He swallowed hard and forced back the tears. His father thought Gryphon had become a monster because of his time in the Underworld. And now he was beginning to question whether Max was one too. He wanted to prove to his parents he wasn’t, but he didn’t know how.
He didn’t know anything except that he suddenly felt more alone than he ever had, even when he was in the Underworld. Because then, at least, he’d had the fantasy of a family who loved him to keep him company. Now he knew he didn’t even have that.
***
“Delator is not a word.” Gryphon stared down at the Scrabble board on the coffee table between him and Maelea, then shot her a look. Seated on the floor with the fireplace roaring at her back, she flicked him a what on earth do you mean? expression that was so damn cute, he itched to wipe it from her mouth with his own.
It was hard to believe this was the same female who’d glared and scowled and plotted her escape every moment he wasn’t yelling at her. But things were different now. Ever since they arrived here a week ago, ever since that morning when he awoke and realized she cared for him, there’d been no more fear, no more animosity, no more anger. In its place there was nothing but heat and desire and need. A whole lot of need neither of them seemed to be able to sate.
“Yes, it is,” she said with a sexy little pout. “It’s Latin. A delator is an informant. All the Roman emperors used them.” She reached for letters from the table, flipped them over, and set them on her stand. “I met a few. Commodus had a special fondness for them. Used them to spy on his senators. Not a nice man, that Commodus. But he didn’t even totally trust his delators, and with good reason. They were a slimy, blood-sucking, greedy group of scum. That’s forty-three points for me.”
He stared at her in bewilderment from the couch, where he sat with his elbows braced on his knees.
When he didn’t write down her score, she looked up. “What?”
“Latin? Uh-uh. No way. I’m officially protesting this game. We pick one language and one era. Period. And we stick to it. I’m getting my ass kicked here because I’m nowhere near as worldly as you. And what the hell were you doing, hanging out with delators and emperors in the first place?”
She smiled. Really smiled. And was so damn beautiful, staring at him with that stupid grin, his chest constricted until it was tight as a drum. “Why are you grinning at me like that?”
“Because you’re gorgeous when you look at me like I’m nuts.”
“You’ve handed me my ass on a Scrabble board, sotiria. I don’t think you’re nuts. I think you’re smart as shit.”
She laughed but kept right on smiling up at him. A warm, wide grin that made one corner of his lips curl all on its own. “What now?”
“Nothing. It’s just…your face has totally changed in the last week.”
He brushed a hand against his jaw. “It’s too scruffy for you, isn’t it? I’ll shave—”
“Not that, silly,” she said. “I like the scruff. It’s sexy. No, I mean your face. It’s different. A week ago your eyes were still haunted. When I’d look at you, I could see the weight of the Underworld on your soul and everything you’d been through. Now, it’s barely there.”
His smile faded, and he looked away. Memories of his torture in Hades’s realm rushed back through his mind, sent sickness brewing in his stomach. And shame. A truckload of shame over what he’d done. What had been done to him. What Maelea would think if she even had an inkling of what had gone down in Tartarus when he was there.
“Hey. Don’t.” Her soft voice somewhere close brought him around. That and her hand, pressing gently against his shoulder. Soft. Warm. Alive. He eased back while she climbed onto his lap and took his face in her hands, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks, reminding him he was alive too. “Don’t go back there. I didn’t mean to bring it up for you again. I was just pointing out how different you are. How relaxed. That’s a good thing, Gryphon, not a bad one.”
He closed his eyes, forced back the bile threatening its way up. “Maelea—”