Sweet Legacy (Sweet Venom) (23 page)

It’s as good a place as any to get lost for a minute.

I cut left on Market and then merge right onto Geary. Barely stopping to snatch a parking ticket from the gate, I speed into the garage beneath Union Square Park.

When I cut the engine, I release a breath I think I’ve been holding since we squealed away from the pier. Grace releases the death grip on her seat belt.

Without waiting for her to make some comment about my driving, I jump out of the car and run around to the trunk, popping the release as I go. Nick is already waking when I pull the trunk lid up and out of the way.

“I thought we were past the locking-me-in-the-trunk phase,” he grumbles as he pushes himself into a sitting position.

“We are.” I grab him by the forearms and pull him out of the trunk—again I find it’s really useful to have super strength. “We are not, apparently, past the saving-your-butt-from-the-monster-horde phase.”

“Oh yeah.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “That.”

“Yeah, that,” I repeat.

He straightens to his full height—a few inches taller than me—and I have to resist the urge to wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against his chest. I don’t think my pulse has slowed to anything near normal since Grace first told me he’d been taken.

Now, finally, I can relax.

“Hey, Nick,” Grace says as she finally forces herself out of the car. She walks up and punches him. Hard.

“Ow.” He rubs the spot on his arm. “What was that for?”

“For throwing me in that elevator and getting yourself taken prisoner,” she says without any venom. “Next time ask first if you’re planning on sacrificing yourself. I would have said no.”

His mouth curves up into an amused grin. “Note taken.”

“Good.” She flashes him a cheery smile. “Now, I’ll be in the car with the monkey so you two can make out.”

I pretend to kick her as she dances out of range.

When she closes the car door behind her, I give in to my urge. Wrapping both arms around Nick’s waist, I lean into him and hug him tight.

“You weren’t worried about me, were you, Sharpe?” he teases.

I can’t answer. If I tell him the truth, he’ll know how I feel about him. If I lie, he’ll know I’m lying, which will tell him how I feel about him. Either way, I’m revealing more of those feelings that I try to keep locked up tight.

“You don’t have to say it,” he says, his voice soft and serious for once. “I was worried about you.”

“Me?” I ask, pulling back to look at him. “I wasn’t taken prisoner.”

“But I was.” His mouth quirks up to one side. “Who would protect you if I was dead?”

I narrow a scowl at him. “Who usually protects who in this relationship?”

“It’s a relationship, then?” he counters.

Darn it. He is too good at these verbal games. I’m better at the physical. So rather than try to beat him with words, I use my mouth another way.

Our lips are just about to touch when the horn on my car blares. The sound echoes off the concrete of the parking structure, amplifying it to eardrum-damaging levels.

“Sorry,” Grace shouts out her open window. “Sillus got a little handsy with the steering wheel.”

I laugh and relax into Nick’s chest.

“Can’t we just stay here?” I ask.

“Forever?”

“Maybe,” I reply. “Or even for a little while.”

He rests his chin on my head. “Maybe a little while.”

For a second, I close my eyes and pretend the rest of my life doesn’t exist. I don’t resent my legacy. I love my sisters, and I take pride in our destiny. But sometimes, in moments like this, with my arms around Nick and his heart beating against my ear, I want to be a normal girl with normal girl problems.

I know these moments never last long, but I’m going to hold on to it for as long as I can, because after this one is over, I have a feeling that “normal” won’t even be in my vocabulary anymore.

I sigh and listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Normal. Just . . . normal.

CHAPTER 27
G
REER

F
or the longest time, I just watch him.

He’s sitting on a wrought iron bench in front of a small pond. There are ducks in the pond and blossoms on the tulip trees. Just like my vision. The setting is so peaceful, and so at odds with the emotions battling in him.

I almost don’t want to add myself into the equation. I might tip the balance either way. But, in the end, I have to. We need him.

I move silently, my footsteps light on the path as I walk down to his bench. I half expect him to sense my presence, so I’m surprised when I make it all the way into his peripheral vision before he notices me.

“You lost the connection with Apollo.”

It’s a statement, not a question.

“I wouldn’t call it a
loss
,” I reply, moving around the bench to look down at him. “But, yes, I’m a beacon no more. How did you know?”

He glances up, his eyes dark with pain. “Didn’t they tell you?”

“Tell me what?” I ask. “That you’re secretly an assassin sent to kill Grace and the rest of us so we can’t open the door?”

His brow scrunches up in confusion. Clearly, he thought I would be a little more upset about his confession. He doesn’t know me very well yet.

“What does that have to do with you reading my mind?”

He rests his elbows on his knees, clenching his hands together. “Artemis and Apollo are twins.”

“I know that.” I am well versed in classical mythology. “They are the children of Zeus and Leto, the goddess of motherhood.”

