Page 5 of Art of the Hunt
She’d been in Nowhere, North Dakota, eating a truly spectacular greasy burger at a tiny diner, when she’d blatantly eavesdropped on the couple sitting in the booth next to her, raving about their latest trip to Chicago, and Artemis’s decision had been made.
Even after she arrived, she hadn’t realized what she was looking for, until she met this poorly dressed man who felt the same way she did.
Humanswereworth saving. And what better way to do it than to partner with someone whose job was defined by, well, saving humans?
Detective Hunter James. That was how he’d introduced himself to several of the other humans who had poured onto the scene like ants shortly after she’d shot the bad guy with her handy bow and arrow.
His name was Hunter. Clearly, this was destiny.
“Why are you still here?” he asked.
“I am still here because you are still here,” she replied.
He swiped his hand over his face and looked to the heavens, as if seeking answers. She ought to tell him no one was residing up there anymore. Well, not any of the gods who people used to speak to. The big guy was still there, of course, but Mount Olympus? Zeus had done a number on the place. Even the ambrosia fields had been destroyed.
Artemis touched the crystal vial hanging around her neck. At some point before Zeus had razed the fields, she’d stolen a bit of nectar and secured it in the trinket that never left its place nestled between her breasts. She’d been drunk at the time, so couldn’t say why she’d chosen that particular bit of her former home to keep. It gave her a sense of peace all the same.
She pointed to the west. “They’re actually all over there now.”
With his hand still covering his face, Hunter spread his fingers to peer at her with one eye. “Who?”
“The gods. We left Mount Olympus to go to, well, Mount Olympus.”
Hunter closed his eyes and shook his head. “I keep forgetting that you think because you were named after one of them it somehow makes you a god.” That eye opened again. “Although you definitely dress like one.”
She glanced down at her black catsuit. She preferred more of a saffron color; however, black worked better when trying to be stealthy at night.
“This isn’t god-like dress. We prefer tunics and robes for obvious reasons, such as comfort, ease of access.”
“Ease of access? Don’t you think you’re the goddess of chastity?”
He was well-versed in his knowledge of the gods.
She crossed her arms and thrust a hip. “I’m also the goddess of the hunt. Given how things transpired tonight, I’d think that would be the gift you’d most appreciate.”
Hunter dropped his hand to his side. “Oh, I appreciate that gift. You possibly saved my life. And for the record, I’m not really a fan of the gift of chastity.”
“Not surprising. Most men, upon meeting me, want to have sex with me. Usually, however, it isbecauseof the gift of chastity. Gives them the illusion that screwing me is something of a conquest.”
His mouth fell open. She tapped his chin until he snapped it shut. And then he shook his head again. “Look, I’m tired. I’ve had a really long day. I just want to wrap up this case and go home and crawl into bed. So, thank you for helping Denise. I’ve got it from here. You can leave now.”
Okay, so this particular man wasn’t fixated on having sex with her. Instead, he was fixated on sending her away. Apparently, he didn’t seem to realize what an asset she could be.
She cocked her head. “Do you have the blood of the gods in your veins?”
“Excuse me?” He stared at her as if she’d, well, asked for his family history.
She waved one hand. “Any secret affairs with gods or demigods noted in your grandmother’s memoirs or whispered about between the elders of your family?”
He continued to stare. “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “You appear as confident—and also stubborn—as many of the gods. I figured that was the reason.”
He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Right. So anyway, I need to finish this up.”
She took her leave. The cleanup after the saving of humanity bored her anyway. She headed out to the parking lot, ignoring the stares of the other police officers in the vicinity, and swung her leg over the body of her 2020 Harley-Davidson Breakout 114, kickstarting the engine instead of pushing the button because it was so much more satisfying to do it that way. And then she roared down the street, heading across town.
To Hunter’s apartment.
