Page 58 of Leashed

Oh. Fuck.

“This is bullshit,” he muttered, looking at his reflection in the ornate mirrors lining the back wall.

He reviewed his list again.

Vacuuming.

Nothing.

Groceries.

Nothing.

Work.

Nothing.

Sage…

He ran his hands over his jeans, his palms clammy as a burst of heat traveled through his veins and his heart rate jumped. A familiar rush pulsed through him, one he’d grown used to experiencing in her presence and chased fruitlessly when she wasn’t around.

No. Fucking. Way.

I need to go home.

Here was home. Had been for thousands of years. Not Seattle, a topside city he’d moved to five years ago thanks to a bad lead on the Pirithous.

A loud knock cracked across the room, Dio’s booming voice echoing in the marble halls. “We’re heading up in ten. Meet me in the reception room.”

Grunting his reply, he leaned forward on his elbows and examined the tiled floor.

He could stay in the underworld until it passed. Maybe follow his own advice to Alex and hook up with a few of the handmaidens down here, bang her out of his head and go topside once she was cleansed from his system.

The idea sent ice through him, made his skin crawl.

Not that it mattered as long as Nixon was around.

Pushing his hair from his eyes, he licked his lips and stood, looking himself over.

He didn’t have the job, the money, or the security Nixon had. Definitely didn’t hang with the right people. Or dress to impress. He swore way too fucking much and drank even more. His hands were always stained with grease and oil.

He could flip between being man and man’s best friend.

His family had a lot of questionable history.

The Fates had a hate-on for him. Or, at least, one did.

Scanning the room over, he opened his wardrobe and grabbed a handful of jewelry, slipping it into his back pockets before he jogged out of his rooms toward the reception hall.

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