“Can’t we just stay here?” I ask.
“Forever?”
“Maybe,” I reply. “Or even for a little while.”
He rests his chin on my head. “Maybe a little while.”
For a second, I close my eyes and pretend the rest of my life doesn’t exist. I don’t resent my legacy. I love my sisters, and I take pride in our destiny. But sometimes, in moments like this, with my arms around Nick and his heart beating against my ear, I want to be a normal girl with normal girl problems.
I know these moments never last long, but I’m going to hold on to it for as long as I can, because after this one is over, I have a feeling that “normal” won’t even be in my vocabulary anymore.
I sigh and listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Normal. Just . . . normal.
CHAPTER 27
GREER
For the longest time, I just watch him.
He’s sitting on a wrought iron bench in front of a small pond. There are ducks in the pond and blossoms on the tulip trees. Just like my vision. The setting is so peaceful, and so at odds with the emotions battling in him.
I almost don’t want to add myself into the equation. I might tip the balance either way. But, in the end, I have to. We need him.
I move silently, my footsteps light on the path as I walk down to his bench. I half expect him to sense my presence, so I’m surprised when I make it all the way into his peripheral vision before he notices me.
“You lost the connection with Apollo.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
“I wouldn’t call it a loss,” I reply, moving around the bench to look down at him. “But, yes, I’m a beacon no more. How did you know?”
He glances up, his eyes dark with pain. “Didn’t they tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I ask. “That you’re secretly an assassin sent to kill Grace and the rest of us so we can’t open the door?”
His brow scrunches up in confusion. Clearly, he thought I would be a little more upset about his confession. He doesn’t know me very well yet.
“What does that have to do with you reading my mind?”
He rests his elbows on his knees, clenching his hands together. “Artemis and Apollo are twins.”
“I know that.” I am well versed in classical mythology. “They are the children of Zeus and Leto, the goddess of motherhood.”
“As twins,” he explains, “they have a supernatural connection that links their thoughts. As a soldier of Artemis, I was branded with her mark.”
He releases his hands and pulls up the right sleeve of his T-shirt. There, inked into the flesh where his arm meets his shoulder, is a dark green tattoo in the shape of a bow and arrow—the symbol of the goddess of the hunt.
“This connects me to her in the same way the pendant connected you to Apollo.” He tugs his sleeve back down. “It connected me to you, until your death severed the bond.”
“So you really could read my mind?”
He shifts uncomfortably. “Not exactly. It was more like some of your thoughts—mostly your visions—ended up in my mind too. I didn’t go looking for them.”
Well, that is a lot to process. Not only did I form a magical connection to a god, but that connection also tied me to his twin sister and those who bear her mark.
The world of Greek mythology is exceptionally complicated.
Maybe things will begin to make more sense the longer I’m involved.
“We’re not connected anymore,” I say, trying to weave the various threads together in my mind. “Does that worry you? I had already touched the pendant when we first met. Do you think it will change things? That I won’t care for you anymore?”
He looks up at me, his eyes full of emotion: fear, hope, uncertainty.
“Trust me when I say that a magical connection has nothing to do with what I feel for you.” I reach down and cup his cheek with my hand. He closes his eyes and leans into my palm. “Is that why you left?”
He shakes his head. Pulling back, out of my touch, he says, “I’m a coward. I had to reveal my secrets, but I couldn’t face your reaction. Or Grace’s.”
That’s the heart of it. He was afraid we would reject him. He was afraid to see anything other than attraction in my eyes or admiration in Grace’s. He should have trusted us more.
Gretchen has learned to trust, and, I am confident, so will Thane. And I’m just the girl to start his training.
I shrug. “We all have secrets.” I cross my arms. “I, for example, once bought a knock-off Dooney from a shop down by the wharf, because every department store in the city was out of stock.”
“Not really the same,” he argues with a disbelieving huff. “Not a betrayal.”
I lift my brows. “You don’t know my friends.”
Hanging his head low, he rubs his hands over his short hair.
“I am pissed at you, though,” I say. When he looks up, I explain, “If you don’t ask me to sit down, I might never speak to you again.”
He half rolls his eyes.
I drum my fingers against my arm.
“What about me makes you think I’m not serious?”
He shakes his head but scoots over to one side of the bench, making room for me. When I don’t immediately sit, he looks up. I just stare at him.
“Great gods,” he says, exasperated. “Greer, would you like to sit?”
Good. That nudged him a little further out of his funk.
I give him a sunny smile. “I’d love to.”
Settling in next to him on the bench, I give him a moment before I start in. He stares out at the water, at the pond and the ripples caused by wind or fish or paddling ducklings. He’s scared. He thinks he’s committed an unforgivable betrayal against the people he cares about most—his sister and his parents.
From one perspective, he’s right. He lied to them, or at least withheld the truth.
But, like I said, haven’t we all.
From another perspective, he’s a hero. He chose family over duty and training. He put himself at great risk by refusing to harm me and my sisters.
It’s time for him to stop acting like a traitor, but I know that coming right out and saying that will be absolutely the wrong approach. I have to come at this sideways.
“My parents have never loved me,” I say.
He looks up, startled. Clearly that was not what he expected me to say. To be honest, it’s not quite what I expected to say, either. It just spilled out of me when I opened my mouth.
“I mean, not the way some parents love their children,” I explain. “Not the way your parents love you and Grace.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If they found out about my lies,” I continue, “if they learned the truth about my heritage, they would view that as a betrayal. They would never forgive me.”
“Thanks,” he half groans. “That makes me feel better.”
“Did you think I came here to make you feel better?” I shake my head. “I’m here to tell you to pull your head out of your backside.”
He jerks back, shocked by my directness.
“Your parents love you,” I say, “unequivocally. So does Grace.”
“Which makes this so much worse.”
“No,” I insist. “That makes it so much easier.”
“How?” he asks, like he really wants to know, needs to know. “The stronger the love, the worse the betrayal, Greer. It’s not like I betrayed an acquaintance or even someone I hate. They love me, and I . . .”
“You love them,” I finish. I twist around to face him, tucking my ankle behind my knee, and place my palms on his cheeks. “Listen to me very closely, because I am only going to say this one time.” I wait for him to nod before continuing. “You have betrayed no one. If anything, you proved your love by getting these scars.”