Page 17 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)

I snap my head towards him, the question bursting out before I can rein it in. “Zagreus, why am I here?”

He doesn’t answer at first—keeps watching the screen as if I haven’t spoken. I’m about to repeat myself when he hits pause and meets my eyes with an unsettling sense of calm.

“To save you,” he says, tone certain. “From yourself.”

Riiight…

I snort. “Try again.”

He props the pillows behind him, expression daring me to look away, while mine flares with confusion and frustration.

“I’m serious. This’ll be a team effort. One of my friends is going to forge the piece.

I told you at the café before your friend interrupted us, all I need you to do is to steal the real one as you planned, but deliver it to me, not your… clients.”

I blink, caught off guard. “You want me to do what ?” My hand rubs my face in a feeble attempt to escape his stare. “You weren’t kidding the other day, huh?”

“Nope! Follow the plan and take the first step to putting an end to this nonsense.”

I shoot to my feet fast enough to jostle the bed. “What nonsense?” Heat flares throughout my skin, but not of the right kind. “You mean walk out on my job? My money? My life?” My voice rises with each question, and I pace the room. “Is that it, Zagreus? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

“Chillax, T.” He tosses a popcorn kernel in the air and catches it in his mouth, carefree, while the implications of his suggestion churn inside me—and that nickname hits me mid-chew. Since when does he call me that? “You’re wound tighter than C.J. Parker’s red swimsuit.”

What? My temper gets the best of me, and I don’t ask if it’s another one of his 80s references. Fuming, I hiss, “You set this whole night up just to pitch a heist? You do realize I signed a contract. Walking away isn’t just career suicide—it’s suicide. Period!”

He quirks a brow, unbothered. “That’s why I said we’d come up with a plan. Have a little faith, will you? I’ve been around long enough to set things in motion without a hitch. Your client won’t figure it out. You need to stop edging towards a darker path.”

“Long enough, huh?” I scoff, my stride quick, my leg striking the bed’s corner and flinching from the jolt.

“Don’t tell me what I need. Don’t plan on my behalf.

And don’t psychoanalyze me. God or not, you’re not calling the shots.

” My lips tremble. “Are you naive enough to think that working at the café for a few weeks changed me into someone who wants out? I love what I do. I’m good at it.

No strings. No guilt. Just pure adrenaline and pride in my work ethic. End of story.”

Zagreus opens his mouth, pauses, and shuts it, eyes fixed on mine, daring me to run out of excuses.

The back of my neck is so stiff, it aches.

I stop wearing a hole in the rug and point at him.

“I can’t believe you tricked me. You lured me here like this was about us, not some high and mighty intervention.

” He wants pop culture references? I’ll give him some.

“Why are you roping me into some Ocean’s Eleven nonsense?

Here’s a plot twist: I work alone . No crew.

No flashy schemes. No soft-focus ‘we’re in this together’ crap.

There’s no eleven in my performance, not even two.

I don’t get off on teamwork or risk. I get off on perfect execution and being the best. I get off on a job well done.

And I sure as hell don’t need anyone trying to derail that.

Don’t expect an apology for not embracing your life that’s straight out of a Beetlejuice movie.

I’m supposed to throw away a job I committed to—for what? —so I can keep my soul squeaky clean?”

He shrugs. “You said it, not me.”

“No,” I growl, my thunderous glare boring into his soft one. “This is your idea of redemption, not mine. And even if I wanted out, I wouldn’t need your divine-freakin’-intervention.”

He doesn’t flinch and tosses another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “That’s where you’re wrong. Your business is my business?—”

Nope. Just no!

My breath falters, rage mixing with something deeper—rawer. “Fuck you!” I cross my arms over my chest. “You think you know me? That you can waltz into my life and play savior with your passé references?”

He winces at my low-blow for a split second, then grins, slow and maddening. “I’m not playing anything. And for the record, you were the one who crashed into my world.” His voice softens. “But I do want to keep you out of… Let’s call it Hell.”

That shuts me up. My hands fall to my sides and ball into fists, tension crackling under my skin. I open my mouth, then close it again. I hate how he does this—how he flips everything inside me upside down with just a few words.

Zagreus flashes me a wider, serene smile.

My attention drifts to his lips when he licks them.

I’m assuming it’s intentional; he doesn’t play fair.

“There’s no need to get all worked up.” He pats the spot beside him and bats those long lashes.

“Come back. Please. I need your warmth next to me.” A pause, then softer. “I need you .”

My chest rattles with a sharp intake of air, and my pulse thuds. I want to scream. I want to slam a door. I want to throw him across the bed and lose myself in the heat of it all, just to forget the stakes. But I can’t. Not when his offer holds both danger and allure.

And damn it, I hate him for it, but I should hear him out. He’s a fucking Greek god from the Underworld. He understands the darkness of humankind better than anyone.

Maybe I should have faith in him. Why not?

Within seconds, his plea stirs something in me. I grunt, halting mid-stride, and glare at him, all the while imagining how good he’d look beneath me as I pound into him—or the other way around, depending on his preference.

And now I’m getting hard… Fuck!

The lamp’s off, leaving only the TV glow.

Relief tugs at me— Top Gun ’s long forgotten, though I bet Tom Cruise gets the girl.

Stretching, I snatch the small pillow that landed on the floor earlier and plant it over the evidence of my arousal.

My hands lace on top, the perfect decoy to keep in check.

He sneaks up against me, the sides of our knees brushing, conversation still crackling in my head. I drag in air, wrestling the pull to push further. Guess I’m chickening out—I want green lights first, before anything progresses.

