Page 79 of Marked by the Demigod

"And they said they already know where I live."

"And even if they did, they can't get to you in here," he says, louder, over her. "They'd have to burn down the fucking building with you in it and even then you'd be safe." And he scowls at her, as if she’s the one responsible for all of this.

She scowls back.

His eyes briefly flicker down to her necklace, then back up to her face. "Wear some of your jewelry every day, it'll prevent tracking."

"So Katya said." She snaps.

His face briefly, ever so briefly, so brief she's not sure that she didn't imagine it, flounders, as if he's overwhelmed by all her conversations. "You can't be shot now," he blurts. "The ward is bulletproof and--"

"You can make someone bulletproof?" She says, incredulous.

He grabs onto that topic like it's a lifesaver. "It's not easy, and I'll be sapped each time you got shot, but..." he shrugs, his face sliding back into confidence. As if this is a safe topic, one he can grasp and control, and she hates him for it, just a little bit. "It's not easy?"

Aimes takes a moment at that, to force the air through her nose and to not react from the incredible wave of irritation surging through her. "Do your brothers have that ward?"

He blinks at her, as if he’s the one having issues with the conversation. "I mean, in theory." He picks up his own coffee again, hesitant, as if he thinks it's going to bite him. "I doubt they keep it up all the time, it's annoying."

She nods, out of a lack of anything else to do. "So, this prophecy thing. It needs both of them?"

He stares at her.

"So we shoot one." She shrugs again. "Prophecy can't come true without both, right?"

He stares at her again, and it's profoundly uncomfortable but she's not about to give him any leeway. "Are you aware," he starts, then stops, still blinking rapidly. "Are you aware how...hard it is to kill a Demigod?" His voice pitches up, as if he's so incredulous that she could ask such a thing, and she's sick of it.

She's sick of the misinformation, the lack of people giving her straight answers. "Not really, but they think they can pull it off on you, so why not do it to...one of them." She's sort of aware that she's talking about his brothers, but the entire situation is too much.

He shuts his eyes, as if counting backwards from ten. "Please don't do anything stupid," he says, slow, as if that will make her pay attention more. "Just...live your life and please don't do anything stupid."

She has to look away at that, so instead she sips her coffee, her heart pounding. "It's not like living my life kept me that safe."

He flounders, as if he desperately wants to run away, and she won't put it past him, not how he usually does by this point. "Are you...are you hungry?" He asks, his voice stretched thin. At her incredulous look, he continues. "I know of a great place, it's good food, won't take very long."

She peers at him; this might be the most uncomfortable she's ever seen him. "Are you trying to bribe me into being nice with food?"

His chin drops, and it would be comical if every vein in her body wasn't throbbing with rage. "Yes?"

She squints at him, and he looks away, the profile of his face sallow in the fluorescent lighting of her tiny kitchen. But there are bags under his eyes and small wrinkles on his forehead that she's not sure were there before. "Really."

He nods, finally looking back at her, and the eye contact sends a thrill down her spine that she wishes she could ignore. "I don't...I don't know what to do," he says, after a long moment, then tentatively, so tentatively, he reaches out.

Aimes braces herself to suddenly be elsewhere, but they're still in her tiny kitchen in her tiny apartment, just him, holding her hand.

Her mind races as the moment stretches on, and deep inside she doesn't want to be the first person to break the moment. It's like a snapshot, something burnt into the back of her head, that she needs to keep it close, with the harsh overhead lighting and his hair a few days away from a shower, his suit wrinkled, but he's holding her hand.

After all the sex they've had, this feels like the closest moment to actual intimacy.

She ducks her head down. "Where would you be taking me?"

His face clears, like she’s tossed him a life jacket in a stormy sea. "French Riviera." He says, voice faux confident, but the scratch of the morning is there. "Best breakfast in the world."

"Isn't it like...2 PM there?"

He shrugs, lips quirking up into a smile. "They'll still serve me breakfast, if I ask." And his hand tightens.

With the moment warning, she shuts her eyes, and only opens them when a warm breeze hits her face, the scent of lavender filling her nose.

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