Fangs and Fennel (The Venom Trilogy #2)(46)

Beth and Sandy were gone too, and I let out a sigh. I hoped they were just out shopping, being normal. And not being sucked back into Theseus’s grasp.

Slowly, my thoughts came together, and a possible solution formed like watching dough rise. Maybe there was a way. “Tad, I need to go to the bakery and whip something up for dinner tonight.”

He groaned, and I grabbed one of his feet and gave it a shake. “You brought your car, didn’t you?”

Another groan. I rolled my eyes. “Look, I get it. I’ve only had three hours too, but there is nothing I can—” I stared at his sleeping face. Only, he wasn’t sleeping, not really. Blood seeped from a thin line along his forehead. “Did someone attack you?”

His eyes fluttered open. “Beth.”

“Beth?” That was crazy. “Why? What did you say?”

He drew a slow breath. “I tried to stop her from taking the flask.”

My heart sank to my toes like a lead weight dropping through a piecrust. “No . . . Is Dahlia okay?”

“Yeah. Dahlia is fine. Slept through the whole thing, I think.” He struggled to sit up, so I helped him.

“Tad, this is bad.”

“She’s working for Theseus, then? For real?” He squinted at me and then covered his eyes. “Damn, two of you is too much.”

“Lie back down. Stay here and rest. I’m going to take your car and go to the bakery.” A place of sanctuary, a place I could hide for a little while from the truth that was causing me to shake. Theseus had the oil. And I had no idea how to stop him. He was moving his chess pieces carefully, and I couldn’t seem to outmaneuver him.

“Why not bake here?” Tad grumped.

I shook my head. How did I say that the bakery might not be mine much longer and I wanted as much time there as I could get? “Special equipment, ingredients and such. You and Dahlia come for dinner in her car, okay?”

He grunted. “Be careful, sis, he’s out for you.”

“I will. You too. Bro.”

He laughed, his chest shaking. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“I make no promises.” I scooped his car keys from the hook beside the door and stepped outside into the surprisingly bright winter sun. And right into Smithy’s chest.

I blinked up at him. “Captain. Can I help you?”

Ice-blue eyes stared down at me. “My men have been pulled off duty. Captain Oberfall is back.”

I bobbed my head. “Okay, thanks for letting me know. And thanks for the help the other day.”

He didn’t move. “I heard a rumor you took out the twins.”

I frowned, not understanding at first. Then I blanched as I realized he meant the twin vampires that had been in Santos’s gang. “Um. Maybe?”

“With wooden spoons? Your smell is all over the handles.” He held two bloodied wooden spoons up, and I pressed my back into the door.

“Are you going to arrest me?” I whispered.

“Nope. Any woman who can kill a vampire with a pair of wooden spoons . . .” He shook his head. “I wanted to thank you. Personally.”

It was then I realized he wasn’t in his uniform but instead wore a pair of tight jeans, a black T-shirt, and a thin camouflage jacket.

He held out his hand that didn’t have the spoons. “I was wrong about you. I’d like you to consider joining the Supe Squad and working with me.”

My jaw dropped as he took my hand. “Oh no, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The spoons were an accident.”

Smithy shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. Killing a vampire is never an accident. It’s hard work. They don’t die easy.”

“They underestimated me,” I blurted out. “It means they don’t take me seriously. No one does.”

Smithy’s lips twitched. “Yeah, I got that. Look. I was wrong about you. And I want to try and make it right. For my part in things.”

His words had more weight to them than just what they seemed. I could feel it in the air. I stared into the blue eyes, and a flicker of something I didn’t expect flowed between us. The image around Smithy wavered, the werewolf I knew sliding away to leave someone very different in his place. Same blocky muscular build, and the eyes were still the same flinty blue, and even his hair was the same. But he had scars across his neck and up the sides of his face. The scars, though, weren’t what made him look so different. The fact that he wasn’t really a werewolf was what caught my eyes. He reminded me of Zeus, the way he just stood there, looking at me.

He held out his hand. “Hephaestus.”

“Happy?” I blurted out before I could catch myself. He grimaced.

“Damn Eros. No, do not call me that.” He frowned. “You can still call me Smithy if you want.”

“Smithy, as in blacksmith?” The pieces clicked together for me, and I whipped a hand out and slapped him hard enough to snap his head sideways. “You made that oil of fennel.”

Smithy, Hephaestus, whatever he wanted to call himself, slowly turned back to me. His eyes were all but glacial. “My wife asked me to. Let me tell you something, Drakaina. You don’t turn down your wife, especially not when she is a goddess of love and sex. Get my drift?”

“You did it so you could . . . boink her?”