please. I took control of the city’s cameras. No one goes anywhere in the upper city without me knowing about it.”

Yeah, that’s a cute statement, but it’s not true. Hermes—Hecate—has always managed to dodge the camera system when she felt like it. I suspect she’s doing so now, wherever she is, or Circe would be fucking with her instead of me. Fucking her.

The thought sends a shiver of poisonous heat through me. I’m standing here in a towel, without even the barrier of clothing to protect me from this woman. I move deeper into the living room so I can see the entirety of the kitchen. If she comes at me with a knife…

But Circe isn’t caressing the knife block. She’s pulling a pair of glasses from the cabinet and then goes onto her toes to tug down a bottle of amber liquid. She whistles under her breath. “Expensive taste.” She turns to me and holds up the bottle. “Temporary truce?”

“As if I’d eat or drink anything you touch.”

“I’m hurt. Truly.” She shrugs, sets the bottle on the counter, and takes a dramatic step away from it. “If you’re so concerned, then you pour.”

I don’t move. “I’m not drinking with you.”

“Are you sure? You look like you could use some unwinding.” She leans a hip on the counter and surveys me. This woman has looked at me before, fought me in a life-or-death battle, but this is the first time she’s looked. She drags her gaze from the top of my curls, over my scarred face, down my body to my toes, and then reverses course. Taking her time. Appearing to drink in the sight of me, appearing to like it. Witnessing desire blossom across her face… I don’t know what to do with that.

She smiles slowly. “You’re very, very good. I understand what she sees in you.”

“I don’t want to talk about her.” No need to say her name—either of her names—in this space. The memory of our last conversation, our last fight, rolls through me again. Only someone I love could hurt me the way Hecate has. “You need to leave.”

“You’re too smart for that. If I leave, I’ll just have you dragged in, and I’d prefer to save us both the indignity. I have…” She glances at her phone. “A very short time before my people start panicking that I’m gone. Let’s talk, Atalanta.”

I don’t exactly make a decision to move. It’s more that I can’t stand this stillness, this knowing, that pervades every inch of this suddenly too-small apartment. “I’m not interested.” I stalk to the hallway to change the laundry because fuck like I’m going to get a nap now, but I’ll be damned before I have to haul ass through the streets with only a towel for cover.

When I walk back into the main space, Circe hasn’t moved. I don’t trust that for a moment. She could have easily dosed either—or both—of the glasses with something nasty while I wasn’t watching.

But she’s right; I could really use a fucking drink.

“Atalanta…” She takes a breath, something almost vulnerable rising in her green eyes. “Please.”

It’s clearly another manipulation attempt. I retuck the towel as best I can and grab the bottle. This, at least, is sealed. If we all survive this, I’ll send a new one to Briseis. I open it and take a long drink. Bourbon. It burns down my throat and warms my stomach. After a beat of hesitation, I hold out the bottle. “Fine. Talk.”

Circe’s fingers brush mine as she plucks the bottle from my hand. She holds my gaze as she takes an equally long pull. It’s only when she passes it back that she speaks. “I’m not interested in fighting you and Hecate. We all want the same thing—yes, yes, different methods and all that.” She waves that away as if it’s a minor disagreement instead of a dichotomy of morals. “I love her. You love her. If we continue down this path, one or all of us will die and nothing will change. Which means we’ll have failed.”

I take a shorter sip this time as I consider her. She’s not entirely wrong, but… “Are you willing to stop killing the Thirteen and the legacy families?”

“Not entirely.” She shakes her head slowly. “I admire the positivity of your plan—whatever it is—but if you exile the Thirteen—especially Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon—it’s only a matter of time before they come sniffing around again. Or their children do. A new government system is a fragile thing. So many of them fail before they have a chance to solidify. Olympus is already going to be faced with steep stakes because this city has spent the entirety of its existence being safe and mostly removed from the rest of the world.” She accepts the bottle and tips her head back, her throat working as she swallows. “Even without the corruption inherent in our system now, we’re likely to fail when facing foreign governments attempting to influence or dominate.”