33. Sin

33

Sin

by majority vote

A hush eclipses my happy little dinner party. Hand smoothing down his shirt front, Atlas rises from his seat to pacify the unrest.

He doesn’t understand Nat at all.

I hook my arm around her middle and yank her onto my lap, press my lips against her neck. “It’s family dinner, love.” I anchor my calf over her feet so she can’t kick me. “If you’re hoping for decorum, unfortunately I’ll need to make new friends, but that can be arranged.”

Meda throws a pancake. “As if.”

Pretending as if she’s not on the verge of maiming me and my loved ones, I take Nat’s wrist and lick it clean of punch. Strawberry. As I suspected it goes perfectly with her. Strawberry lemonade. “Did you actually see a ghost?” I ask.

Her brows hitch together. “What?”

I ignore the glass in her palm, and the stares of concern. “I mean he’s crazy, of course, but Zeke also predicted the assassination of JFK, 9/11, Bindi winning Dancing with the stars, and when he said Iron Man was going to be the greatest movie in the MCU, Meda said he should be committed, but was he wrong?”

Immediately, Meda and Zeke dash into an argument about Black Widows and Panthers and other small animals.

Nat punches me in the thigh, and it’s an instant Charlie horse. “I told you not to let me sleep.”

She’s angry. Lips parted, nostrils flared, geared up to fight.

I’m glad I chose butter knives for the place settings.

“Should we re-do introductions?” I call, dinging my glass with the tip of my fork.

“We’ve met,” Nat grits, not at all going with the flow.

That’s fine. I’ll shove her in the water and hold her down until she can’t resist the tide.

Then she’ll see.

“The hairy one is Lev,” I start. “He murdered his father with a … I want to say, gun?”

The Russian smirks. “Fire billows.”

“Right. I’m always getting those confused. Then, right there, that’s Zeke, who is certain he’s being personally targeted by the Argos for practicing the occult. “

“Prove that I’m not!”

Ignoring Zeke and his umbrella, I move down the line. “Luke’s a dismal mortal. That’s about it. Horrifically depressing.”

“You wish you were me.”

“Meda’s already robbed you.” The thief grins, wagging fingers. “Atlas gave birth to the whole of our misery. And he’s a real ass about it.” The leader of the Blackguard gives me the finger, and I add, not so quietly, “Especially if you point it out.”

Drake snorts into his glove.

Nat’s fingers dig into my thigh, nails and all. I yank her back into my erection.

“The Butcher of Boston doesn’t need an intro, but if he had one, it’d be an emo punk band.” I tap fingers on my chin, looking Rune up and down. “Rune’s prophesized to kill the female he loves. Big bummer. Terrible wingman, and the best for last, me. The great Sinis of Athens, a male without faults.”

“Except for ingesting poison on multiple occasions,” says Drake.

Meda points. “Didn’t you cause the War of 1812?”

“As I said,” I cast a warning look at my family to shut it. “Faultless. And then there’s you.” I nudge Nat’s mouth to mine and kiss her lightly. “My Fury, who has never looked lovelier than when she is well rested and wants to kill me. All because I surprised her with an evening of fine dining.”

Before she can confirm her desire, which I know she will haughtily, despite the fact that she’s outnumbered and weaponless in front of a cast of villains powerful enough to kill a God, I kiss her again, hard, trapping her against my hard on.

She bites my lip and grinds against me.

I take it as a win.

“So what are these stones?” Meda asks, picking up a solid core of topaz. “Seating arrangements? How come I have only five while Atlas has ten?

Nat freezes, pulls back from my mouth. I keep my tone light, rubbing her shoulders, saying, “I’m not Martha Stewart on cocaine. I didn’t engrave seating charts. You wouldn’t have listened, anyway. That was all Nat.”

All heads dip to the Fury on my lap.

I’ve never seen her so off balance, so confused and young looking. After she fell asleep next to me, I’d moved her to the bed, stripped her of the too-tight sweatshirt and tucked her in.

If Furies didn’t bow, they sure as Hades didn’t sleep on tile a foot from the toilet.

The caffeine didn’t allow me a wink of fucking sleep, but it did provide clarity.

Nat belongs here. Right here. Tucked into my side, safe and free.

I’ve convinced lovers to war. I’ve started rebellions with a well timed kiss. If anyone can change the mind of a Fury, it’s me.

She can’t sleep. I’ve proven otherwise.

She’s too violent for the mortal realm? Is there anyone in the Blackguard who can’t have the same said about them?

She’s alone? She can have my family.

She wants Theia back? I lock eyes with Meda, sending a flare of serious energy to her, and she nods. I’ll get her Theia.

There won’t be a single reason this female won’t become mine.

I’ll swap the oceans and land for her.

I’ll sever the reins on Helios chariot to keep the sun from setting.

I’ll bring the entire Underworld into the light if I have to.

“Nat?”

Thunder rumbles in the distance. She blinks big, luscious eyes at me. I can tell she wants to hit me, but she hasn’t determined why.

Not that it ever stops her.

“Care to answer, love?”

“They’re votes,” she tells the vicious Blackguard, no fear, no hesitation. “My sisters voted on who we should kill first.”

I grin, having suspected exactly that. “Atlas, you lucky dog.”

Zeke smiles, jabbing the corner of his umbrella into Luke’s temple. “Hey, I got three!”

“Luke got none.” Rune notes as he rolls four shards of obsidian in his palm. “Brutal.”

They go off, each vying for the reason they should have gotten more, stealing each other’s gems like children, and all the while Atlas sits smug, quietly pleased with the Fury’s assessment.

I tip my glass at him and brush my lips on Nat’s ear. “Who did you vote for?”

Phrased like a plea.

The same tone I’ll use to beg her to say my name.

