Page 4 of Wildfire

Even as Hebe stared at the flames, she slipped her hand into Melinoe’s and leaned against her. Nice, he supposed, that she’d found somebody to cling to.

As he turned to stare, sipping his gin fizz through the thin straws, Hermes pursed his lips. It was the professor from Banneker with fire dancing around his hand as the crowd surrounding him stared on in awe.

Sure, he had a curated kind of beauty—the sort bought with good-quality food, leisure time, and money. That was exactly Hermes’s preferred brand of handsome. It didn’t come with strings or emotions or depth, just a pretty face and some flames around his fingers.

Even though the man had changed clothes, there was no mistaking his hair, long and light blond and pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was trying to catch and keep the attentions of the people around him. And Hermes, because he was a dick, couldn’t just stand back and let them all enjoy him.

He finished off his drink. “Excuse me, Hebe. I see an acquaintance.”

As she turned back to press a kiss to the corner of Melinoe’s mouth, it didn’t seem like she cared too much where Hermes went.

He cut his way through the crowd and bumped none-too-casually against a young woman watching the professor’s tricks.

“Oh, gosh!” He caught her arm and steadied her. “I’m so sorry.”

She blinked, wide-eyed and startled. Mortals often got that way, but Hermes wasn’t the most fear-inspiring god out there. “It’s... okay.”

Already, Hermes was looking away from her, catching Hot Professor’s eyes. He gave a wink and disentangled himself from the young woman, heading back down the hall to the men’s bathroom.

Once the door shut he waited one beat... two...

The door crashed open right on cue, and Hot Professor bore down on him with a glare and a ball of fire in his palm.

“The police wanted to question you today,” he growled. “You fled a crime scene.”

Hermes raised empty hands and shrugged. “I wouldn’t sayfled. Just left. You lot aren’t that interesting dead and empty.”

A twist of the man’s hand in the air, and a stream of flame shot toward Hermes. But he was already on the other side of the room. He folded his hands behind his back and rocked forward to whisper in the man’s ear. “Not fast enough.”

The man whirled toward him, fire flowing in an arc from his fingertips. Hermes didn’t think his magic could cast that long. He barely dodged it, but when he lifted his head, he was grinning. “Gods, I do love a hot-headed man.”

The stranger narrowed his eyes again, prepared another attack, but Hermes rushed in. He grabbed the man’s wrist before he could throw another ball of fire in his direction. “I wouldgreatlyappreciate it if you could keep from burning down my brother’s club.”

The tendons in the man’s arm flexed in Hermes’s grip. He pulled, but Hermes held him tight. Maybe he was not as strong as his father, but even if he were the least of Zeus’s sons, he could subdue one raging mortal.

“What are you?” the man demanded through clenched teeth. His hair was a lighter blond than Hermes’s own honey-gold hue. He’d tied it off at the nape of his neck, but locks had begun to come loose in their scuffle.

Frowning, Hermes lifted his free hand and tucked a piece back in place behind the man’s ear. “No one of consequence, but someone who does not mix murder and family. Or, well, not if it can be avoided.” Hermes licked his lips, staring up into the man’s flashing eyes. A muscle in his jaw was working, flexing alluringly under his gold-stubbled cheek. “I’m Hermes. Now, who the fuck are you?”

Very Punny, Hermes

Wilder had spent more than his share of evenings at Hysteria, particularly since David had left. He’d met the owner of the place more than once, been hit on by both he and his wife, and he knew the man’s name was Dionysus.

He blinked at... at Hermes. “Are your parents sadists?”

Hermes cocked his head to one side, then the other, and finally shrugged. “Sure, that tracks. You know ’em?”

“What? No, I just—who names their kids Dionysus and Hermes? Do you have a brother named Hercules?” He was gesticulating wildly, a bad habit he’d mostly broken himself of over the years, but this man seemed to bring out the worst in him.

Wilder wished he could catch Hermes’s answering expression on film. Nose scrunched and lips pursed, brows drawn together tight—it was like he’d bitten into a piece of cheese and realized it was three-week-old fish. “Do not talk to me about that asshole.”

Was he for real?

“Your family is insane.”

At that, he scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it. Or better yet, don’t. I didn’t trick you in here so we could talk about my nutty relatives.”

That brought Wilder up short. Trick him?

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