Page 16 of Wildfire

She towered over Hermes, imperious and imposing, but otherwise, they shared the same golden hair, light brown skin, and blue eyes. The dean’s hair was short and tamed, and Hermes had unruly curls, but that hardly mattered. Their main differences were in character, but standing right across from each other, Wilder could now see their similarities.

Hermes grinned that dashing, roguish grin that made Wilder want to shove him up against the wall again. Or maybe face-first into it. It probably helped that his attitude was aimed at Dean Woods instead of Wilder right then. Oh, who was Wilder kidding? That didn’t change things at all.

“You know it,” Hermes answered, agreeing with her for the first time since she’d arrived.

She held out a hand in Wilder’s direction, as though presenting him as a gift. “It’s a pain in the ass to find a master elementalist to babysit those prima donnas, and he’s good at it.” Had that been a compliment? From Dean Woods? Wilder had thought she hated him. “He’s also the most powerful one in the city. The whole fucking Eastern Seaboard. If someone is eating elementalists, he’s the main course.”

Hermes turned and waggled his brows at Wilder. “Darn right he is. He’s a dish.”

“Hermes,” she said, and her voice resonated through Wilder’s bones. Hermes actually flinched. “Protect my mage, and I’ll see to it that Father forgives you for whatever you’ve done wrong most recently.” He opened his mouth as though to protest, but she gave him a hard look, and he closed it again. Without another word, she nodded to all of them, turned, and left.

“But—” Wilder stared after her before turning to Ward. He was the most rational person present, so surely he’d be the voice of reason. “What about the police?”

“I don’t think this is something the police are capable of helping with,” he said, gaze soft and sympathetic.

And gods help them all, Wilder believed him.

An Educational Demonstration

Considering the fact that the most recent thing Hermes had done to piss Zeus off was trying to get the old man tossed off Olympus while instating his own murderous stepmother, Hera, as queen instead, any help he could get winning Zeus’s favor back was welcome. They’d reached a tentative peace after the events on Santorini, but Zeus took betrayals from his sons seriously. After all, it was one of them who was supposed to kill him.

Hell, Zeus had even thrown golden-boy Apollo into the pits of Tartarus for moving against him. Never Artemis though. Never Athena. Never Hebe.

So, because he could use the shield of his sister’s good will, and because, sure, he preferred Wilder Pratt to have a warm, hot, living body at his ready disposal, he was on guard duty. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d tried to protect a mortal from the inevitable. With any luck, this time would be more successful than the last.

“So, human torch, you wanna get coffee or something?” Hermes asked, rocking toward him on the balls of his feet in the stately corridor of Banneker, hands folded behind his back, as Athena—Dean Woods—left them behind in the hallway outside of Ward’s office. Ward and Lysandros were already inching toward the door to escape him. They needn’t have bothered; he had his marching orders.

“I have grading to do,” Wilder said, tipping his nose up haughtily. “And then class. I have students to teach.”

“Very important man about town, huh?” Hermes asked.

That got Wilder’s back up. For all his posturing, maybe he wasn’t as secure in his position as he wanted everyone to think. Hell, Hermes had had millennia watching assholes throw up defenses and puff up their manes like preening lions. How long until this one’s fine veneer shattered?

Wilder didn’t deign to respond at all, and Hermes rolled his eyes. “You know, with all themurders, you might think about sending students home for a bit. No?” Wilder, in fact, was still staring at him with pursed lips. Doubtful that he had the authority to clear out campus. Hermes shrugged. “Suit yourself. But there’s no reason you can’t grade papers over breakfast like a sane and reasonable person.”

Hermes grabbed Wilder’s wrist and pulled him along, alacrity in his steps, even as Professor Pratt tried to plant his feet, grumbling about his workload.

And still, Hermes felt better when he was sitting around a small cafe table, surrounded by academics, with a danish and a hot chocolate in front of him. Who didn’t feel better after hot chocolate? Hermes hardly needed caffeine to get a pep in his step.

Ignoring his americano and biscotti, Wilder began shuffling around in his bag.

“Not much for small talk, huh?” Hermes pressed, picking a piece off his cream cheese danish, popping it in his mouth, and licking his fingers clean.

Despite Hermes’s obscene show of tongue, Wilder didn’t look directly at him as he pulled out a stack of papers and a glasses case. He took out his glasses, steel gray and well-made. Holy hades, he looked fucking hot in glasses—like a snarly professor who was going to give him an “F” if Hermes didn’t—

Nope. Not even noon yet. Hermes couldn’t think about all the things he wanted to do to Wilder Pratt, but he could make sure that Wilder didn’t get any work done.

“So, you like biscotti, huh?” Hermes asked, leaning in across the table, tilting his head curiously. “Gotta pick the longest, hardest—”

“Stop.”

Hermes grinned. “Gonna dunk it in that hot coffee? Get it nice and wet?”

“I told you, I have work to do,” Wilder snapped, doing his utmost to ignore Hermes as he picked up his biscotti, frowned at his coffee, and weighed his options. He clearly wanted to dip it in, but with Hermes watching so intently, Wilder didn’t want to give an inch, so he raised his dry cookie and lowered his lips to the long, sweet...

NOPE! Not going there.

At least not right that second. Not when everything he said was affecting him at least as much as it did Wilder.

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