Page 103 of The Devil and His Goddess

Swallowing hard, I croaked, “It’s so quiet.”

“Would you prefer it not be?”

I slowly shook my head where it rested against the floor. “I don’t know. I … don’t know anymore.”

He was quiet for a time, almost like he was debating something in his own mind or gathering the energy for his next move. Eventually, he sat up next to me, and I managed to look his way as a curved wooden and stringed instrument appeared in his hands from a gust of shadows. My eyes widened as I studied the gadget before realizing it was a lyre.

Small beads of sweat gathered at Perseus’s hair line, and he blinked rapidly a couple of times before he cleared his throat and strummed a few strings to check the sound. With his test done, his dark-rimmed eyes met mine. I wanted to ask him if he was okay, but before I could speak, he began to play.

The hum of the strings created a sound that ensnared me, and as his expert fingers produced the music, I rolled onto my side and propped my head on my bent arm. The beautiful and ethereal music called to me, bringing with it a sense of relief. The calming effect of his playing was unexpected, yet the longer I listened, the more enraptured I became with the sounds.

The longer he played, the more I was able to let go of everything and focus onthismoment. I wasn’t trapped in that room as the world tarnished around me. I was here and tethered to the present by the sweetness of the music, the vision of Perseus’s ringed fingers strumming and plucking the strings, and his green eyes bouncing every so often from the lyre to me and back.

When the song concluded, I praised, “That was amazing. That’s a lyre, right?”

He smirked. “Good eye.”

I studied the instrument of his past and asked, “Was this your first instrument?”

He nodded and gave an appreciative look at the lyre in his grasp.

“Play something else.”

“What would my goddess like to hear?”

I sucked in a sharp breath at the nickname, relishing in the brief spike of warmth that came with it. If only the sparks had caught fire to thaw the cold.

Clearing my throat, I answered, “How about the first song you remember learning for the lyre?”

He didn’t hesitate to grant my request. A new song, which began with a catchy yet soft start filled the room. I was drawn to his fingers until he suddenly started singing. I inhaled sharply and snapped my attention up to his face as he sang in what I had to assume was Greek. The words and their meanings were lost to me, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t need to understand the language to understandhim—his talent, his power, his efforts.

When the song ended, I sat up across from him, our knees nearly but not quite touching. “Youcansing.”

He offered me a small grin. “A bit.”

“Was that Greek?”

“It was.”

I stared at his pink lips and found myself eager to hear more of the language. “Can you teach me something? I want to learn to say something in Greek.”

He pursed his lips and studied me. “Anything in particular?”

He’d already told me every curse word imaginable, so I shook my head. “No. Teach me whatever you want.”

The lighthearted teasing glint left his eyes as they softened. He looked down at his lap, and for a moment, I didn’t think he was going to say anything. When he did meet my eyes again, he whispered, “S’agapo.”

“S’agapo,” I repeated, finding it easy to replicate.

He took a deep, shaky breath, and his smile widened. “That’s right.”

“What does it mean?”

He shrugged. “Guess you’ll never know.”

The answer took me back to that day at the Greek restaurant. I’d asked him to say something in Greek back then, too, and he’d followed up my question about the meaning with the same answer he gave me now. The memory had a tightness filling my chest. I wanted to go back in time to that night. I wanted to rewind to a time before I knew the horror of being dehumanized. I wanted to go back to when Perseus smiled at me with charm and a promise for pleasure, not one of feigned happiness that he put on for my sake.

“I miss you,” I whispered.

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