22

22

There Is Nothing Normal About This

I feel more than see Hades walk into the kitchen the next morning, and I know he’s staring based on the way the back of my neck prickles. A long, drawn-out study. Just as my stomach starts to clench, he speaks. “What, exactly, are you wearing?”

It turns out Hades’ voice is growly in the mornings, and a little bit grumpy. And the fact that the terror-inducing god is not a morning person is…kind of cute. There’s no stopping the shiver that whispers over my skin. I chalk that up to the fact that I barely slept last night, and now exhaustion is dragging at me like extra gravity.

I glance down at myself, then go back to the eggs I’m scrambling. “The uniform I was provided.”

The two-piece athletic set of movable, breathable material showed up in my room at the butt-crack of dawn. Simple pants and a long-sleeve shirt with a mock collar—sports clothes. I’m trying very, very hard to pretend it’s for comfort and not for running for my life.

Hades’ name is stamped across the front in yellow block lettering, looking cheaply made and a little bit like a prison-issued jumpsuit. It is gray, like an ugly gray that makes my skin look sallow. Gray is also not one of the four colors that went with the virtues we’re supposed to be divided into.

“Is mine this color because you have no virtue?” The question pops out before I can filter for a god’s ego. I realized late last night he’d never really answered my earlier question.

“Was that supposed to be funny?”

A little bit. I shrug.

I can hear his confident steps before he comes into my field of view, standing next to me at the counter in a pair of low-slung jeans and a light-blue T-shirt. “I value something different than the others.”

Having a curious nature really sucks sometimes. “What?”

“Survival.”

Oh.

Something else we have in common, only a different kind of surprise has my eyebrows winging up. “You’re a god. Immortal. Survival seems built in.”

“Surviving isn’t just not dying.” His voice roughens.

If anyone can relate to that, it’s me. “You’re right. It’s not.”

“Anyway…” he continues and waves at my clothing. “Not this.” His voice takes on a smoother edge that I’m starting to identify as irritation.

I’m not sure why he’s annoyed about what I’m wearing. I’m the one wearing it. Sure, it’s not the height of athleisurewear, but so what? “Do I need to look good to try to not die?”

“Last night, you were all about blending in. I promise this won’t blend in.” He crosses his arms. “It’s also a deliberate affront to me. Making my champion look less than.”

“‘Less than’?” I snort. “Again…I’ll be in a contest that might require running and hopefully not screaming.” Seriously, who gives a shit? “These are fine. Actually, I appreciate that the style didn’t run along the lines of the insulting, absurd image I find most people love to indulge about women in sports or fighting.”

“I’m going to regret asking.” He settles a hip against the countertop. “What insulting, absurd image?”

Oh. I scoff. “I don’t know if gods watch movies… I mean, you have a TV and watch the news, so it stands to reason—”

“The point?”

“Right. Well, any ‘top’ that is just a flimsy bra I could spill out of is beyond impractical, unless I’m using my breasts as a distraction.” There might be a choking sound beside me as I expertly flip the eggs. “And good gods, corsets seem great for the figure and posture but shit to move around in, let alone fight in. Talk about restrictive.” I roll my eyes and turn off the burner with a flick of my fingers. Most fantasies about women, in my opinion, are dumb as fuck. “Forget leather, which holds in all the sweat. And knee-high boots are hot and all, but try jumping off a rooftop in three-inch heels and see what happens.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Hades says. There’s a long pause, then he adds, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the boots, though.”

I sigh. How disappointing that he’s like all the rest of them. “Don’t you dare.”

“I’ll make sure to keep your requirements in mind.” He snaps his fingers, and like yesterday, I’m instantly wearing new clothes.

I glance down, then move my pan off the burner so I can take a closer look.

The outfit is still sporty but of superfine quality. Black now—the color of the public-facing god of death, apparently—and the material seems patterned in black-on-black to look like…flames, maybe? The pattern covers all of the shirt beneath a vest but only a simple stripe up the fronts of the legs.

“Are my clothes now fancier than the other champions’?”

“I hope so.”

I almost smile. He definitely likes sticking it to the other gods, and despite probably earning more black marks next to my name, that’s something I fully support. “Playing to the crowds again?”

“Exactly.”

I pause, twisting my neck to peer closer at the vest. It’s the tactical vest Boone brought me last night, which Hades kept as part of the outfit—I’m sure of that—except now there’s a butterfly embroidered on the chest in a rose-gold thread.

But there’s more.

My hands are covered in fingerless gloves with smaller rose-gold butterflies on the back. The gloves tuck into gauntlets covering my forearms that are a supple, movable leather and yet protective. My feet are encased in boots that protect my shins, but I can tell I’ll be able to run and even climb in them easily.

Wow. He actually listened.

“Why butterflies?”

I don’t look directly at him, but I still catch the way he shrugs. “I like them.”

Me too. I don’t say that out loud, though. No need to bond over bugs.

Deliberately, I pull my shoulders back. I’m also not going to thank him. The reason I’m wearing this is because I’m his champion. I won’t thank him for any of it.

I scrape half the eggs onto a plate and take them and a cup of tea to the kitchen island to grab a stool there.

“I left some for you,” I tell him, then frown. “Do immortals even need to eat?”

“Yes, but only for…”

He pauses long enough that I glance up, meeting his glittering gaze directly for the first time this morning. Something I’ve been avoiding until now. “For?”

“Pleasure.”

Good grief, the slide of that word on his tongue. The wicked, teasing light in his eyes is too much to handle this early in the day. Not to mention I’ve been doing everything I can to not think about his gift since it happened.

Only now, all I can think about is that kiss. About the way his tongue felt brushing against mine. And if the swirling in his eyes is any indication, he’s thinking about the exact same thing.