Page 141 of Heir of the Beast

“Now go get him! Bring this mission to an end. No one does it like Pierce.” Mort gives me a nod like a soldier.

If this doesn’t work, nothing will.

Before I leave, I glance back. “When can I tell him, Mort?”

Mort sighs. “Not until the twelfth hour of the day before the mission ends. A week and a half.”

I squeeze my eyes shut. “That’s going to be an issue.”

Mort doesn’t say anything, and I leave with a heavy heart.

I walk alone, my ruby skirts flowing around me with each careful step. The hallways are dimly lit, creating an eerie effect. I shiver. I can hear my red heels and my deep breathing, heart pounding.

This could turn out bad or good. A wave of nervousness washes over me when I near the great room.

It’s not as big as a ballroom, but still large enough to hold a hundred people. It seems more intimate. The light is very low, romantic even, mysterious.

It’s perfect.

I walk in and feel the hairs on my skin stand on end. Eyes are on me. My body tingles and my stomach tightens. I take a breath and saunter through the crowd.

~I’m just here for a drink~, I tell myself. A server comes up to me when I reach the far end of the room, asking me if I would like champagne.

~Yes.~

I have tunnel vision. People swarm everywhere, women in lovely gowns and men in their finery. I feel hopeless, a sadness overcoming me.

I take a sip and pretend to feel nothing, wondering if Apollo is even here. Hopefully he did not decide to leave.

I start to scan the room, needing to know if I’m wasting my time. Everywhere I secretly examine I do not see Apollo, and that’s when I start to doubt my decision in coming here.

I dodge men’s advances and make my way to an outdoor garden area, the tropical air drifting in.

I freeze.

I stand in the doorway and see Apollo’s magnificent form faced away from me. His hands are resting on the balcony rail with his head hung low. He looks very upset, and I can probably guess why.

I shouldn’t feel a happy thrill that he’s not having fun with twenty-plus women around him. I pray he is in the same agony that I am.

As if he can sense me, he slowly turns around, and the expression on his face when he sees me is nothing short of shock. Disbelief.

Something raw and intense flickers in his deep gaze.

My knees want to give out. The full impact of seeing him without his mask on makes me want to groan, swoon, and fan my flushed face.

Apollo is gorgeous. His hair is still dark but shorter, in a messy, sexy-as-hell man bun. One loose ringlet has escaped the unruly confines of his tie.

He is dark beauty.

Lethal on so many levels.

I can see his skin and a little upper chest; his dark shirt is undone in an almost messy fashion. Like he could give two shits how he looks. Which is even hotter in my opinion.

Not to mention his shirt is loosely tucked into his trim hips, showing off his powerful thighs and ~bulge.~

I look away to regain my wits.

~Take a breath.~

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