Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Does there have to be a reason?” His gaze became veiled. “Isn’t it enough that I just do?”
Was it? Should it be enough? All this was so new to me.
Paul tipped my chin up. “I know I can’t stop you from doing your job, but can we at least agree to some ground rules?”
I bit my lip, feeling torn between the desire to alleviate his worries and the need to assert my independence. “I’m not a kid, Paul—-”
“Then act like it,” he retorted. “I told you tonight would be a war zone, didn’t I?”
He had me there.
“I had no idea Zeus’ thunderbolts could do anything like that,” I confessed reluctantly. Even now, just remembering how close I was to having a thunderbolt stab me to death had me swallowing hard. I was definitely not taking my chances next time.
“Zeus has different kinds of thunderbolts in his arsenal,” Paul explained curtly. “The one you saw was the deadliest – it’s programmable, and a hundred percent accurate once it’s locked onto its target.”
“And you think Zeus programmed it to target witches?”
“We can’t say for sure, but most of us think it’s worse than that.”
I paled. “Are you saying it’s programmed to target humans, too?”
“I’m saying it’s programmed to target anything that lives and breathes—-” Paul’s tone was hard. “That’s why no place is safe for anyone of us, and that’s why I want us to work on those ground rules.”
One, two, three seconds passed.
More time lapsed, but I just couldn’t think of a way to get past those ground rules without making myself seem as dreadfully unreasonable as a kid.
“Fine,” I grumbled. “You win. Ground rules it is, but I swear, if you even think of mentioning detention—-”
Mr. Oh-So-Mature leaned back against his seat, drawling, “Now that you’ve mentioned it...”
I glared at him.
Paul threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “A joke, just a joke, Agent Vavrin.”
“Just so we’re clear,” I stressed, still suspicious.
“We are.” He tugged a lock of my hair, and his lips curved when I refused to relax even as the gesture had my spine tingling. “I meant what I said, Blair. I’m not going to interfere with your work.” He paused. “But I don’t want to see you risking life and limb for it either.”
“But if the situation calls for it—-”
“Let me rephrase that: I don’t want you taking unnecessary risks, and so here’s one simple ground rule. Just let me know where you are or where you’re heading at all times.”
I waited.
And waited.
And when I realized that was all he was going to ask –
“That’s it?” I asked dubiously.
He spread his hands out by way of waving the white flag. “That’s it.”
My gaze narrowed. “This isn’t some kind of trick, is it?”
“If you want more ground rules,” Paul drawled, “all you have to do is ask.”
Oops. I shook my head, saying quickly, “Err, no, actually, that one ground rule is perfect.”
He smirked. “I thought you’d say that.” He glanced at my teacup. “Do you want another?”
“I’m okay—-” My gaze drifted absently to my watch. Nine-thirty. I hadn’t had dinner yet and – oh.
“I forgot to tell you about what I discovered at The Voice Factor,” I gasped, and Paul listened attentively as I told him what I learned.
“That’s good work.” Paul’s voice had turned vague, and I could see that his mind was already on what next steps to take. “We’ll need tech support...”
I grabbed my phone. “On it.”
“Tell them this is Code P.”
I hesitated. “You’re sure?” P stood for Pandora, and Code P meant the situation had hit rock bottom, the equivalent of Pandora’s box unleashing an unholy horror on mankind. Among other things, it granted tech support permission to hack even into government-owned systems, something we tried our best to avoid because it risked exposure for non-humans if we were caught.
“We have no choice. I received word earlier from Olympus. The only reason we have a lull in the storm right now is because Hermes was able to use one of Hypnos’ sleeping spells to knock the thunder god out.”
“Doesn’t he have to be physically close to Zeus to make that kind of spell work?”
Paul nodded curtly. “He didn’t need to get inside the battle tower, but he did have to get close enough that it cost him a torn wing.”
“Poor Hermes.” The fleet-footed god may be an Olympian himself, but none of those things saved him from feeling pain the way we all did.
“He’ll live,” Paul said gruffly.
I supposed he would, and that even with his injured wing, Hermes still had better chances of surviving the coming storm. “How long do you think the spell would last?”
“How soon before Zeus wakes up?”
“No one really knows, but when he wakes up—-” Paul’s voice turned harsh. “He’ll be fit to destroy the world.”
A PAIR OF GENTLEMEN showed up on my doorstep at exactly eight in the morning, both of them dressed in – naturally – dark suits. They gave me polite, friendly smiles as they introduced themselves (Troy with the blue eyes, and Philip with the days-old stubble), and told me I had only to ask if I needed anything.