Page 6 of Wildfire

Wilder turned to the sink, to clean up the mess and try to salvage his jacket if possible. “I suppose that makes us well-matched for either sex or mutual destruction.”

Hermes didn’t answer, so Wilder turned to look at him, maybe ask him if he was slipping. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that he was gone.

Oh well. It wasn’t like Wilder had expected to be taken home and offered wine and roses.

He dried off his coat and hands as best he could with the electric hand dryer and headed out into the hallway.

He wasn’t even sure why it surprised him when he practically tripped over another body right outside the bathroom door.

The God of Subways & Sandwiches

Son of an entire fucking bitch. Hermes was three steps into the hallway when he realized that lump on the floor wasn’t a discarded jacket or a shadow, but a person.

The last thing he wanted to do was stick around for Flamey McFlickerfingers back there to come out, accuse him of murder, and start throwing fireballs again. It’d ruin what had otherwise been an incredibly enjoyable encounter.

And Hermes wasn’t one to stick around once he got off. But he did pause to check the girl’s purse.

It’d been on her shoulder, but with her body splayed out in the middle of the floor, the thin gold chain that’d held it up was twisted around her arm. He popped the black leather flap open and glanced at her student ID. Her name was Rebekah Perry. She was only nineteen.

She’d gone to Banneker.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Professor Hottie demanded as he came out of the bathroom. Already, there were flames licking up from his incredible fingers.

Slowly, Hermes stood up, dropping her ID on top of her body. “Rebekah Perry. ’Nother student of yours?”

The professor scowled down at the girl. “Don’t know,” he admitted. “Freshman?”

Hermes shrugged. “She’s nineteen.”

He took a step back, but the movement caught the professor’s eye. Wilder moved in, lifting his fireball.

With a thoroughly unimpressed tilt to his lips, Hermes crossed his arms and cocked his hips. “Seriously? I thought we were having a good time.”

The man was scowling, and Hermes took a moment to appreciate the fact that he was a little mussed now—his hair hanging loose from where he’d pulled it back, his suit jacket damp. He grinned sharply. Hermes liked nothing so much as ruining something perfect, running his hands through it until it looked likehe’dbeen there. Had it. Owned it.

Professor Hottie had just the kind of manicured perfection that Hermes wanted to utterly wreck.

“Good times aren’t usually had with a serial killer and followed by murder,” the professor griped.

Hermes sighed, dropping back his head to stare at the ceiling. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t... How did I murder her? Seriously. How? There’s no stab wound. No bullet hole.”

In fact, she looked perfect. Like Matthew, she’d just dropped dead, the only thing strange about her was a small red mark on her arm that could’ve been a rash or even a scratch from her tangled handbag.

“There are lots of ways to kill someone,” the professor growled.

Hermes groaned. This guy really was ready to see the worst, wasn’t he? At this point, Hermes should be well used to that.

“Listen”—he caught the professor’s eyes again and smirked—“I like your brand of asshole. But if you throw another fireball at me, I’m going to have to break your hands.”

That did nothing but rile him. The professor lifted his hand higher. “Are you threatening me?”

Hermes squinted. “I thought I was pretty clear.”

After all, mortals had gotten in way more trouble for way less than chucking fire at gods. Athena had turned Arachne into a fucking spider. A little bone breakage was nothing.

Hermes moved, just a hair, ready to rush away. Then he felt the fire sweep past him and dissipate.

Hehadwarned the man.

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