Page 404 of The First Taste

“No!” my mom howls. “You need to come back! Just tell us where you are, darling…”

There isn’t a chance in hell that I’m telling her where I am. Her insistence that I return home is weird, given that she couldn’t even be bothered to visit when I was in the hospital for over a month.

I grit my teeth. “I’ll call you later, Lawrence.”

I hang up the call, closing the iPad and flopping it onto the bouncy mattress. After a second, I fling myself down onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

It was nice to hear from Lawrence… but my mom is still living in a dream world. That’s been a problem my whole life; my mom never approves of what I’m doing. She always turns her nose up at it, telling me that if only I would do things her way, I would be successful…

My hands clench into fists. Typical mother bullshit. She’s only interested because she needs someone to organize her studio or make her apprentices healthy meals. I would bet my last gold dollar on it.

My right hand twitches and I raise it, staring at it. From the outside, I probably seem like a normal, slightly bumbling young woman. Inside though… I’m still a seething mass of pain, both psychic and real.

The knock on the door startles me, making me sit bolt upright. I frown, checking the time.

It’s barely three-thirty. Standing up, I hustle to the door and find Hades standing outside of it. Opening the door a little wider, I look both ways.

Checking for his brothers.

“It’s just me,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “Thought ye might like a walk.”

“A walk?” I look up at him, frowning a bit as I straighten my dark dress. “It’s the middle of the night, Hades.”

“Yeah, well.” His expression is unreadable, which frustrates me beyond words. He steps back, inclining his head toward the front of the hotel. “Are ye coming or not?”

I stare at him for a few seconds. He fidgets, touching his dark hair that falls in gentle waves around his face. I expel a quick breath.

“Let me get some shoes on,” I sigh.

Not five minutes later we are exiting the hotel’s hushed white marble lobby. As we step out into the darkened street, a young man in a white hotel uniform stands at attention. He bows very slightly and murmurs something to us.

It might be, “Lyon.” But even as I turn my head to look at him, Hades catches my arm and pulls me along.

I glance up at Hades as the first rays of purplish light begin spreading through the sky. He clutches my arm, looking around. I follow his gaze; against the stony gray of the long, uneven cobblestone road, the white and off-white buildings rise in an endless row, seeming like mismatched teeth.

His gaze never stops, never lands on any one thing for too long. Checking behind me, I pull my sweater up around my neck.

Hades just pulls me down the street, seeming like he has a destination in mind.

“You are freaking me out,” I say, gripping his forearm gently.

“What?” he asks, looking at me sharply. His green eyes glint. “I’m not very familiar with the area. So, I’m on my game.”

He slips an arm around my shoulders, forcing me down a series of quick left and right turns. I feel protected in the vaguest sense of the word, but… a large part of me misses Scotland.

He let his guard down when we were together before. Let himself breathe, give me an inch to peer at what is beneath his shell. But now?

That Hades is gone.

We walk by a merchant, just now opening for the day. He is unloading caftans and scarves, hanging them up for display at his stand. I tug Hades’ arm and nod.

“Would you feel better if we wore disguises?”

He stops, considering that. “Actually, yes.”

I wave my hand, indicating that he should buy two scarves. He picks out a red and white checkered keffiyeh for himself and after a moment’s consideration, he chooses a light blue scarf delicately stitched with pomegranates for me. My lips twitch as I accept the scarf.

“I love pomegranates,” I tell him as I don the scarf.