From Darkness (Hearts & Arrows Book 3)(3)

She pushed the thought away before it could run away with her and bucked up. Maybe he wouldn’t show; it wasn’t his competition after all. Maybe he was just as nervous and upset about seeing her and would stay away since he had a choice in being there, whereas she didn’t.

But then she remembered he was undeniably Ares. Of course he would be there, and she’d take it a step further and wager he’d probably do something to upset her.

The thought cranked her nerves up another notch, and she took a deep breath, trying for reason. She told herself he would be cautious enough. All the gods would be watching. Surely he wouldn’t do anything stupid, not with Zeus’s threats of banishment looming over him. If all that were true, there would be little he could do to get to her.

If she didn’t let him affect her, she’d be fine.

Sure, just don’t let him get to you. Simple.

Dita flung off her covers and padded to her infinity closet, ditching her tight little sleep shorts and tank for jeans and a cotton henley, making sure the small buttons at the collar were buttoned nearly to the top. The last thing she needed was to draw any extra attention from He Who Must Not Be Named. She had no idea how she would handle seeing even a hint of desire in his eyes. Maybe she’d vomit. Or punch him.

Worse — she could feel answering attraction. Of course, that could also result in vomit or punching.

Baby steps.

Dita walked to the elevator with Bisoux trotting behind her. She picked him up and looked into his little black eyes, hanging on to him like a life preserver.

“We can do this. Right, buddy?”

Bisoux let out a little bark, and Dita stepped into the elevator, finding comfort in knowing that, at the very least, her robot dog was on her side.

Her nerves ticked like a time bomb as the elevator climbed and the doors opened.

She stepped into the expansive foyer and toward the sleek, modern kitchen where the Olympians were bustling around, making breakfast or coffee—or, in Dionysus’s case, a White Russian. A handful of gods sat around the kitchen island bar, eating, and before anyone had a chance to notice her, she froze just outside of the room with a twisted stomach, scanning their faces for Ares.

Instead, she found Perry, who sat at the long dining table and waved her over.

Relief slipped over Dita, and she uprooted her feet to make her way over.

The noise in the room fell to hushed whispers as she passed, but she locked eyes with Perry and put on a plastic smile. Several dozen eyes followed her until she sat down.

“You okay?” Perry’s brows knit together with worry as the conversation began to rise to normal, non-asshole levels.

“For now.” Dita’s eyes roamed the room from wall to wall, as if Ares would just appear out of thin air.

“Breakfast?”

Dita shook her head. “Not unless you want me to puke.”

The waiting was unbearable. She had nothing to say, not with every ounce of brainpower she possessed anticipating him, anxiously waiting for the shock and hurt and anger to slap her in the face when she laid eyes on him.

Heff took the seat on the other side of her, and she felt a small amount of relief, sitting between the two of them. Her stomach rumbled when she saw the bacon on his plate, next to his eggs and toast.

“Want some?” he asked, his blue eyes and rumbling voice full of concern.

She smiled, grateful that he hadn’t asked about Ares. “I’m okay.”

He relaxed only a little, smiling in answer from behind his beard. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I missed you, too. Thank you so much for the windows, Heff. They’re brilliant.”

“I worked on them for years, but I couldn't ever to get them just right. It was my top project while you were gone. Almost didn’t get them ready in time.”

“They’re perfect, really.” She beamed at him.

He flushed. “I’m glad you think so. Did you find the remote on your nightstand?”

“No. How did I miss that?”

He leaned back in his chair and hung an arm on the back of hers, his eyes warm and pleased and smiling as they looked into hers. “I’m sure you had other things on your mind. You can change your view to New York, Paris, London, Santorini. I programmed over a hundred views.”

So much thought, so much care he had put into the gift, just like he always did. Because he was one of the truest things in her life.

Her eyes misted up. “I don’t deserve you,” she said, meaning so much more than anything to do with the windows.

He scanned her face as he brushed her hair away from her cheek. “Dita—”

The elevator dinged, and Dita’s eyes flew to the doors as they opened.

Ares was leaning against the back wall with his arms folded across his broad chest and his dark hair in disarray. His eyes snapped to hers as if he’d known exactly where she was, sending her nerves firing down her back, her skin tingling in warning from nape to fingertips.

“Shitstick Von Chili Rim,” Perry whispered.

A shocked burst of laughter passed Dita’s lips, her heart jump-starting in her chest.

Ares pushed off from the back wall of the elevator, his eyes holding her until he reached the kitchen. To everyone else, he appeared nonchalant. His face was placid—for Ares, at least, which still included a smoldering scowl—and his gait was long and lazy like a cat, but Dita noted the tension in his shoulders, the tightness at the corners of his eyes, the shallow rise and fall of his chest.