Daughters of Olympus (Reverse Harem Romances)

Mom has placed a ridiculous number of charms on me, she’s been so nervous for my performance, that someone will find me. I feel them weighing on me. Her whispered incantations are blooming around me, still heavy in the air, cloaking me just the way she wanted.

I remember her whispering that she was cloaking me in herself. Switching places with my energy. Last night I told her that was crazy, but she told me no one was looking for her–it was me that she was worried about.

I walk to Mom’s bedroom, wanting to let her now I’m heading out, but she isn’t there.

“Mom?” I call down the hallway, but again, no answer. I feel a text come through on my phone and I look down at it.

Mom: I ran out to get you flowers. Can’t wait to see the show this afternoon. Love you, Lark. Be careful.

Always the be careful. But right now, I don’t resent it. It makes me feel loved. Just like the hawk shifters are here to protect me, maybe that is why I have been under Mom’s care all my life– maybe whoever my parents are knew I needed someone to look over me.

To keep me safe.

Before I turn to leave from her doorway, I notice the jewelry box on her dresser. It’s the same one she’s had all her life, but I’ve never rifled through it. Maybe because I subconsciously hate it for reasons I don’t understand. But now, I’m curious. I walk toward it, and open it up, just like Tennyson did when we were little girls.

God, how I desperately want to understand. Want the pieces to fit into place. To have the memory back.

What happened to my sister?

I root around for a second and find a small white envelope tucked in the bottom. I open it and find the antique gold band with an embossed feather on the top. In the memory, Tennyson’s face gleamed with excitement as she held it in the palm of her hand.

I want to feel my sister. I want to be connected to her. She held this ring.

So I take it, and I hold it too.

I don’t slip it on; I’m too scared for reasons I don’t fully under- stand. But my body feels lighter as I hold it in my hand, and as I walk across her bedroom, I practically float on air.

I leave the house in a cab, the hawks flying overhead as we drive. And the ring almost burns in my hand, I want to wear it so bad.

So I do.

Nothing happens.

I stare at my fingers, and nothing has changed. It’s just a ring. Maybe it had nothing to do with Tennyson’s death, after all.

* * *

MARK COMES to wish me luck before the rehearsal, pumped up and excited. I’m in my hair and makeup chair as we talk to one another while looking in the mirror. “The reviews are spectacu- lar,” he tells me. “Talk about making a splash with your debut, kid.”

The early reviews were already coming in from major outlets. Special guests from news sources had been invited during the last week for exclusive viewings of our rehearsals, doing inter- views with the cast, and photographing the performance.

“Is my mom here yet?”

Mark frowns. “Haven’t seen her. She has a VIP seat, right?”

I nod. “Can you go look? I’m headed to Costumes to get dressed.”

“I’ll come find you after I find her, sound good?” “Perfect.”

I start the show in a gorgeous Princess gown. It’s white the same as all my costumes in the show. I’m a pure, innocent dove. I smile to myself as I think about the guys, how we gave ourselves to one another the other night in their suite.

There was nothing pure about that.

Half an hour later, I’m all ready. Mark finds me backstage once the house lights are down. “Sorry, Lark. Haven’t seen her. Even tried calling, but there was no answer. Maybe she is wanting to surprise you on opening night?”

“That’s not like her.”

“I know, Lark. Sorry. I’m guessing she is running a few minutes late and will be here in any second.”

The guys find me backstage, whistling and complimenting me. “Gorgeous as always, birdie,” Sawyer says.

“Oh, shush.” Then I look them over. They look exquisite in their costumes. Tight spandex, bare chests, hawk wings attached to their backs and arms, stretching across their breadth. “You guys look. ” I swallow, shaking my head.

“Like something you’d like to undress after rehearsal?” Brecken asks.

I grin. “Maybe. If all goes well.”

“It will,” Vaughn says, kissing my cheek. And I believe him.

23

North

The dress rehearsal goes off without a hitch. In fact, it was the best we’ve ever done.

Lark doesn’t just move across the stage, I swear her feet never touched the ground. Everyone is ecstatic afterward, and since it is still afternoon, I suggest we get an early dinner.