Sin & Chocolate (Demigod of San Francisco 1)

And now that great face and breathtaking body had my good jeans and non-stained shirt.

“What a royal dickface fucker. I hope I get the chance to kick him right in that huge dong of his.”

Muttering to myself, in between cursing the giant sweats that didn’t want to stay up, I made my way to the closest exit that everyone else had used. Double doors housed a sign warning people away from Demigod Kieran’s private fitness quarters.

“There’s more than one door, you bunch of nitwits,” I groused, shoving the doors open and leaving them that way.

Three steps out, a presence niggled at my awareness. Already annoyed, I stopped abruptly and spun around. A half-naked man crouched behind a fake plant, watching me with a straight face.

It was the blond guy with still-damp hair. And now that he was closer, I saw that he was the same guy who’d been standing guard over my car after the freak show.

“Hello, Magoo,” he said nonchalantly, his smile large and beautiful and about to get a foot in it.

“Fantastic.” I didn’t know what else to say about that nickname.

I clutched the large sweats a little tighter, holding my wet purse out a little farther from my body, as I turned away. “You didn’t even bother to put on a shirt before starting your detail, huh?”

I started walking. He was big, toned, and moved like he was lethal. If he intended to follow me around, there wasn’t a lot I could do about it besides get home as soon as possible.

I needed to come up with a plan.

“I worked hard on this body. Why not show it off?” he said, drifting behind me.

Obviously that wasn’t the reason why he wasn’t wearing a shirt, but I didn’t bother commenting.

At the stairs to the second floor, I glanced back as I walked around the banister and onto the stairs. With a start, I realized he was gone. Somewhere along the way, he’d drifted out of sight again without my knowing.

I didn’t know if that was good or bad.

The waiting room was empty but for the guy at the check-in desk with a phone to his ear. Something told me he’d dialed my number and was hoping I would pick up.

“Hey,” I said, hurrying up to him. “Sorry I’m late. I dropped my phone in the pool.”

“Ah.” He beamed at me and lowered the phone to its cradle. “We were starting to lose hope. I’ll just bring him up for you.”

A few moments later, the door in the corner of the room opened and a desperately drained Mordecai trudged out, leaning heavily on an orderly.

“Oh my God, what did they do to you?” I asked as I rushed forward, my heart in my throat.

“It’s fine…” Mordecai blinked at my outfit. “Where are your clothes?”

“Do you want help, ma’am?” the orderly asked.

“No. I got it.” I ducked into Mordecai’s outstretched arm and slung my arm around his middle without thinking.

I’d let go of my sweats.

“Crap.” I grabbed at them with my other hand, slapping the wet purse against my leg. “Shoot.”

“Ma’am—”

“What is going on?” Mordecai asked, a smirk fighting the concern in his eyes.

“Ma’am, do you need—”

“I’m fine,” I yelled at the orderly, because I needed to take out my humiliation turned aggression on someone, and it couldn’t be a sick teenager. “Just…give me a minute.”

“Would a stapler do?” Mr. Smart Guy at the front desk asked, returning.

“Maybe,” I muttered.

A few helpful staff, a lot of staples, and a host of safety pins later, I was ready for the road.

“So…” Mordecai leaned against me, his shoulders bowing heavily. “Where are your clothes, again?”

Trying to tamp down my fear for him, I swallowed my rage and frustration over the situation with Kieran. Mordecai didn’t need to bear the burden of my shitty problems.

“Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“Your underwear is leaking…hopefully water through huge gray sweats, your hair is dripping, and your bag has been dunked. It’s nothing?”

He was so nice that he didn’t even mention my failure to answer the office’s texts and phone calls.

“Let’s save it for when we get home. I don’t want to repeat myself for Daisy.”

I helped him out of the room and turned toward the stairs. A moment later, though, he stiffened and slowed. He glanced behind him, his fingers digging into my back.

“What?” I asked, stopping to turn around.

“Keep going,” he whispered.

“What?” I repeated, whispering now, at the head of the stairs.

