“I think you know the answer to that, dude. Mini-goddess has got little bones—little, breakable bones. She came out of that fall like she went a round in a street fight. It hurt me to look at her, and I don’t feel much of anything since I was turned, physically speaking. So the question is, who’d want to hurt the love guru? You think your mother would do this? She didn’t strike me as a total bitch when I met her, but what the fuck do I know about you crazy motherfuckers? I mean, you guys don’t shit around when you’re hacked off. What kind of guy turns a chick into a cow because he doesn’t want to get caught slammin’ her behind his wife’s back?”
Khristos shook his head, racking his brain. “My mother’s many things, spiteful on occasion, even vengeful, but to physically hurt someone isn’t her style, Nina. Iris was my mother’s choice to receive her powers, but Iris is the Goddess of Rainbows. She’ll be bent out of shape when she finds out she’s not next in line, no doubt, but she’s not violent. It’s not like Thunderdome—not these days, anyway.”
She ignored his joke and looked right at him, her eyes full of concern. “Then we have a problem, my friend.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was really worried they did have a problem because the power of that blow had knocked Quinn’s small frame over and she’d crumpled like a rag doll. No one in sight, and absolutely no reason for her to have fallen with the amount of force she did.
His centuries-long life had passed before his damn eyes when she’d been pulled from his arms and knocked to the ground. He’d never moved as fast as he had when he’d seen her beautiful face scrape the harsh black pavement.
He’d let himself get carried away with that kiss, with her curves finally pressed into his willing hands, with her soft lips moaning against his—and he was paying for it.
Nina slapped him on the back. “Look, I know you’re kind is pretty tough, and you can make shit appear out of thin air or whatever. I’m not knocking your manliness, buddy, but you and your lady love didn’t get any superhuman strength or speed or any of the things me and those two nuts in there have. She has hearts and flowers and fucking unicorns on her side. That means she’s vulnerable, and I ain’t likin’ that crap. She can’t protect herself if we’re dealing with some deity who’s a badass with lightning bolts or cows or whatever you nutbag bitches can come up with. So we got your back. She’s Ingrid’s friend, and I promised I’d make sure she was safe. No more matchmaking alone without me, Darnell, Marty or Wanda, got that?”
Nina was right. He had no powers other than immortality, the ability to know true love, and making things appear and disappear. He wasn’t a god, his skills were minimal, but if it came down to it, he’d damn well use everything he had in him to keep Quinn safe.
“Fair enough.”
Nina yanked at the duct tape, pulling a piece off as she leaned her hip against the gray-and-white granite countertop in the kitchen. “Where is your mother, anyway? You’d think she’d be tweaked as hell right now, all ragin’ at you for taking her toys.”
“Yeah. You’d think that. Strangely, not a damn word. It’s as if she fell off the face of the earth.” He’d tried like hell to get in touch with her. He’d Facebooked, tweeted, texted, called.
But she was unreachable, and no one, not Zeus, not his batty wife Hera, none of her closest god friends knew where she was. Since her powers had been transferred to Quinn, she was persona non grata.
Nina put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look at her. “Is there something you’re not telling us, dude? Because look, I get this is an inconvenience for you. I know you’re rather be doin’ belly shots off some hot stray goddess than skippin’ around the city, playing Love Connection. But is there anything else about the apple we should know? Some rare legend? Some stupid, frigged-up rule no one knows about but your mom? It’s happened to us more times than I care to count. So don’t fuck with me now. Your best bet is to just spit it out. Don’t make me play a game I don’t have all the rules for, cuz old friends or not, I’ll fuck you and all your organs right the hell up.”
Nothing. There was nothing he could think of, no one he could think of who’d knock Quinn on her ass in order to become Aphrodite.
Her ass.
Shit, he had to stop thinking about that particular part of her body, along with her smile, and the way she got that wide-eyed look when she was staring off into space, trying hard not to be the daydreamer she was.
He liked that she was a dreamer. He didn’t meet many women who weren’t so entrenched in their past bad relationship experiences that it colored everything they did. And in most cases, they had every right to those feelings.
He liked that she had a picture of her and a cardboard Mr. Darcy sitting on her dresser. He liked that she liked frilly ruffles, and lacy clothes, and anything ultra-feminine.
He hated Jane Austen’s work, but he loved that Quinn loved it. Because that was who she was. Not a chance in hell would he sit around and read Keats with her, but he’d certainly smile while she did as he watched a game or caught up on his Grisham, if it made her happy.