Page 46 of Wildfire

As though there were any possible answer other than “of course.”

He just wasn’t quite sure why that was true.

Debts Paid in Baking

Absolutely nothing made sense in the aftermath of collapsing in the cool morning dew on Banneker’s lawn. Hermes was vaguely aware of the sensation of being carried, something stiff and heavy around him, and water.

He was in a tub, empty, but with a shower running over his skin. It was both a relief to get the sticky sweat off his skin, and overwhelming. His skin burned and prickled, and every pulse of water was the wrong side of too much.

Hermes felt like someone had reached down his throat, grabbed all his important smooshy bits, and ripped them out through his mouth. He was hollowed out, his joints throbbing, his skin shivery and sensitive. Little needles of pain swept across it, and he was quite ready to jettison himself out of his body and abandon the whole enterprise.

As such, he didn’t rouse when they bathed him, stripped him, and wrapped him up in a thick robe. His handler was competent and uninterested, the moves he made efficient. Not Wilder, then. He still wanted Hermes, didn’t he?

Well, at the very least, he wasn’t disinterested and disengaged like Hermes’s caretaker.

No, when Wilder finally appeared at the edges of Hermes’s consciousness, that was an entirely different experience. His head was cradled by a firm, warm thigh. Careful, dexterous fingers swept his hair back from his forehead—damp now only with harmless water.

It was chillier than the day had been. Perhaps night, but there was an uneasy quiet all around them that said there was something else he was missing.

“Typhon will return,” a low, smooth voice said.

Lysandros. What a dick.

“You can return to Banneker.” There it was, the smooth, dismissive drawl that warmed Hermes’s marrow. Wilder Pratt.

Lysandros only hummed. “Theo can handle the situation there. For a time.”

If they weren’t at Banneker, the silence suddenly made sense. Lysandros had brought them home for Hermes to recover. The air was still in the underworld, no birdsong or gust of wind to draw his attention.

But Wilder didn’t belong here, and Hermes had the distant urge to protest. Then, Lysandros opened his mouth again.

“He’s not the type to settle down.”

For a moment, Hermes’s mind lagged. Theo? Gods, he and Lysandros had been practically married, eternally committed, within weeks of meeting each other.

Then Wilder hummed, and Hermes’s stomach rolled. It was time for his ex to warn his sex. Great.

Wilder’s fingertips withdrew from their casual tracing of his temple. His tone was aloof when he replied, “I’ll let him tell me that himself. In the meantime, he has quite a lot of brownies to eat before debts are settled between us.”

Hermes didn’t have the heart to listen to Lysandros convince Wilder that he wasn’t now, nor had he ever been, worthwhile. So finally, he roused.

“You have quite a lot of brownies to bake before your debt to me is paid,” Hermes corrected.

Wilder tensed against him, but before Hermes could worry he’d said the wrong thing and pissed him off, Wilder’s arm curled under his shoulders to pull him close.

On the far side of the room, there was a shuffle. A moment later, Lysandros muttered, “I’ll give you two a moment.”

When Hermes opened his eyes, they were filled with the open, dark worry in Wilder’s blue ones, the firm set of his lips hiding something like a frown. But still, his fingers clenched around Hermes’s arm, and he thought perhaps Wilder didn’t want to let him go so soon.

“How’s the girl?” Hermes asked. His voice sounded raspy. Hades’s blistered ass, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sick like that. It didn’t happen to gods. Not ever, really.

With a rough swallow, Wilder nodded. “She’s fine. Shaken up, uneasy, but not—”

Like you.

The words hung there in the air, unspoken, and Hermes began to smile. A few seconds later, and he was snickering. “Did I vomit in Typhon’s face, or was that a dream?”

Wilder scowled, befuddled at Hermes’s good humor. “No, that... definitely happened.”

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