“As twins,” he explains, “they have a supernatural connection that links their thoughts. As a soldier of Artemis, I was branded with her mark.”

He releases his hands and pulls up the right sleeve of his T-shirt. There, inked into the flesh where his arm meets his shoulder, is a dark green tattoo in the shape of a bow and arrow—the symbol of the goddess of the hunt.

“This connects me to her in the same way the pendant connected you to Apollo.” He tugs his sleeve back down. “It connected me to you, until your death severed the bond.”

“So you really could read my mind?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Not exactly. It was more like some of your thoughts—mostly your visions—ended up in my mind too. I didn’t go looking for them.”

Well, that is a lot to process. Not only did I form a magical connection to a god, but that connection also tied me to his twin sister and those who bear her mark.

The world of Greek mythology is exceptionally complicated.

Maybe things will begin to make more sense the longer I’m involved.

“We’re not connected anymore,” I say, trying to weave the various threads together in my mind. “Does that worry you? I had already touched the pendant when we first met. Do you think it will change things? That I won’t care for you anymore?”

He looks up at me, his eyes full of emotion: fear, hope, uncertainty.

“Trust me when I say that a magical connection has nothing to do with what I feel for you.” I reach down and cup his cheek with my hand. He closes his eyes and leans into my palm. “Is that why you left?”

He shakes his head. Pulling back, out of my touch, he says, “I’m a coward. I had to reveal my secrets, but I couldn’t face your reaction. Or Grace’s.”

That’s the heart of it. He was afraid we would reject him. He was afraid to see anything other than attraction in my eyes or admiration in Grace’s. He should have trusted us more.

Gretchen has learned to trust, and, I am confident, so will Thane. And I’m just the girl to start his training.

I shrug. “We all have secrets.” I cross my arms. “I, for example, once bought a knock-off Dooney from a shop down by the wharf, because every department store in the city was out of stock.”

“Not really the same,” he argues with a disbelieving huff. “Not a betrayal.”

I lift my brows. “You don’t know my friends.”

Hanging his head low, he rubs his hands over his short hair.

“I am pissed at you, though,” I say. When he looks up, I explain, “If you don’t ask me to sit down, I might never speak to you again.”

He half rolls his eyes.

I drum my fingers against my arm.

“What about me makes you think I’m not serious?”

He shakes his head but scoots over to one side of the bench, making room for me. When I don’t immediately sit, he looks up. I just stare at him.

“Great gods,” he says, exasperated. “Greer, would you like to sit?”

Good. That nudged him a little further out of his funk.

I give him a sunny smile. “I’d love to.”

Settling in next to him on the bench, I give him a moment before I start in. He stares out at the water, at the pond and the ripples caused by wind or fish or paddling ducklings. He’s scared. He thinks he’s committed an unforgivable betrayal against the people he cares about most—his sister and his parents.

From one perspective, he’s right. He lied to them, or at least withheld the truth.

But, like I said, haven’t we all.

From another perspective, he’s a hero. He chose family over duty and training. He put himself at great risk by refusing to harm me and my sisters.

It’s time for him to stop acting like a traitor, but I know that coming right out and saying that will be absolutely the wrong approach. I have to come at this sideways.

“My parents have never loved me,” I say.

He looks up, startled. Clearly that was not what he expected me to say. To be honest, it’s not quite what I expected to say, either. It just spilled out of me when I opened my mouth.

“I mean, not the way some parents love their children,” I explain. “Not the way your parents love you and Grace.”

“I’m sorry.”

“If they found out about my lies,” I continue, “if they learned the truth about my heritage, they would view that as a betrayal. They would never forgive me.”

“Thanks,” he half groans. “That makes me feel better.”

“Did you think I came here to make you feel better?” I shake my head. “I’m here to tell you to pull your head out of your backside.”

He jerks back, shocked by my directness.

“Your parents love you,” I say, “unequivocally. So does Grace.”

“Which makes this so much worse.”

“No,” I insist. “That makes it so much easier.”

“How?” he asks, like he really wants to know,
needs
to know. “The stronger the love, the worse the betrayal, Greer. It’s not like I betrayed an acquaintance or even someone I hate. They love me, and I . . .”

“You love them,” I finish. I twist around to face him, tucking my ankle behind my knee, and place my palms on his cheeks. “Listen to me very closely, because I am only going to say this one time.” I wait for him to nod before continuing. “You have betrayed no one. If anything, you proved your love by getting these scars.”

I hold my breath as I lift the hem of his tee to reveal the three scratches—only half healed and still an angry red—inscribed across his torso. It is only a partial relief to know the painful part of my vision is already behind him.

It also means he is still in pain.

He grabs my hand and yanks his shirt back down. “How did you know about that?”

