Jake's whole demeanor changed, his shoulders hunching inward and his expression crumpling. He looked down, and I suddenly felt as if I'd kicked a dog. The guy looked like he was going to start bawling.
“Nice,” Cyrus whispered to me.
“Hey, I'm just fucking with you,” I said to Jake. “Don't get pouty.”
Jake grunted, got up, and left the room.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
“We never had a childhood,” Lex said. “So sometimes we enjoy childish things. It makes us feel as if . . .” He shrugged.
“What about your past lives?”
Cyrus shook his head. “We don't remember them. Hades put our souls into fully grown bodies, just as he did with you.”
“But I got to keep my memories.”
“Yeah. Do you remember how shocked I was by that?”
“Oh. Yeah. Shit.” I looked at the doorway.
“It would help a little.”
I looked back at Cyrus.
“If you went and talked to him,” he clarified. “Jake would like that.” He cleared his throat. “I know you think we're alpha idiots, but the reason we chose such feminine things for your room and your clothes is that we were hoping for a little tenderness. We don't want a submissive woman, and you don't have to mother us, but . . .”
“But it would be nice if I could stop being such a bitch all the time?” I lifted a brow.
“Fuck, do whatever you want, Salina.” Cyrus leaned back in his chair and looked away from me.
I got up and left the room.
Yes, I went to find Jake. I'm not a monster.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I found Jake, in of all places, the library. It was one of those Pinterest libraries that you think are AI-generated but are actually real. Two floors, the top more of a balcony circling the bottom, coffered ceiling, velvet draped windows, a fireplace large enough to roast the bodies of your enemies, and study tables in the center big enough to plan an invasion. Yup, it was an adventurer's library. Or a king's. There were some modern books there, but the entire upper floor had old ones—the kind with leather bindings and gilded titles.
I know this because Jake was tossing them over the railing when I walked in.
“What the?” I jumped back, out of the way of a falling book.
The assault paused.
I picked up the book. It was an old copy of Grimm's Complete Fairy Tales. Old. As in hand-painted cover old. “Oh, fuck.” I inspected the book for damage and ran my hand over the cover. A painting of Rapunzel was framed with elaborate gilding, her hair twined about her, and her expression bleak. Grim indeed.
“Is this a first edition?” I opened it and saw the publishing date. “1812. Fuck.” I cradled it to my chest and looked up to seeJake staring over the railing at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
“You said they were for children!”
“That doesn't mean you should torch them like a fucking Nazi!”
Jake stormed across the upper floor to a spiral staircase. As he did, I put the book down on a table and rescued the others from the floor. All were fairy tales. Not all Grimm's, but I got the picture. Damn. Luckily, none were damaged. They just don't make things like they used to. I was halfway through retrieving the scattered published projectiles when Jake grabbed my arm.
“Leave them,” he snarled. “What do you care about a bunch of children's books?”
“These aren't just books!” I jerked my arm out of his grip. “These are treasures. They're old.”
