But as Kody had noted, he didn’t listen whenever he had his head set on something.
Simi tucked her barbecue sauce into her coffin-shaped purse, then wiped her mouth. “Okies. Whenever you’s ready.”
“I was born ready for being an idiot.” Nick braced himself for their trip through the dimension portals that he hated so much.
Simi blinked her eyes and jerked her head like a bird.
He felt that cold familiar, weird fluttering in his stomach that he got any time he had to cross into other planes or dimensions. Faster than he was prepared for, kaleidoscope colors twisted and blended and then quickly sorted themselves out. It was the strangest head trip. Like throwing hot crayons into a blender and leaving the lid off—something Nick didn’t advise anyone doing unless they really wanted their mother to disown them or ground them for the rest of their natural born lives.
It took him a second to get his bearings. Especially since this wasn’t where he was expecting to end up.
Yeah, not by a longshot. Confused, he glanced around the green and dark orange room that was way out of context. Had they taken a wrong turn at the bright light on the left? Or was this something else?
He’d assumed all of Olympus would be similar to Artemis’s Greek temple, where he’d met the goddess before. Big columns. Lots of white and gold. Delicate marble things everywhere that made him extremely nervous as he was forever banging into stuff and knocking it over. ’Cause he never knew where his limbs ended these days.
That it would have some frescos. Gaudy paint. Weird fauna and robed attendants who were way too happy, given the unpredictable natures of the beings they served. That it would at least have something remotelyGreekto it.
Yet this place contained nothing close to that. This was much more organic and dark and red. Contemporary. More akin to a kurazukuri home. So much so, he half expected a Pokemon or Team Rocket to come flying out at any moment and run him over. Or some unexpected Yakuza attack.
Yeah … it definitely had a Japanese feel to it. Right down to the bright, hand-painted rice wallpaper and austere, futon furnishings. There was even an ornate orange and green kimono hung on the wall to his left, and an antique yoroi hitsu beside it.
Scowling in confusion, he turned toward the Charonte demon. “Um … Sim? Where exactly are we? Did you mean to bring me here?”
’Cause this was definitely not Kansas and he was feeling about as lost as Toto wandering off the Yellow Brick Road. He just hoped they weren’t about to encounter some weird, ticked off wicked witch, or a herd of screeching flying monkeys dressed like funky blue bellhops.
Better yet, he hoped no one dropped a house on top of him. ’Cause that was the last thing he needed right about now. And it would definitely ruin his already screwed up day.
Although, Simi did have on black and white striped leggings …
Maybe she had more to fear here than he did.
Simi adjusted the strap on her coffin-shaped purse. “Well, the Simi knows what you said you wanted to go and visits with them nasty Greek god people who are all so irritating, but then I gots to thinking what you really wanted to ask about and so I thoughts—”
“Simi? What are you doing here?” The deep, thunderous voice radiated through the room with so much preternatural energy that it almost tripped Nick’s Malachai blood against his will. Indeed, it took everything he had to stop his wings from unfurling and exposing him in front of the stranger. Something that would be about as embarrassing as his teachers calling him to the board during inconvenient moments at school when he’d been ogling Kody instead of his chem or lit book.
The fact that his Malachai blood detected that ancient, invincible power and wanted to react to it, set the last of Nick’s nerves on edge.
Which meant this guy wasold.
More than that, he’d have to be some kind of strong warrior demon for Nick’s body to have reacted like this.
The stranger could probably kick his butt without effort.
Forget a house falling on him—that might actually be a far more humane death, than this dude setting claws or fangs to him.
And there was no doubt that this beast could take him in a fight and make it seriously hurt. Standing eye-to-eye with him—which was no, pardon the pun, small feat, he was like a super ripped ninja with the kind of toned muscles that Kyrian, Caleb and Acheron sported. Complete with his long black hair tied back in a sleek, neat pony-tail.
And by the stern expression on that face nothing got past those sharp, intelligent almond-shaped eyes that seemed to see through him. Like the Dark-Hunter Acheron, this stranger appeared young, yet the air between them sizzled with enough arcane power that it said this man had been around a whole lot longer.
Centuries upon centuries.
Upon centuries.
He might even be older than Acheron. Maybe even closer to Caleb’s or Dagon’s prehistoric age.
And that was disconcerting. Especially as the Malachai powers inside Nick saw him not in the black t-shirt and jeans he currently wore, but in keiko armor wielding a naginata in the midst of battle against a group of dramonk demons.
His skill in that fight was unnerving, but not nearly as much as the next image that quickly flashed through his mind.
