Page 40 of Wildfire

With a whoosh of air through his lips, Hermes tilted his head back. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.”

Ares and Wilder ignored him.

“An adjunct professor,” Wilder corrected.

Though Hermes sincerely doubted his brother knew what that meant, Ares gave a short nod. “I’ve spoken to Artemis. She’s reaching out to the vampire Hunts to see how many will join us against Cronus. This is your world as much as it’s ours. What can we expect from mages?”

Finally, Wilder started. He crossed his arms and reared back. “I’m not in charge ofallmages. Not even all mages at Banneker. They’re students. I can’t commit to anything on their behalf.”

Ares blew out another long breath. He was more patient than Hermes remembered. “Soldiers fight better when their commanding officer is someone they look up to and understand. I can order mages around, but I don’t know how best to deploy them, what their strengths are. I asked Athena, and she said I should talk to you.”

“Absolutely not,” Hermes cut in, stepping forward until his stomach pressed the corner of the island. It was clear he had no part in this conversation. He didn’t have any particular tactical value to either Wilder or Ares. But damn if he wasn’t putting himself in the middle of it.

The three of them stood apart—Wilder at one corner, Hermes at the other, and Ares across from both of them. “That’s not happening. Wilder is not acommanding officer. I mean fuck me to Tartarus and back, Ares. Can I not have justonething without you fuckers swooping in and ruining it?”

Wilder’s hot glare landed on him. “I can speak for myself, Hermes.” There was the commanding, imperious tone that Hermes had come to expect from tall, broad, handsome men with blue eyes. Oh god, did Hermes have daddy issues?

Absolutely. He absolutely did.

But before he had time to consider that too much, Wilder continued. “And I’m not a ‘thing.’”

For a second, all Hermes could do was stare at him.

He was right—he and Wilder weren’t anything to each other. They’d fucked in a bathroom. The fates had thrown them together over some dead bodies. And Hermes was supposed to keep Wilder from getting himself torn to shreds. That was it.

So why did it feel like his heart had turned into an icy shard in his chest, slicing up his insides with wicked efficiency. It had absolutely nothing to do with brownie mix, classical music, ham sandwiches, or the way Wilder felt in his arms. Definitely nothing so domestic as all that.

“Right,” Hermes said, crossing his arms and shrugging. “You two can figure all this out then. Ares, Athena doesn’t want him winding up dead, so you should probably keep an eye on him for a bit. I’m going to go talk to a man about a bazooka.”

In a flash, Hermes zipped away, slamming the front door behind him. Let no one say he didn’t know how to make an exit.

Front Line

Just like that. Hermes had abandoned him.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He alienated everyone eventually, and such a changeable creature as Hermes had to be especially disinterested in Wilder’s attitude. Why give a damn about Wilder when there were billions of other people in the world, most of whom didn’t come with Wilder’s damnable pride and brittle arrogance?

Ares, meanwhile, rolled his eyes. “He hasn’t changed.”

Inexplicably, Wilder was grabbed by the urge to defend the irritating god. “You have?”

The mountain of a god shrugged. “The world has changed more for me than for him. As a race, we’ve adapted or fallen by the wayside. Communication is communication, be it by mouth, paper, or cellular phone. War is... not the same.”

Wilder felt the gut punch of that concept. The world had turned out quite different from what he had expected too.

He’d always thought that his talent meant something, wasgoodfor something, and then everything he’d expected had disappeared around him. He wasn’t, hadn’t ever been, good enough. The very core of his being was flawed. The only thing he was good at wasn’t something people gave a damn about.

And there was Ares. A man who stood for one of the things that sensible, decent people hated. His one skill, and it was completely reviled by anyone a person might want to be around, even his own family.

Wilder sighed and looked at his kitchen counter. Boxes and boxes of brownie mix and other ingredients. Finally, he glanced up at the god of war. “How do you feel about chocolate?”

From the look on the man’s face, he might as well have asked the question in Swahili. Though, for all Wilder knew, Ares spoke Swahili.

So he motioned to the brownie mix. “Your brother asked for all this, and now he’s gone. I have no way to know he’s ever coming back. So I’m damn well making brownies.”

For a moment, Ares just stood there and watched him. Then he shrugged and started pulling boxes out of bags and lining them up on the counter in a row. He gave a tiny, sad smile as he looked at one mix after another. “He likes you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Wilder grumbled.

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