The visions she’d glimpsed earlier flashed in her brain, but she knew instinctively, if she brought it up he wouldn’t talk about it. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what made him tick either.
She snorted and turned her attention back to the sunrise. “Then definitely don’t call me meli. We both know you don’t mean it.”
“Acacia—”
“And before I forget, just what do you think you’re doing in my bed?”
“Do you like having me in your bed?” he asked quietly.
A tingling ignited in Casey’s chest. She glanced briefly over her shoulder and regretted it immediately. The same carnal desire that was suddenly careening through her veins all over again was carved into each hollow and plane of his handsome face.
Oh, yeah, this guy was a sex god all right. And he was playing her good.
“I like your eyes on me, meli. It makes the blood pound in my veins. But more than your eyes, I would much rather have your hands caressing me the way they were that night on your couch.”
Her heart rate kicked up at the memory. Arousal colored her cheeks and spread warmth between her thighs. She sensed herself falling into the same trance she’d been in with him once before. The heat from his body, the scent of his skin, the sultry sound of his accent all coalesced to turn her to mush right in front of him.
He held out a hand, beckoning her forward. “Come here, meli. Let me remind you.”
Her gaze dropped to his hand, and she remembered the way he’d held his hand out to her in the store like that just yesterday. Then remembered the flash of uncertainty she’d seen in his eyes.
A hero who knew what he wanted would never be nervous. Which meant only one thing: he wasn’t being honest.
The sexual fuzz cleared from her brain, and she brought her chin up in defiance. “Nice try. Fortunately, I’m not stupid enough to fall for that twice in this lifetime.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Now, I think it’s time you answered some of my questions.”
He let out a long, weary sigh and dropped his arm. “What else do you want to know?”
That was easy. Careful. She tipped her head. “What exactly is an Argonaut? Nick said you were a guardian. Is that like a general?”
“Do you know the story of the original Argonauts?”
“From Greek mythology? Sure. They were the band of heroes who sailed with Jason on the Argo in search of the Golden Fleece. There were fifty, if I remember correctly.”
“Fifty-five. They are, technically, the founders of our race. Mostly men. Some women, though there were other heroes who didn’t sail with Jason but who also fell into that category. Their offspring became known as Argoleans, named after the realm the gods granted us when it became evident the heroes were reproducing.” Casey eased down into a chair as he spoke. “The original strongest seven—Heracles, Achilles, Theseus, Odysseus, Perseus, Jason and Bellerophon—were chosen as the race’s guardians and were therefore granted the title Argonaut. In every generation, one from the original seven bloodlines is chosen to continue the guardian tradition. My line goes back to Heracles.” A wry smile curled his mouth. “Or as you Americans prefer to call him, Hercules.”
“The greatest of the heroes,” she said, thinking back to what she knew of them. “That’s why you’re the leader?”
“Yes.”
“Wasn’t the ship Jason’s?”
He shrugged. “Minor technicality.”
A look she couldn’t define passed over his eyes, making her suspect there was more he wasn’t saying, but other questions burned. “So there are seven of you now?”
“Yes. My kin. Brothers in battle. We each have a different power, which is generally linked back to our ancestors. Mine is great strength. All Argoleans have powers of some type, but those of the Argonauts are magnified.”
She chewed over that answer as she said, “And what do you do…you and your brothers?”
“We protect the race,” he said flatly.
“By hunting daemons?”
“Among other things.”
“But you do more than that, don’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.”
“Yes,” he said hesitantly. “We do.”
She waited for him to explain, and when seconds passed and he didn’t, she realized she’d hit a dead end. Tucking her feet under her, she tried another tactic. “So how old are you?”
“Two hundred and two.”
Her mouth fell open, and only when she realized how stupid she must look did she close it. “Oh, my God. Are you serious?”
He nodded.
“How long do you live?”
He shrugged. “Argonauts and those of the royal family live roughly seven hundred years. Some a bit longer. We are the strongest of the race.”
“Wow.” Casey couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her brow wrinkled. Or wait…maybe she could. “How long will I live?”
“Most Argoleans live about five hundred years. I would guess the half-breeds—Misos,” he corrected before she could do it for him, “live about the same.”