Page 360 of The First Taste
I want to roll my eyes at her eager enthusiasm, but I don’t. Offering her an elbow, I jerk my head toward the city. “We’ll see. Come on.”
She gives me a cool little smile and takes my arm, allowing me to guide her to a waiting limo. As we drive into Valencia, I watch her as she presses against her window, trying to take in every sight.
Her straight, dark hair is tied up in a loose bun, stray hairs beginning to fall out around the nape of her neck. She wears a long black dress with a strappy top. It is made of some lightweight knit material and my fingers itch to touch it. My eyes fix on a spot just where the fabric pools in the middle of her back, the material dark against her tanned skin.
But for so many reasons, I don’t. Not only do we not have that sort of relationship, but I feel like touching her so casually would be opening a door to something else entirely.
Besides, watching Persephone as she gawks at the architecture is enough for right now. Soon we get into the city though, turning down roads with clusters of white buildings on each side of the car and people crossing the streets.
Persephone seems to withdraw, looking vaguely nervous and chewing on her lower lip. She glances at me, her cheeks heating, and her fingers trace the lines of her collarbones.
“What happened?” I ask, scrutinizing her. “Did ye see something ye didn’t like?”
“No.” She shakes her head. Her cheeks darken and she frowns slightly. “I’m just tired.”
I narrow my eyes, but she looks away, clearing her throat. Sitting back in my seat, I look on as she grows more and more agitated. First, she picks at an invisible thread on her dress. Then she starts bouncing her knee, seeming jittery.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. A text from Ares, updating me on their latest exploits.
Heading to meet a contact in Cairo. Are we on track with getting our documents as planned?
I think for a moment before texting back.I’m on top of it.
When we get to downtown Valencia, I tell the driver to stop. “Just let us out here. And make sure the bags get to the villa.”
Persephone looks at me with those wide hazel eyes, swallowing. “Hades…”
I open the door and jerk my chin toward outside. “Come on. You need some fresh air.”
Climbing out of the backseat of the limo, I help Persephone out. She shades her eyes again, glancing around with an anxious expression. I bang on the roof of the car and it pulls away, leaving us on a cobblestone street. To our right, there are shops in neat little rows of white sandstone. To our left, the land starts to gradually give way to the sea.
I start to head down the street and Persephone hurries after me, tossing a glance at the crowded street just behind her. After a few moments, I have to ask.
“Are ye looking for someone?”
I crane my neck but the only people I see are a bunch of high school aged girls wearing Catholic school uniforms pouring from the steps of a church as we walk past. But Persephone?
Persephone flinches.
“No,” she says quickly, looking down at her feet. She draws her arms around herself, hugging herself. Her footsteps on the cobblestones are loud and hurried.
I glance around again and then shrug. “Okay. Our villa is up there…”
I point to a spot in the middle distance, sitting at the top of a hill.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. She nods and heads in the direction I pointed. My eyes stick to her body. I can tell something is off, but I can’t read her mind.
Her breathing is visibly faster, her chest rising and falling as she walks. And her golden green eyes flecked with brown rove over every face that she sees.
Expectant.
As soon as we pass the church, I grab her arm and pull her roughly into a little sheltered alcove just beside the next staircase.
Persephone looks up at me, her face narrowing and her expression growing hard. She wriggles and tries to shake off my steel grip. “Hades, will you let me go?”
A man passes on the street behind me. I know this because she looks at him, her eyes widening alarmingly. I turn my head and do a double take.
“What?” I ask. “Do ye know him?”
