Get it together Agnes! I mean, Salina. Ugh!
I looked away from Cy, intending to get back to opening my present. But my gaze got snagged again, this time on a bit of ink poking out of his T-shirt sleeve. I grabbed his sleeve and yanked it up.
Cyrus flinched but didn't pull away. He followed my stare. “That's Hades's mark.”
“I know.”
I'd seen that symbol before—on Wren's amulet. It was a stylized image of a weapon associated with Hades and pretty much him alone. Lots of people know about the trident. They might even know about Poseidon owning one. It's not that uncommon a weapon. Even more common is the spear. Zeus's lightning bolt is considered to be a spear. But Hades wields a weapon that most people aren't familiar with—the bident. It has two points. You get it yet? The three big baddies in the Greek Pantheon—Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon—all have versions of the same weapon. Zeus owns a spear with a single point, Hades wields a bident with two points, and Poseidon has a trident with three points. Their weapons are status symbols, showing theirimportance in the pantheon. I just don't understand how there can be a bident and a trident but no dent. Shouldn't Zeus have a dent? Insert snicker here.
But back to Cyrus. He had a bident with a short shaft tattooed on his upper left arm. So many jokes about a short shaft come to mind, but I'm going to control the urge.
That was some seriously intricate ink. Black. Jet black, not the black of old tattoos. It looked fresh, but it couldn't be. And the detail in it was impossible to get in a real tattoo. Oh, someone could probably do it with a single needle in their machine and a lot of skill, but when you get a tattoo, the ink stays liquid under the skin. Detail work like that blurs out in a few years. The ink spreads. This ink hadn't spread.
“That's not a tattoo, then?” I ran a fingertip over the swirled designs on the body of the bident. Its twin spear tips came up along the sides of Cyrus's biceps, their barbed tips ending at his shoulder. The shaft went down to just above his elbow, ending at another point.
Cyrus shivered.
I jerked my stare to his face. His eyes were shut, his expression blissful. Because I was touching him? With a fucking fingertip? Really? No way.
To test the theory, I laid my palm over his mark and ran my hand down to his elbow. A full palming, if you will. Cyrus jerked as if I'd electrocuted him. Gaping, I dropped my hand.
His eyes popped open. Met mine. “Uh. What were you saying?”
“Nothing. Just stating the obvious. That your mark isn't a tattoo.”
“No.” Cyrus cleared his throat. “No, it's not. Hades marked us when he made us. It's our link to him.”
“I didn't get one of those.”
“Are you sure?” His lips slid into a smirk. “I could check for you.”
“What happened to not trying to have sex with me?”
“I didn't say I'd never try to have sex with you. Just that I wasn't bringing you here for that.”
Laughing, I said, “Fair enough.”
“Don't you want to open your present?”
“Holy shit!” I looked down at the box. “I forgot about the present.”
This was a bigger deal than it sounds. I never get distracted from a present, especially not jewelry. But Cyrus had done it twice, in rapid succession, all without trying. Shit. It looked as if that lean was getting stronger in the hounds' direction.
I opened the box.
Stared.
In my mind, I saw all the amazing pieces of jewelry I'd been given throughout my many lifetimes. So many beautiful things flashed through my memories. The Pasha led the pack with his gifts. But then, he was a pasha, and the Ottomans knew how to make the most glorious jewelry. Nothing could topdiamonds the size of thumbnails strung on lengths of pearls or sparkling rubies set in elaborate gold collars. Nothing until now.
A gold Art nouveau fairy nestled in pink velvet, her wings done in a mosaic of precious stones. The detail on her face was incredible. Even her little hand was a work of art—her tiny fingers lifted to hold a butterfly. More butterflies adorned the delicate gold chain, flying up it. Each one was as exquisite as the fairy, their wings made of slices of precious stones too—emerald, pink topaz, diamond, and sapphire. Cyrus must have bought it when it was new, meaning over a century ago. He'd been waiting all those years to give it to me—the woman who would save his life.
And maybe even love him.
Suddenly, my perspective shifted. My throat constricted with emotion I wasn't prepared for. I'd been cruel. All right, let's call a bitch a bitch. That's what I'd been. I don't know why either. I'd been so eager to become their mate. Then I got in my new body and all those body feelings came back. The memories became more than a record of my past lives. They affected me. Made me suspicious of men I should have trusted. But, staring down at that necklace, I didn't regret anything. I had to go through that. Sort it out. Come to this realization on my own. And they had to do what they had to do to get me past it. For a moment, I glimpsed the bigger picture. Fate. My thread braiding with theirs. The connectivity of it all.
Threads. Did those Greek Goddesses of Fate exist? They must. The other Greeks did. How they must be laughing now. Probably cackling. If they were anything like their myths, they definitely cackled.
“Salina?” Cyrus whispered. He lifted his hand slowly and brushed my cheek.