“Someone is…back there. They seem…dangerous.”

“Wow, look at you. Your shifter senses are blossoming. Can you see anyone?”

“No. Come on—what are you waiting for?”

I searched the hall, not letting him turn me around. A girl of about Mordecai’s age waited next to a small alcove, her fingers picking at the big plastic buttons on her shirt and her face lowered, as if she didn’t want people to see her. Shy, probably. On her right hung an oil painting of the running of the bulls in Spain with a man flying through the air, propelled by a horn gouging his butt. A metal-looking tree climbed the wall beside it, its branches hanging down to give the girl’s nook some cover.

“Hey,” I called, not worrying about my volume. This was a magical place. Hopefully I wasn’t the weirdest person around.

The girl started and her head snapped up. Her gaze zeroed in on Mordecai and me before sweeping the hall in front of us, looking for the person I was addressing. When she didn’t see anyone, I thought her gaze would return to us.

Instead, it drifted upward, toward the branches of the tree crawling across the ceiling.

“No…way.” I followed her gaze and found widened eyes in a partially strained face. “You’re an odd-looking banana, sir.”

34

Alexis

The guy with the huge arms from Kieran’s posse clung to the branches of the metallic tree, which did not look strong enough to hold him. Those incredible arms probably comprised most of his weight, but his legs were active, too, holding his lower half.

Seeing that his cover was blown, he swung his legs down before he gracefully dropped, slightly bending with the impact. He rose, huge, at probably six four or five, with large hands and a solid frame. His severe expression matched his cheekbones, and his eyes were hard and dark.

“Come on.” I finally turned, yanking Mordecai with me.

“Who is he?” Mordecai asked, looking behind us. “Why is he following us?”

“He’s the Demigod’s version of a joke.” I veered to the side, dragging with Mordecai’s weight. “Grab that banister.”

His arm shook as he gripped the wood, and his other fingers clutched my shoulder. He tipped, and I staggered to catch his weight, half falling down two stairs.

A strong hand landed on my bicep and the large man stepped in front of us, his other hand coming up to brace against Mordecai’s chest.

We both froze.

“This is why they like to take the patients home,” the man said before pulling my arm, moving me away from Mordecai’s side. “It is also why we have wheelchairs. And elevators.” He slid into my place, easily taking Mordecai’s weight, and started slowly down the stairs.

My heart squished as I hurried down in front of them. The man didn’t have to do this. He was under no orders to carry my ward around. That he would help, without being asked, told me he was at least a decent guy.

Unfortunately, it would make it harder not to like him.

Lines creased Mordecai’s face by the time he reached the bottom, some from uncertainty, and some from fatigue.

I bit my tongue, wanting to ask if the mountebanks had told him anything.

“I think I can manage,” Mordecai said. Even his words sounded strained.

“You’re being helped out by one of Demigod Kieran’s Six,” the man said. “Take the style points. They’re free.”

“Well… They aren’t exactly free, are they, since you’re on spy duty?” I asked, not as accusatory as I’d meant it to be.

Mordecai looked at me, troubled, but he didn’t ask for more details. That would come later, when the stranger was gone.

“Touché,” the man said, not at all perturbed or arrogant. It was slightly infuriating that he seemed like a cool guy.

“You’ve got a good frame,” the man said to Mordecai as we moved toward the door, slow and steady. His accent was distinctive but difficult to pinpoint—whenever he spoke, his tongue rolled and vowels rounded. “If you have enough fuel, you’ll fill out like a powerhouse.”

“Someone else would need to supply the meat for that fuel. Alexis is a vegan,” Mordecai said.

“A vegan?” The man gave me a sour face. “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“It’s good for you. And saves the environment. And…” I squinted, reaching for another reason. Being poor and not having any hookups in the meat and dairy department were the only real reasons I could think of.

“I’m just kidding,” Mordecai said with a smile, and I wondered why he was suddenly so comfortable. Did he somehow fail to understand what accepting this man’s help meant?