The Return (Titan 1)

“It is.”

“Mortal death. So I…I died?” My voice pitched on the last word.

“Yes. And no. Your mortal self passed on. You are a demigod, now immortal in most ways. You still can perish, but it will not be easy. Human illness will no longer touch you. Mortal wounds will not kill you.”

I slowly shook my head. I had no idea what to say to that. I felt the same, only a little different, so it was hard to fully grasp what had happened to me. Part of me wanted to, I don’t know, jump out of a window and see if I’d land on my feet.

He reached up, rubbing the palm of his hand across the center of his chest, the movement weary. “But there is more that you must do. There is an icon of mine you must find, as the rest of the demigods will need to find theirs. Once unbound and with all of the icons, you all will be able to face the Titans.”

“An icon? What does that mean?”

“There’s a certain librarian I think you should speak with,” he said mysteriously, and then he rose, exhaling raggedly. Fine white lines appeared at the corners of his mouth, and a nugget of concern wiggled free. He looked…tired. I hadn’t thought it possible that gods could get tired.

Apollo leaned forward, pressing the tips of his fingers against my cheek like he’d done in my dorm, but now his touch was cool. Unbinding me had weakened him. It took something from him. But if he hadn’t made that choice to unbind me, I would’ve died, or worse. With Hyperion—with the Titans—there were things far worse than death.

“Thank you,” I said, clearing my throat, but the words still rasped out. “Thank you for saving my life.”

His eyes met mine, and he lowered his hand as he straightened. He shimmered a brilliant blue before disappearing.

I stared at the spot where he’d stood as I reached up, placing my hand against my cheek. Tears burned my eyes. I don’t know why I wanted to cry. Probably because I had a lot of reasons to do so.

Drawing in a deep breath, I swallowed those tears and pushed off the bed. The tile floor was cool under my feet. I wiggled my toes, and then I took a step, and then another. I opened the door, and somehow, I just knew to take a right, like by some weird instinct.

The next door didn’t have a window, but I turned the handle and slowly opened it. My breath caught, and my knees suddenly went weak even though I felt more energized than I had in…well, in forever.

It was like I was seeing him for the first time. As if a thin film had been removed from my eyes.

Seth lay on the bed. A blanket had fallen to his waist, as if he’d tossed and turned at some point. He wasn’t in a hospital gown. He was wearing the black thermal I’d last seen him in.

The door swung shut behind me as I walked to his side. A faint blue bruise covered one side of his forehead, just above the eyebrow. His hair was down, falling perfectly around his head while I knew mine was a tangled hot mess. There was a cut on his lower lip, another reddish bruise along his right cheek.

But he still was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

My chest rose and fell raggedly as I stared at him. He’d come for me. He’d fought for me, and had taken a brutal, vicious beating for me. And I’d heard him scream for me when Apollo’s blade had struck.

Emotion swirled in my chest, potent and consuming. I didn’t know what it meant, or maybe I did, but just didn’t want to give a name to it yet, and that was okay, because I was here, and so was he.

Even knowing I should probably let him rest, I still couldn’t stop myself. I reached out and touched his arm.

A shock passed from him to me, jolting through my body. Before I could pull back, his eyes flew open, bright and golden, and his other hand snaked out, wrapping around my wrist. The jolt came again, stronger as it zipped through my veins.

Then I saw them.

From where his hand was wrapped around mine, shapes begin to take form on his skin, forming patterns that my eyes tracked as they swirled and shifted up his arm and then to his neck, and onto the side of his face. They were tattoos that moved and constantly shifted, forming different designs.

Amazingly, my brain started to sort those glyphs out, reading them—understanding them, and well, that was odd, because I couldn’t read Greek, but I knew these symbols were definitely of Greek origin.

Strength.

Invincibility.

My gaze shifted as his chest rose and fell sharply. “I can see them,” I said, awed. “The marks of the Apollyon—I can see them.” Seth moved so quickly.

He shot up as he pulled me forward, tugging me off-balance. One arm went around my waist, and muscles in his arm tensed as he lifted me up. My legs went flying as he twisted me around.

Air rushed out of my lungs as I was suddenly on my back, in the bed. He was half on his side, half on me, and my heart pounded as I rose onto my elbows. Then he shifted, one hand curling around my chin, guiding my head back against the pillow.

“Seth—”

His mouth was on mine. There was nothing questioning or tentative about the way he kissed me. It was demanding. Fierce. My lips parted with a moan, and he took the kiss to the next level, slipping his tongue in, twisting it around mine. I tasted him on my tongue and every place his skin touched mine, I was hypersensitive. My skin tingled and my body burned to feel more of him, for there to be nothing between us.

It had been crazy intense between us before, but this…this was something different, stronger and intensely raw. One of my hands curled into his hair as the other slipped under the sleeve that had pushed up to his elbow. I could barely breathe around the kisses, around the way he drew me into him. I yanked on his hair, and the kisses turned deeper somehow, and I never wanted to stop.

And then he lifted his mouth enough that his forehead rested against mine, and his breath broke on my swollen lips. “Seth,” I whispered his name this time.

He moved onto his side and the hand at my chin dropped to the neckline of my gown. Without saying a word, he yanked it down, and cold air rushed over my chest.

It quickly became obvious that he was checking for the knife wound, but my body had a different, more sensual idea. A flush swept over my skin, and the tips of my breasts tightened.

I bit down on my lower lip as he ran a finger along the odd scar—along Apollo’s mark. My toes curled and my hips twitched. It was a difficult task to breathe as his finger moved beyond the scar and he dipped his head. The edges of his hair brushed over my breasts, creating a crazy rush of sensations.

Seth kissed the center of the mark, causing my heart to explode into a gooey mess. Then he lifted his head, pulling the top of the gown up, tucking it back in place almost reverently. “You’re a demigod,” he said hoarsely.