I purse my lips and tap my temple. “Second sight, remember?”

He studies me. “You saw it?”

I nod. “Have you taken the antidote?”

“No,” he says. “There isn’t any.”

“The woman with the flaming hair,” I argue. “She said she would give it to you if you succeeded.”

He looks up at me, his dark eyes shuttered. “She lied.”

I scowl. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Shaking his head, he says, “It’s— Only the juice of a golden apple can counter her poison. The apples are fiercely guarded, their juice more valuable than ambrosia.”

“We’ll find some,” I say with as much certainty as I can muster. “Whatever it takes.”

“It’s fine,” he says, taking my hand in his. “It’s not fatal. Just painful.”

I squeeze his hand. He is so strong, but he believes himself to be so inadequate. Even if I can’t heal his pain, maybe I can make his emotional hurt better.

“You have not betrayed your family. The only thing that could betray their love,” I say, “is abandoning them in their time of need. And right now, until this thing is finished, Grace needs you.”

He frowns and shakes his head, like he doesn’t quite believe me.

“I need you.”

I reach down and wrap both my hands around his. When he looks up, I can see the hope in his eyes. And I can see the emotions, the same feeling of belonging I experience when I look at him. Maybe it’s not love—not the real thing, not yet—but it’s not the mixed-up magic of some mythological connection. It’s a beginning, and it’s worth fighting for.

He squeezes my hand, and I know he feels the same way. We’re in this together. Both of us.
All
of us.

“I don’t deserve you,” he insists.

“No one does,” I reply with a confident smile. “You’ll get used to the feeling.”

He laughs—actually laughs—and I feel it all the way in my toes.

“Good,” I say, releasing a contented sigh. “Now that everything is settled, I vote we enjoy this peace and quiet for a few minutes before we return to the fray.”

He tugs me closer to his side.

“Sounds perfect.”

I lean my head on Thane’s shoulder, thread my fingers through his so our hands are palm to palm, and join him in staring out over the pond and the peaceful hillside below. It’s quiet and restful—exactly what I need after the craziness of the last couple of days.

Exactly what we both need.

The world might be falling apart around us, but in this place, for these few moments, there is calm.

I can’t believe I’ve never been here before. A lifetime in the city, and I thought the Presidio was nothing more than parkland and military buildings.

The new construction of the buildings, with shiny glass offices and airy coffee shops, is kind of inspiring. Imagine looking out from your office each day, down over this beautiful hillside, over the trees and streets below. Cherry and magnolia trees dance among tiny periwinkles and late fall crocuses. I can imagine it looks beautiful in every season, with wave after wave of blooms and blossoms.

Just over the treetops, I can make out the roof of the Palace of Fine Arts.

Now
that
I know. It’s one of my favorite places in the city. If I ever ran away to think for a while, I’d plant myself on a bench in front of the lagoon on the east side. Despite its beauty and fame, there never seem to be
too
many tourists crowding the green space. They all flock to the Exploratorium inside, if they’re not zooming by on a bus to the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s a place where I could let time stop for a while.

Where I could watch ducks and children play and enjoy the elegance of the classical architecture.

Where I could soak up some sun—beneath a shield of high-SPF sunscreen—and pretend the bustling city was miles away.

Where I could wonder once more why the Grecian women in flowing gowns who circle the top of the structure face inward, away from the world. I’ve always thought they look like they’re crying.

Weeping, even.

Weeping . . .

“Oh my gods.” I jerk upright.

“What?” Thane asks.

I stare at him. “Oh my
gods
.”

“What?”

“I think I just found the door.”

He looks at me like I’m either insane or a genius. “What? Here?”

“No.” I point at the pale concrete dome peeking above the treetops. “There.”

She whispers,
Finally.

“Then Gretchen ran out with Nick over her shoulder,” Grace says, nearly breathless, “and we took off down the pier. She was amazing.”

I hold the phone away from my ear and glare at it.

She hasn’t let me get a word in since I dialed her number. “That’s great, but—”

“You should have seen the look on those charcoal guys’ faces—what?” Gretchen says something to her in the background. “Oh, right—they’re Cacuses.”

“Grace, I—”

“It was priceless.” She takes a breath. “Have you found Thane? Is he—”

“Grace!” I snap.

Her silence is deafening, and I immediately feel bad for shouting. But she’ll understand once she hears my news.

“Look, I have something to tell you guys.” I try to calm my tone. “Can you put me on speakerphone?”

“Sure,” she says, sounding a little hurt, “hold on a sec.” The sound from her end changes, and then she says, “Okay, you’re on.”

“What’s up?” Gretchen asks.

“I seem to have a knack for finding things,” I say, smiling, “because I’ve found something important we’d lost.”