Page 50 of Art of the Hunt
Nike lifted one shoulder, let it drop. “He was too possessive. Always wanted you all to himself.”
“That was because we were hiding our relationship from Apollo.”
“I don’t believe that was all there was to it. That was a handy excuse, but I think he may have had jealousy issues of his own.” She flapped her hand in the general direction of Artemis’s lap. “He liked the idea ofthatbeing all his.”
Artemis couldn’t argue with her friend. Orion, like most men, had an unhealthy obsession with her lady bits.
Hunter doesn’t have that problem.
She blinked rapidly, like someone other than her own subconscious had whispered the words to her.
They were true. Hunter didn’t have a fixation on her virginity or lack thereof. He didn’t even seem to like her much at all when they first met. And then, when they did hook up, he’d focused on pleasure, not on claiming her.
She slumped in her seat again.
“He’s furious with me.”
“Beyond the whole thinking you’re thinking about someone else bit?”
She gave her braid a frustrated tug. “It’s because I brought him here. And he’s mad because I talked to his mom. And because I quit his job for him.” She peered at Nike with a doleful look. “He was about to get promoted.”
Nike winced.
“And yes, he’sreallyangry because he thinks I was thinking about Orion while having sex with him.”
“Well, the good news in all that fury is, if he’s upset over you thinking about Orion, he actually cares. And if he cares, the relationship is salvageable. Although you definitely took a few too many liberties.”
“What was I supposed to do?”
Nike reached across the table and tapped Artemis on the nose. “You need to figure out that part for yourself.”
Before Artemis could grumble further about her friend’s distinctly unhelpful advice, the door to the bar opened and sunlight splashed against the floor for a moment. The air in the room shifted as well, and Artemis’s attention was drawn to the person who stepped into the building, as if he were a marionette pulling her strings.
Hunter stood just inside the door, not moving, likely allowing his eyes to adjust to the abrupt lack of bright light. He’d apparently found the clothes she’d picked out for him, as he wasn’t wearing those totally sexy pajama pants anymore but a pair of worn, well-fitted jeans and a soft T-shirt that had been made in this decade. There wasn’t a flannel in sight.
Truth be told, though, his flannels had grown on her. They were a part of what made him so…perfect. Maybe she’d buy him a few. Assuming he wanted her to. Hell, assuming she could talk him into not heading back to his life in Chicago.
Without her.
His gaze swept the room, taking in Euryale behind the bar, mixing a pink drink for a pixie who leaned close, flirting with her; the group of succubi over near the pool tables, toying with the human college boys who’d accidentally stumbled upon this distinctly non-human hangout.
And then his gaze fell onto her, darting for a split second to Nike before returning to her as he stalked toward them.
Artemis held her breath. Luckily, she wouldn’t die or pass out from the action, because it was a really long walk.
“Do it,” he said when he reached the table and stood there, towering over them, his hands clenching and unclenching in steady intervals. Nike leaned back in her chair and watched him with more than a trace of amusement on her face.
“Do what?” Artemis asked after giving him a moment, during which he did not elaborate.
He gave an agitated wave. “Make that blue light appear.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Nike, this might be a good time to—”
Nike leaped out of her seat. “I’m going to rescue one of those kinda cute guys over at the pool tables.” She studied the group for a moment. “Or maybe two of them. Nice to see you again, Hunter.” She practically skipped as she hurried away.
He sat in the chair she’d vacated and placed his palms on his thighs. “I need proof.”
Artemis straightened. “Proof I am who I say I am or…?”
