It startled me, but once I was in Gage's arms, I didn't want to leave. He hadn't taken his jacket off yet, and it smelled like leather, but under that was a hint of eucalyptus and something musky. It calmed me better than a lavender candle. And Gageradiated heat that relaxed my muscles. His body molded around mine. His head folded over me at the perfect height. Just like Garret.
I pushed out of his arms and stared up at him. “This is so bizarre.”
“Are you all right, Indigo?” Gage wiped the tears off my cheeks.
Only then did I realize I'd been crying.
“Oh.” I scrubbed at my face. “I'm fine. Thinking about my birth always makes me melancholy.”
“Of course it does.” Gage shot a glare at Gideon.
“How was I supposed to know that mentioning her name would make her cry?” Gideon sounded broken.
“I'm fine,” I said to him. “It's all fine. But, please, just call me Indie.”
“Like Indiana Jones?” Garret asked with a grin. “I like it.”
“Indie,” Gage said and nodded. “Yeah, that's cool.”
Gideon grimaced. “I'm sorry, Indie. I won't use your full name again.”
“No. I . . . shit,” I muttered. “I actually like the way you say it. It's just a little much for common conversation. And it's not my name that bothers me. It's my naming. And it doesn't really bother me. I just, I don't know, get a little sad. What I mean is, it's okay for you to use my name. Ugh!” I tossed up my hands. “Have I mentioned that I'm a rambler? I'm stopping now.”
“Ramble all you want. I love the sound of your voice.” Gideon's grimace shifted into a grin. “And since your name isn't off limits, welcome home, Indigo Darling.”
Chapter Thirteen
Welcome home. Not welcome to our home. It was a vast difference, but I didn't mention it. I enjoyed hearing it too much. Plus, after the big to-do over my name, I didn't want to get into another round of don't-upset-Indigo. We might never leave the foyer.
So, I just said, “Thank you.”
Then the men took me deeper into the house, past living rooms they called sitting rooms, an inviting library, and a little washroom. Then we were at the back of the house, in a kitchen that was the perfect mix of modern appliances and 1800s elegance.
A long, marble-topped island stood in the center, with cookbooks and stacked copper pots displayed on the shelves beneath. The stove was one of those expensive models that looked as if someone had plucked it out of an English manor—all black with gold knobs. Paneling concealed the fridge, and the microwave sat beside an antique bread box. I loved it. All of it.
We went through the kitchen and over to the dining room. It was dark in there, and I don't mean from a lack of light. Velvet featured—deep green for the curtains and burgundy for the upholstery. Swirls and thin legs would have given the furniture a delicate look, but those details were weighed downby the darkness of the wood. The chandeliers were already on, but their frosted glass cups muted the light. It should have felt dreary, but it comforted me. I had the sense of being wrapped in the room like a warm blanket. When Gage pulled out a chair, I sat down and got hit with déjà vu.
“Do you like pancakes?” Gage asked. “I can make you some. Bacon too.”
“Love them both,” I said. “Especially at night.”
“Me too.” Gage grinned and hurried back into the kitchen. “Go ahead and start. I can listen in.”
“Start what?” I asked.
“Telling you about us,” Garret said with a guilty look at Gideon.
“You told her already,” Gideon said.
“She guessed. Sort of. Just about the Greeks.”
“Garret!” Gage growled from the kitchen. “That's everything.”
“No, not everything.” Garret sighed.
“He told me you're a Cerberus, Silas is a minor Greek god, and you were . . .” I frowned. “Were you made by Hades?”
“Yes,” Gideon said. “We were human once. But when Hades realized one Cerberus wasn't enough to guard the Underworld, he started recruiting souls to make more.”
