Page 36 of Dravin

The hot rush of anger I felt at finding out that he was watching me constantly doesn’t come. Really, that’s not what I hated at all. When I think about the massive effort it takes to keep tabs on someone the way he does, it blows my mind. I could never have that kind of dedication.

He could easily have told my brother to pound sand, but he decided to massively inconvenience himself instead.

“Yeah. I’ll go. Who knows, it might give me some inspiration for that painting I want to do.”

“The Hades one?”

I can already see the outline sketching itself out in my mind. My breath quickens and my heart kicks up. I haven’t been able to get even that far since I left my old life. I’ve been forcing, forcing, forcing it, and it wouldn’t come, but this appears so effortlessly.

A modern Hades surrounded by the rot and ruin of civilization. A Hades before he found his Persephone. A Hades who dreamed of the kind of love he’d never have. It’s an imperfect myth and the interpretation of it depends on who’stelling it. A lot of Greek myths involved intense tragedy and things that are obviously wrong by today’s standards. I would never, ever say that abducting someone and forcing them, hurting them, harming them, wrecking their life, and breaking them is romantic. That’s appalling.

But it’s a myth.

And myths can be retold.

“I’ll go with you,” I whisper into the dark. I don’t reach out to him, but the words wrap around both of us, drawing us together as if we aren’t already intrinsically bound.

Chapter 8

Kael

“Ithought you said antique, not let’s go and get murdered. This place is a fire hazard at best. Does someone really live here?”

When Dravin turns and stares at me with absolutely no expression at all, I immediately regret my choice of words. We’ve driven a few hours south of Hart. We passed by quite a few small towns and houses scattered all over that might have technically belonged to some town or other. I know that we’re not that far away from any major city, but it feels as though we’re in the middle of nowhere.

Shamefully, I’m a city girl through and through. Did I grow up in nice areas? No. I shouldn’t be judging someone’s house, although house might be a strong word. I don’t see anything that resembles something that someone might actually live in.

We pulled down a long driveway off a gravel road that was more dirt than gravel and more holes than solid ground. Dravin asked around the club for a truck and Atlas asked Willa if we could use hers. It’s not old, but it’s not new. It’s a diesel and it snorts and smells and is the typical kind of vehicle that would cost a fortune if we broke something.

Dravin’s brow arches. “I think that domed building is a workshop. Dominic’s a carver.”

“Like with wood?”

“With stone. I guess I should have said sculptor.”

“How do you know that? Did you cyber creep him after messaging him online?” That’s something that Dravin would do. Obviously.

“Cyberstalk is such astrongword.”

I cross my arms, wrinkling my nose at him. “Did you?”

He can’t keep a straight face. His coy smile turns into a grin that grows so big it actually looks a little bit goofy. And beautiful. And fuckingradiant. His mouth appears almost too big until he truly smiles and then his whole face lights up and when he laughs, it laughs with him. That sudden burst of charm straight up sucker punches me.

“Nah. We messaged back and forth about what I’m looking for and he gave me the info, and he told me he’s a sculptor. His family owns quite a bit of land. He said that his grandpa was a bit of a hoarder when it came to old junk—his words, not mine. He told me to come here, and we could go out and look through all the piles and pick out what we wanted if we found anything. He’d be here at his shop, working.”

We both turn to the domed building. It was entirely covered in shingles at one time, from the ground all the way to the top, but half of them have stripped away. Windows are punched in haphazardly, with no specific pattern. The building’s placement itself seems random, as though someone hefted it, closed their eyes, and hurled it down. The fields surrounding it are littered with piles of scrap and old cars, like a mini vehicle boneyard.

“This place kind of has chainsaw killer horror movie vibes. You’re sure that if we go knock on the door that we’re not going to be the first to die?”

He laughs. Of course he does. Dravin would never have brought us somewhere that wasn’t safe. I might be making a big deal out of this, but I realize that I’m not actually uncertain. Once I realized that I do have faith in him, it’s become second nature to see it for what it is. Do I also think that he’s physically trained enough that he could crack spines and improvise weapons if he had to? Yes. And my damn nipples shouldn’t be getting hard and my stomach all full of butterflies just thinking about that.

We don’t have to knock. Dravin just drives up a few feet, but Dominic obviously heard the diesel jamming away out here. It’s loud and rumbly enough to rattle half the scrap metal around us.

The faded brown door cracks open.

“Glahhh, what—” I jump in my seat, my pinched lungs cutting my words short as a man entirely coated in white powder appears.

He stares at us through grime encrusted safety glasses, then shakes himself off like a dog. A cloudy fog appears around the figure, but after it settles, dust still clings to his clothes and the lines of his face.

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