Anger lights her eyes. She ignores my question. “I specifically instructed that you not let me sleep.”

“I tried to wake you. You snore like a lioness. Nothing worked.”

Not the tiptoeing or whispering, or careful maneuvering to tuck her into bed.

“I didn’t want to sleep,” she insists. “I missed the sunset.”

“They’ll be another tomorrow,” I assure her gently. “But in case there isn’t.” I hand her my phone, the video I took while shivering on her hill as the sun dropped in a sea of gloomy clouds. I took it about ten minutes before I picked death votes out of her ditch like super sad Easter egg hunt.

“It’s not the same,” she argues, but her eyes don’t leave the screen.

“No, but it’s close.” I gesture to the yard, the table laden with bright food, the gold lights against the dark, cloud covered sky. My version of the Underworld. “Vibrant, isn’t it? Boreas fucked me with the breeze, but the candles are hibiscus scented. You weren’t specific in Persephone’s preference. And I told the guys to wear armor, but they assumed I was joking.” Stomach fluttering with nerves, I pull her into me and inhale stinging lemon. “Maybe we can punish them for dessert.”

When she glances at me, her eyes are strangely soft, she’s still absorbing. She swallows and says, “You cut your hair.”

“Next time you poison me, you won’t have to hold it back.”

“I didn’t poison you.”

I stare, lips curling up in a smile. “I’m waiting for you to say this time .”

Her nose scrunches in response. I’ve never seen her so quiet. It makes me anxious, makes me feel like I fucked up. Pushed her too far again, so when she pushes off my lap and returns to her own chair, I don’t complain like I want to.

I make a show of adjusting myself, the erection I’ve had since I found her in the kitchen. When she’d looked at me like she’d been searching for me without ever thinking she’d find me.

“Eat Natasa. Lesenia’s invitation came. We meet with Emil tomorrow.” My fingers start to toy with the hem of my shirt, knowing we’re too close to answers and wishing we weren’t. I force myself to look over at her and my pulse climbs. Slowly. From the slow tick of a clock to a thunder. “You look lovely when you’re mad at me. Rested. Relaxed. Under the lights.” I drink. A full bodied merlot. Taste lemonade. “Are you thinking of killing me?”

“We slept together.”

“We did more than that, Bloodspiller. And let me tell you, it’s all I’ve been thinking about.”

“What are you doing? What is all this?”

“I know you voted for me,” I say, presenting a chunk of onyx with the deepest, most beautiful Greek Cyrillic writing I’ve ever seen. “And I’m assuming Hades was on the same page.” Another God to despise me. Great .

“Daddy’s favorite, aren’t you?” I grab the serving dish and jam. “Pancake?”

“For dinner?”

“They’re black,” Drake intones.

I put my hands up. “Zeke said no one could mess it up.”

“No,” Zeke declares, full on Little Bo Peep twirling his umbrella. “I said no one but you could mess it up. I made a frittata for the guest of honor. But that was before I found out I’m getting murdered fifth. Fans don’t even stay until the fifth inning.”

“Since when,” Drake asks, stabbing a scrambled egg. “Do you watch baseball?”

“I’m hip. I’m young. I saw Twilight.”

I grin conspiratorially at Nat. “Wine? I don’t know what’s typical, but I thought a rich red would pair nicely with butterscotch pancakes.”

“No,” says Lev over his teetering syrup soaked stack. “Only way to choke it down is this.”

Nat stares at the shot glass he shoves across the sealed wood.

“C’mon,” I chide. “This is a classy dinner. We’re not doing shots.”

“We’re not eating this trash sober,” Meda calls.

Lev arches a brow at Nat. “Don’t do it if you think you can’t keep up.”

He doesn’t finish his sentence before she’s thrown it back. Not a wince or flinch for Lev’s special home brew vodka.

A cheer roars.

They’re assholes but they’re not wrong. The food’s edible after two shots, nearly good after four. The night unfolds easily. My fingers poised on Nat’s neck, a beautiful silver flush on her cheek as she eats.

Luke slices apart a lopsided chocolate cake for Meda while Zeke juggles his kill stones balancing on one foot. Atlas and Rune lock into a conversation about spam emails and clicking unknown links. Facing each other, Drake and Lev—the smallest and biggest of us—silently go shot for shot in an unofficial to the death drinking match. That’s when it happens.

Nat smiles.

Really smiles.

And the taste of lemons, it goes sweet. It’s candy on my tongue, fresh lemon curd with extra sugar.

I’ve never been harder, or felt my chest this tight

I trace a dizzying pattern on her bare shoulder. “There are no sunsets in Olympus either,” I admit, voice low amidst the revelry. “Or sunrises.” I scoot my chair over a root to touch hers. “That’s why you like it, right? Because the Underworld doesn’t have any?”

“Yes.” She swallows down surprise. “Yes. That’s right.”

“I used to end every night watching the sunrise with a bottle of wine in my hand.” I wet my lips, watching her carefully. “I don’t know when I stopped appreciating the view.”

“Sin …”

I’m abruptly awash with dread. “Don’t say my name. Because I love when you say it and it gets me so fucking excited and then you always crush me. Every time. I just once want you to say it and let me enjoy it.”

Hesitation. A click in her jaw. I brace for another denial, wholly prepared to beg.

“Okay.”

A single tepid word and I’m flying.

“Excellent. Let’s go.” I stand, pulling her chair out for her, announcing to my clusterfuck family, “Finish your drinks and your pancakes—”

“—you’re trying to kill us!”

“We’re going. First stop. Dancing.”

Nat tucks neatly against me, comfortable, skin cool, eyes clear. I clutch her closer. “Come on, Bloodspiller, tonight I’m showing you why I’m called the Passion of Athens.”