Electric Idol(Dark Olympus #2)(4)
Eros raises his brows. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” I really don’t. I’m just a fool who doesn’t know when to quit. No matter what else is true of Eros, he didn’t choose to be a child of one of the Thirteen any more than I did. “I’m also not someone who wishes you harm. Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” He turns and heads back the way he came, in the direction of the elevator.
“I’m offering it all the same.” My body makes the decision to follow him before my brain can catch up, my legs moving on their own and carrying me further from the relative safety of the party. Stepping into the elevator feels like stepping past the point of no return. I wish I could say I’m overreacting, but Eros’s reputation precedes him and it’s…very, very violent and very, very dangerous. I clasp my hands in front of me and fight the urge to babble.
We only descend a few floors, and then he leads me through glass and stainless-steel offices to a door that opens easily beneath his hand. It’s only when we’re closed in together that I see it’s a fancy bathroom. Like the rest of Dodona Tower, it’s minimalist with black tile floors, a few stalls, a tiled-in shower, and a trio of stainless-steel sinks. There’s even a small area near the door with a pair of comfortable-looking chairs and a small round table between them.
“You seem to know your way around here rather well.”
“My mother often has business with Zeus.”
I swallow hard. “There were bathrooms upstairs.” Closer to the relative safety of the party.
“This one has first-aid stuff.” He starts to lean down to open one of the cabinets beneath the sink and winces.
That prompts me into motion. This is why I’m here: to help, not to watch him struggle. “Sit down before you fall down.”
I’m surprised when he doesn’t argue, just limps to the chairs and sinks onto one of them. Thinking about this whole situation too hard is a mistake, so I focus on the task of figuring out how badly he’s hurt, patching him up, and getting back to the ballroom before my mother sends out a search party.
Considering last time one of her daughters went missing at a Dodona Tower event, said daughter ended up crossing the River Styx and throwing herself into Hades’s arms…
Yes, better not to be gone too long.
As promised, there’s a first-aid kit in the cabinet below the sink. I grab it, turn around, and freeze. “What are you doing?” My voice comes out squeaky, but I can’t help it.
Eros stops in the middle of taking off his shirt. “What’s wrong?”
Everything’s wrong. I’ve been moving in similar circles to this man for a decade, but I’ve never seen him anything less than perfectly pressed and polished and downright gleaming at these parties. His beauty is breathtaking and almost too perfect to be real.
He doesn’t look too perfect right now.
No, he’s all too real. Impossible to keep the mental fence I have around Eros as dangerous playboy when he’s peeling off his shirt and revealing a body carved by the gods. The exhaustion on his face only makes him more attractive, which I might find horribly unfair later, but right now I can’t find enough oxygen in this room to breathe.
Panic. That’s what I’m feeling. Pure panic. It’s not attraction. It can’t be. Not to him. “You’re stripping.”
Beneath the white fabric, I can see that someone—likely Eros himself—has slapped a scattering of bandages across his chest. He gives me a charming smile that’s only slightly strained around the edges. “I was under the impression you wanted me out of my clothes.”
“Pass.” I blurt the word out, my hard-won public persona nowhere in evidence.
“Everyone else does.”
Weirdly enough, his arrogance calms me. I take a breath, and then another, and give him the look that comment deserves. Banter. I can do banter. I’ve been trading artful insults with people like Eros for my entire adult life. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Or are you bragging? Please be clear so I can adjust my reaction accordingly.”
He bursts out laughing. “Clever.”
“I try.” I frown. “I thought your leg is injured.”
“It’s just a bruise.” If anything, his charming smile ramps up a few notches. “Trying to get me out of my pants, too?”
If him being shirtless is enough to cause this uncomfortable reaction, I most certainly don’t want him to lose any more items of clothing. I might combust, and if the embarrassment doesn’t kill me on the spot, it will hand Eros a weapon to use against me. “Absolutely not.”
He finishes shrugging out of his shirt and gives a rough exhale. “That’s a shame.”
“I’m sure you’ll live.” I set the kit on the table and eye his chest. Some of the bandages have already come loose, and there are red smears where the blood made contact with his shirt. What happened to him? Did he get into a fight with a rosebush? “These need to be redone.”
“Go for it.” He leans back and closes his eyes.
I’m about to make a sharp comment about him having me do all the work, but the words die in my throat when I peel back the bandage to find… “Eros, this is a lot of blood.” I can’t tell how serious the wounds are with the mess between the blood and bandages, but some of them are still bleeding.