the truth, she knew he’d just told a whopper.
He was playing her, and she’d almost let him. Harden up. You’re a bitch. Act like it.
“That’s easy for you, isn’t it? Forgetting the world around you, I mean.” Bitterness crept through her tone, and there was nothing she could do to defuse it. “Your poor, sad memory.”
He frowned, and his hand fell away.
She wanted to shout. With frustration. With a demand that he touch her again. With fury that she wanted him to touch her again. Instead, she remained quiet and finished her meal, consuming every last crumb, every drop of wine, and leaving nothing for the man across from her.
“Why are you so…not stubborn about this?” he asked with what seemed to be genuine curiosity. “About keeping me in the light?”
Because she’d spent thousands of years wondering where he was, what he was doing and who he was doing it with. Wondering if he ever thought of her, wondering why he never returned for her. Wondering if he was even alive. Each day had been worse than the last, a constant churning in her mind, her emotions rolled out, flayed and left raw.
But she’d known with gut-wrenching intensity that he loved her, so she’d finally had to accept that he hadn’t returned because he’d been killed. Death was the only thing that could have kept him away. So she’d mourned him, crying so forcefully, so intensely, she’d actually shed tears of blood.
And when she’d finally discovered that he lived…Oh, the pain. Pain that still haunted her, a constant shadow in her heart.
In contrast, he’d been wondering about her for a few weeks. He didn’t cry himself to sleep about it. He didn’t throw up because the worry and the heartache were too much to bear.
Her hands clenched so tightly, the glass she held shattered. Beads of crimson sprang up all over her palm, but she didn’t flinch at the ensuing sting. This was nothing compared to what she’d once endured. Nothing. She no longer cried about anything.
Gideon sighed and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, inspecting the damage. “Love to see you injured. Don’t want to make it all better.”
Truth.
When he had strode into his fortress’s dungeon and she’d seen his beautiful face, the only thing she’d truly felt at the time was awe. He was alive. He was with her again. But then the anger had sparked. Followed by the resentment and the consuming urge to hurt. None of those compared to what she felt just then, however.
Rage. So much rage.
How dare he. How fucking dare he care about such paltry wounds! He was sitting there, calm as could be, poking at her emotions like a child with a stick because he could. Because she was a big, fat question to him. That was all. He wanted answers. Not her. Not her forgiveness. He couldn’t care less about easing her real injuries and making her “all better.”
Had she been nothing to him, even all those centuries ago? Yes, he’d wed her, but he’d left her soon after. Left her, she now knew, to steal and open Pandora’s box. She also knew he’d been paired with his demon and shoved out of the heavens soon after that. But she’d been possessed that same day, still locked inside her cell.
After those centuries spent in darkness—what oddly seemed like a mere blink of time for her whenever she looked back—had passed and she’d once again had control of her mind, she’d remembered Gideon. Realized he’d been given a demon, too, and figured he had gained control of himself, as well. So she’d waited for him to return for her. And waited. And waited, for so damn long. Then all those questions began swirling in her head. And then the worry had set in, followed by the grief that he hadn’t survived.
And in that grief, she’d done things that had shocked even her demon. Terrible things. None of the gods and goddesses sharing her cell—the one she’d been moved to, away from the tender hand of her mother—had survived her rampage.
The Greeks had nearly executed her for those actions, but in the end, Zeus had preferred to parade her in front of Cronus, his own father and greatest foe, enjoying the fact that she was proof Rhea had cuckolded him. Anything that tormented the deposed Titan king was worth keeping alive, the Greek sovereign had said, no matter how dangerous that thing was.
And then the Titans finally won their freedom. Cronus and Rhea would have liked to leave her behind, she knew, but they’d needed her skills to help defeat the Greeks.
Once the screams had faded and the blood had stopped flowing, she’d scoured ancient scrolls for information about the Lords of the Underworld, hoping to find them and ask how Gideon had perished. Where his bones rested. She’d intended to give him a proper burial, pray over him, say goodbye.
Instead, she’d discovered her husband was still alive.
Her relief had known no bounds. But then, neither had her upset, for that’s when other questions had begun plaguing her. Why hadn’t he come back for her? Why hadn’t he sent word that he’d survived?
She’d sought him out to ask him. And yes, to throw herself back into his arms. To feel him surrounding her, sliding in and out of her, once again. Finally. The way she’d been dreaming about for so many years.
She’d found him in that bar in Buda. She’d walked past him. Except, he hadn’t noticed her. Glanced at her, yes. Moved his gaze away as if she were of no consequence, yes, that, too. He’d been too busy crooking his finger at a human female, and then having sex with that female right there in the club.
Scarlet had left, heartbroken all over again. As she did her best to learn about modern human society by watching TV, all the while secretly hoping Gideon would find her worthy when she did so—her, a woman who had been raised among criminals, who had never been wanted by her mother, had never known her father, and who had a wretched demon trapped inside her—she’d kept her ear to the ground, always curious about Gideon and what he was doing.
Maybe she’d purposely allowed the Lords to capture her. Without consciously admitting that she craved a moment like this. A moment to see what a shit Gideon truly was. A moment to finally, blessedly cut him from her thoughts. Which, even now, was completely against her nature and something she’d sworn never to do. Captivity was something she despised. Yet she’d stayed in that fucking dungeon and hadn’t tried to escape. For this man who didn’t remember her. A man who had no problem using her. Hurting her. Tearing her down.
He. Needed. To. Suffer.
Scarlet jumped to her feet, plate in hand. A plate she tossed at Gideon without warning. It crashed into his face and shattered just as her wineglass had done. And just as her hand had beaded with blood, so did his face.
Not enough.
Scowling, he jumped up, as well. “That was nice. Thanks!”
She’d already launched another plate, and this one slammed into his chest. It, too, broke apart, slicing past his T-shirt.
“What don’t you think you’re doing?”
“I’m not kicking your ass. I’m not hating your guts. I’m not thinking you are the biggest ass the gods ever created. How’s that? Did I speak a language you can understand?” Kill him. She wanted to kill him.
“I
