Page 6 of Art of the Hunt
She understood the concept of police officers. They existed to uphold laws created by local governments. They attempted to prevent crime, and they ensured citizens felt safe.
What she failed to understand was why they were paid such a pittance for doing so. Or was it just Detective Hunter James?
Because this apartment was not only ridiculously tiny, it was decorated terribly, using what she hoped was second-hand furniture and not Hunter’s actual personal preferences.
By the time the door opened and he stepped over the threshold, she was in his kitchen, standing in front of the open refrigerator, trying to figure out what all these green and brightly colored food items were, and whether they were actually edible.
Where were the Chinese food leftovers? The cans of beer? She’d be happy with a couple slices of American cheese at this point.
“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” Hunter demanded. She glanced over her shoulder. He was standing with his feet a shoulder’s width apart, slowly lowering the gun he was holding in both hands.
“Not eating, which is a problem because I’m starved.” She closed the fridge and started opening and closing cupboards. “Where are your cookies? Potato chips? Crackers? Anything that might remotely resemble a late-night snack.”
“I don’t keep that shit in my home. And, sorry, I missed the part where you explained why you are in my apartment. How did you get in here, anyway?”
“You have a very impressive lock system, so I had to dissipate and slip through the crack under the door. What do you mean, you don’t keep that shit in your house? What, exactly, do you considershit?”
“Cookies, crackers, chips, all the crap you just listed. Do you have any idea how bad that stuff is for your health?”
She closed the cupboard and wandered around the peninsula that separated the kitchen from the living area. Pointing at herself, she said, “Eternal being, so never paid much attention.”
She could feel Hunter’s gaze on her, so she added an extra swing to her hips. He said her gift of chastity wasn’t his thing, buteveryonewas intrigued by it. They always wanted to know why she’d chosen that as a gift.
And no one was willing to accept the fact that she’d been three years old as an answer.
Seriously, who other than a three-year-old would pick the hodgepodge of gifts she had? She was the goddess of hunting, wild nature, and chastity, and if there ever was an oxymoron in this world or her previous one, that list more than qualified. A fully grown goddess would not have deliberately done that to herself.
Wild natureandchastity? How the hell did one balancethat?
For the record, she didn’t. Screw celibacy. Her wild nature overrode chastity each and every time.
“Can we get back to the fact that you broke into my apartment?” Hunter asked.
“I didn’t break anything.”
He stuffed his gun into his shoulder holster. “What do you want, Artemis?”
“You. Your partnership.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“Oh, no. Although…” She let her gaze rake over his ’90s outfit and tried to envision the body underneath. What her imagination came up with was pretty damn tempting, but she had other plans for Hunter. “No, I’m good. For now. I’ll let you know, though, if that’s something you’re interested in.”
He stared at her.
He did that a lot. He was so very different from most of the other humans she’d interacted with since Zeus and his fellow gods moved to this world. And that made him infinitely more fascinating than all the rest.
“What about beer? Do you have any of that?” She hadn’t seen any in his fridge.
“No.”
“You don’t drink?”
“Not often. When I do, I usually drink hard liquor. Vodka or bourbon mostly. Not nearly as many carbs as beer. And are we really having this conversation? It’s after two in the morning. I’d like to get some sleep.”
“I understand. I drove straight through from North Dakota today. And helped apprehend that goon. I’m fairly worn out myself.”
He didn’t respond. Just stood there, looking at her. She supposed she hadn’t actually asked a question.
