Page 10 of The Gods Forbid

But not Persy. No, no, that little ball of sunshine just kept appearing at my cell, as constant as the rise of the morning sun.

And now she’d escalated to visiting twice a day.

This morning she’d been the person to hand-deliver my breakfast. If having to eat something that she had her elegant, sculpted hands all over wasn’t bad enough, she’d arrived balancing two trays on her forearms and demanded I help her again.

When I’d tried to throw her words back at her and mention that the iron bars were capable of holding a coffee mug, so a tray would be just fine, she just blinked at me and responded, “The tray is bigger. I would really appreciate it if you helped.”

If she had just demanded that I help her, I would have dragged my ass off the bed and taken the trays out of her arms, especially since they looked heavy. But then she just had to go and state that she’d appreciate if I helped her.

I clamped down on my jaw, telling myself not to get off the bed and help her. The bed was comfortable, as she’d promised. I was sure she expected me to thank her for that small kindness.

That wasn’t happening.

Persy just stared at me, waiting for me to come help her. I stared back, content to watch the clouds in her gray eyes shift. I doubted anyone had ever truly appreciated how spectacular her eyes were.

Not because I cared, but because most people couldn’t form an appropriate description if their fucking life was on the line.

I, however, was innately good at descriptions. And her eyes were like large, ominous gray clouds collecting over a pale blue, late afternoon sky. They held the promise of a night-time storm that would shower down rain and hide the moon. And if that wasn’t enough, there was a hint of light gray, almost white, in her left eye. It was like the sun reflecting off the clouds, breaking through the storm in a beacon of white brilliance, reminding you that there was still light behind all that darkness.

That was how you described her eyes. Not a basic fucking answer like gray.

And those storm clouds rumbled when she realized I wasn’t moving. “Please, Sebastian.”

I was standing a second later.

And I was in front of her before my mind could stop me and remind myself that I would have been happier flattening myself to the back wall of the cell than willingly put myself within two feet of her.

Yet, here I was, standing mere inches away from her. Enough to smell the sweet, but rich perfume wafting off her body. Enough to make her tip her head back.

I was used to people shying away from me. Whether it was my height or my power, whenever people came close and realized that both of those eclipsed them beyond measure, they’d normally shrink away. Or preen, trying to prove they were strong. Plenty of men went that route.

Persy did neither. There was a disturbing lack of emotion on her face, apart from the expectant look she was giving me.

She needed to be careful with that look. If she turned that on anyone else, they’d probably mistake that for an invitation to kiss her.

I didn’t. She was simply waiting for me to show a shred of human decency. She’d be waiting forever for that one.

I glanced down at her arms, finding her biceps pushing lightly up against her skin. She wasn’t straining, or maybe she was and was just good at hiding it, but the trays were weighing on her arms nonetheless.

I might not be a nice person, but I still had some fucking decorum. Grabbing the trays from her hands and carefully avoiding a brush with her fingers, I turned away from her, keeping my focus away until I heard the click of the lock close.

That lock was some type of ancient torture device, courtesy of the earliest guardians of Prometheus who focused on punishment. Because every damn time Persy insisted on bothering me, she willingly let that lock draw blood from her finger just to step inside this cage with me.

Persy clearly had lightning fast reflexes because before I could blink, she’d dragged that stool she normally sat on to the foot of the bed and took a seat, motioning for me to hand her the food.

The only reason I didn’t insist on standing at the far corner of the cell was because my legs were—though I would never admit it to Persy, lest she look too happy—rather stiff from lack of use.

Maybe along with whatever other torture she had planned for me after this little stint, she’d be graceful enough to allow me time to workout. Actually, that was a stupid fucking thought. She’d probably let me as long as I said thank you.

“I have a question for you,” Persy said when I took a seat at the far end of the bed, knocking the pillow out of the way.

I lifted one eyebrow, letting that speak for me. Most would have turned away from that look. Persy took it as invitation. “What part of your power do you like the most?”

“If I was content with my power, I wouldn’t have tried to steal your brother’s, now, would I?” It felt imperative to remind her what I did to land myself here. To communicate how little remorse I had for trying to cement Apollo as the rightful connector between the Roman and Greek lines.

I had … some people might call it regrets about the way everything played out. I chose to call them inadequacies. Harming people physically felt unnecessary when threats and manipulation worked just fine.

Especially when there was no use for the physical harm. No need for an arrow to pierce anyone’s stomach.