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Chapter Two

Elena

I crashed into the man on the sidewalk. I’d been walking in the Paris gloom for the past hour, trying to get used to the sights and sounds of the mortal world. I was far from the slopes of my home on Mount Olympus. Everything here was brighter, somehow harsher. I realized things were utterly different as I passed a fully nude, silver-painted street performer juggling three-headed baby dolls.

No, this definitely doesn’t happen on Mount Olympus.

Out of my depth. That’s what I was. Put me on an immortal battlefield—I was home. Here? I was lost.

And it didn’t help that I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being followed. From the second I left the courtyard of Roth and Lilah’s French chateau, I could feel a presence. Something that flitted around on the periphery, staying just out of sight. At first I guessed it might be one of my warrior sisters, perhaps Iphi playing a trick. But it didn’t feel right. Apprehension tickled down my spine as I walked along the sparkling river.

It was precisely this feeling of unease that caused me to stumble into the stranger on the sidewalk. I had turned my head, searching for whatever or whoever was giving me the odd sensation, when I collided with what felt like a brick wall.

But it wasn’t a wall; it was a man. I sized him up quickly while righting myself. He towered over even my tall frame, but I wasn’t worried. After all, I was Elena de Artemis, the pride of the goddess Artemis’s warrior maidens. Skilled in witchcraft and battle, I had no cause to fear any mortal, no matter his size.

“Pardon me,” I said and ignored his outstretched hand.

“No, it was my mistake. I didn’t see you there.” His voice was a smooth baritone, and his dark eyes watched me intently. The gaze was so direct that I felt a twinge of…something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was. Something in the back of my mind. I didn’t like it.

I moved to step to his side and continue walking along the path next to the Seine. The waters flowed smoothly and reflected the moonlight that flooded the city. The scent of the flower market was heavy on the air, lilies and lavender demanding notice almost as much as the stranger before me.

“If you don’t mind.” He held out a well-manicured hand to pause my departure. “You see, I’m new to Paris”—he said the word as if it were distasteful—“and wondered if you could help me find my way to the Champs-Élysées? My hotel is there, and I can’t seem to remember which side of the river I should be on.”

I did not want to stay and chat, especially since something about the stranger was giving me a faint sense of alarm. Having been in battle for most of my life with Artemis, I always trusted my instincts. And my instincts were telling me things were not what they seemed.

“I’m afraid I can’t help. I’m new here too.”

He didn’t move, didn’t give even a hairsbreadth of space for me to pass. I could either step into traffic, dive into the river, retreat, or get him out of my way. Never one to turn tail, I chose the last option. Stepping toward him, I expected him to turn for me to pass. But he was unmoving. He was large and well-muscled, such that my first thought of him as a brick wall was proving to be more accurate by the second.

“Let me pass.” The hairs on the nape of my neck rose as he stared down at me.

“Perhaps we could catch a late dinner?”

Was I speaking in a completely different language or did the man have a hearing problem? “I said let me pass. I need to get home.”

A hail of honking horns drew my attention to the busy road. A sleek black limo cut through traffic and pulled up to the curb, blocking me in even more. My adrenaline ratcheted up. No, something was definitely not right.

He smiled and waved to the car. “In that case, may I give you a ride back to your home?”

Alarm bells were ringing loud enough to awaken all my fighting senses. I backed up from him a pace, my green eyes no doubt flashing with annoyance and power. I was ready to cast at him if for no other reason than to get him out of my way. But then I looked around. There were dozens of people taking an evening stroll, enjoying the crisp Paris night. The nearest bridge was covered with lovers and locks, the former hoping for a bit of magic from the latter. A smattering of tourists were beneath us, walking along the quay next to the glittering river.

I could not cast here. Not in the open. As Artemis’s master tactician, I was in charge of every battle, mindful of every move. If I used my powers, there would be a panic, which could put the mortals in danger. Though not particularly fond of mortals, I never took the life of an innocent. Not even in war.