I ripped my gaze from the goblin’s fiery pincers and looked into Paris’s eyes. He watched me with such tenderness. It was disconcerting. My head screamed that I did not know him, but there was another part of me, buried deep, that spoke of a love so strong, it shook the very pillars of Olympus.
As he watched me struggle to make a choice, another emotion crossed his visage, something far more telling—passion. It was there, written in his confidence, his bearing. He was passionate for me.
I realized he’d been holding back in the short time we’d been together. At this moment, he was baring himself and asking for a boon from me. I could feel his desire, as if scorched into my soul. He wanted me with an intensity that I could not fathom. Those light touches of his fingers, the way he watched me. It was as if he’d caged himself, too afraid he might scare me away with the sweltering emotion that roiled within him.
I wondered at the feeling that raced through my veins. Not fear, but exhilaration. The same instinct that warned me of Menelaus now told me that Paris would be true to his word.
Trust.
Never breaking eye contact, I took his proffered hand.
The city of Pyli, where we had entered the Underworld, lay far below us. Smoke rose from the haphazard buildings that lined the main street, each one like an ice-cream cone piled high with too many scoops. Three separate suns were in the sky overhead, the firmament an unfamiliar shade of amethyst. When we’d stepped out of Cranfel’s shop, I had looked at Paris with alarm, expecting him to go up in flames. But he was unharmed.
He smiled when he noticed me staring. “The Underworld is the birthplace of vampires. This is our homeland. Only the earthly sun harms us.”
It occurred to me the ancient war between demons and vampires Paris had spoken of must have been extremely bloody for the vampires to leave a place where they could live in the light.
“I have a home up on the ridge.” He pointed to the craggy slopes in the distance. “We’ll head there. It’s safe.”
He’d led me down the busy street to a livery shop. He kept his head down and maintained a steel grip on my arm the whole way. I’d followed his lead, keeping my eyes down. At the livery, he’d arranged for transportation up the mountain ridge next to town. Questions upon questions had risen in my mind as we rode up the steep slope. But the clatter of the buggy made conversation impossible. Paris had barely paid me any attention, anyway. His gaze roamed the woods and the dark cliffs around them. We were then dropped at the edge of a dense wood by the horselike creature that pulled our small carriage. It had fur of the softest rabbit and was extremely sure-footed on the mountainous path that led to these heights.
I stretched after the bumpy, noisy ride and enjoyed the crisp air that stirred around us. Paris tucked some strange currency into the beast’s pack, and it turned, heading back down the craggy slope to the city.
Holding out a hand, I summoned a ball of flame. I’d been doing it every so often on the journey, reassuring myself that my magic hadn’t been tainted by the bangles. He eyed the orb of golden heat, a look verging on satisfaction crossing his face, before scanning the tree line. No fear. He wasn’t put off by my magic in the least, even though I could destroy him with a thought.
We walked a short way through the wood, the sunlight never touching the mossy floor in the thick tangle of trees, until a slight clearing revealed a shadowy structure. It seemed to grow from the rocky granite of the mountainside, perched there as if a dark piece of the mountain had bubbled up and been frozen to the spot.
Paris’s Underworld home was, in a word, hideous. The color of dark coal, it seemed to swallow any light that came near. It was built into a cliff of dark rock that ran along a sharp, wooded ridge high above the valley below. It would have been architecturally lovely, with high roofs and amazing vistas, if only there were windows. Instead, the outside was soot black. It was well-camouflaged, so high and well-blended that even an eagle would have trouble spotting it.
But I wasn’t in this for an architectural survey. I’d trusted Paris at Cranfel’s, even let him lead me up to his mysterious home. Though my instinct told me to trust him, I couldn’t give it full sway over my mind. I was able to think more calmly on our ride up the ridge and come up with a plan. Now that my binds were gone, I could make a break for it. Run and try to sort this whole mess out. Staying with Paris couldn’t be the right move, no matter how much my instinct told me it was.