“ Anyyyyway … hear me out, please.” His unreadable gaze finds mine. The shadows carved by the TV outline a grin—part amusement, part challenge—before he carries on. “Back to business with my plan. It’s not as crazy as it sounds, right?”

“Oh, really?” I bark, lunging to flee again. His fingers tighten around my wrist. “Explain to me how forging a priceless painting to trick a bunch of lethal criminals isn’t crazy.”

With his eyes locked on mine, Zagreus moves, pivoting so his back faces the TV.

He crosses one leg over the other. I mourn the loss of his touch, but my heart somersaults as I drink him in.

Every line of his jaw, every tilt of his head, every shiver of his body calls for me.

The space between us stretches and contracts with his movements; I can sense the careful distance he maintains.

At once, his features darken like he’s about to play Truth or Dare at summer camp—though I can’t speak from experience.

“Of course, it’s priceless… And it’s also mine.”

What? My eyes bulge, and my heart hammers in my chest.

“That’s why this scheme has to be a group effort.

Whether or not you approve, I’m already involved.

” He sighs. “Ages ago, the soul of a Flemish painter lingered at the River Styx, awaiting the next ferry. His soul poured all its regret into confiding in me: a foolish accident had ended his life and with it its creativity. He could no longer practice what he loved—until I persuaded Charon to let him return in his human form, so he could teach me his art. My friend allowed it—on one condition: the painter would live among us, preferably hidden in my quarters, for as long as he should have if the accident had never occurred.”

Averting his gaze for a beat, he rubs the back of his neck, squirming on the bed. When he looks back at me, the fire I’d felt dims, replaced by a strange, sobering quiet.

“Long after the artist left my side, I persevered alone. You see, immortality has its ups and downs. Painting with him began out of curiosity. With him gone, it evolved into an obsession to master the techniques and stave off”—his voice cracks, and his fingers clench on the bedsheets for a heartbeat before he swallows—“boredom. Later, it became an outlet for emotions I could not express otherwise. I consider Hidden Shadows my masterpiece. It’s very dear to me and was long lost through my carelessness. Now that I found it, I want it back!”

My body freezes, my eyes widen, and my jaw drops before I’m able to speak again. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He nods, his expression genuine. “Dead serious. You said it yourself, Hidden Shadows mirrors the Underworld. My home, Théo.” He does have a point.

“It’s been so long… I lost my edge and couldn’t replicate it myself, even if I put my whole heart into it.

” He grimaces, the pain evident in every line of his face.

His words spark my memory. I’m back in Monaco, hearing the feminine voice say, “The legend claims a Greek god is responsible for this masterpiece,” which made me inwardly chuckle, since the painting was dated around 1443, and I thought , Greek gods, my ass!

“ If you are the artist, I’ll need evidence.”

“All in due course,” Zagreus continues. “I’ll provide proof.

As for my plan, it will work. My friend flies in tonight.

His skill makes his creations seem effortless when they’re anything but.

He studied Hidden Shadows at great length, but wants to see it himself; the brushstrokes tell a story that will guide him to reproduce it flawlessly.

The three of us are gonna hit the museum tomorrow. ”

A chill runs down my spine, dread curling in my stomach. “And what, I’m just supposed to go along with this? You think they will spare the life of a traitor.”

“They won’t suspect a thing. I promise.” Zagreus approaches, sliding along the sheets.

I bite back a grin as he nears with muted intent.

His thigh rests against mine, a deliberate echo of our previous contact.

I gasp. His bare torso tilts towards me.

Powerful. Tender. Understanding. “You’re not in this alone, Théo.

I get this is your livelihood, but I’ve seen how your shoulders relax now that the burden on them has eased.

Trust me on this. You said you love working at the café, and switching career paths will help redeem your soul. ”

He gently lifts his arms, then threads his fingers through my hair, massaging both sides of my head. My eyes flutter shut. A whimper slips past my lips.

Reveling in his touch, I wait another minute. Ready to gather my strength, I pop them open to meet his, and ask, “What are you talking about?”

“Listen, I handle human souls. That’s what I do for a living. Yours is the most precious to me.”

“Why? Why am I so special to you? You’re a god, and I’m a human.

This doesn’t make sense.” Pulse spiking, I wet my lips, aching for his kiss.

My mind reels. I can’t think past the warmth of him, the featherlight brush of his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Every nerve is on alert, yet I can’t move, can’t look away, can’t wait for his answer.

Hesitating, he murmurs, pulling back, just enough to let me breathe.

“You’re right.” I stiffen. “It makes no sense… for so many reasons. I don’t have all the answers yet, but my entire being knows that I shouldn’t fight this any longer.

You and me, that’s how it is.” Then, with confusion playing on his face, he lowers his voice so much that I wonder if I’m imagining it. “Mates... Soulmates.”

Nah, it can’t be. I don’t believe in that crap.

My wayward emotions get the better of me, and I don’t inquire further.

The initial inappropriate thoughts in my mind are replaced with longing when he utters his next words. “I can’t allow you to continue down this path to Tartarus.”

“Tartarus?” Caught in a lustful haze, my thoughts scatter, and I can’t fully recall what I know of the Underworld and its realms. Who cares? His velvety voice drags me into another reality, where nothing exists but us. I let him explain.

“Yeah, I’ve heard people call it Hell or Purgatory in modern belief.

My visits there are rare, same goes for my father.

You see, it’s a place of punishment, not business.

So, I’m offering you the cleanest way out on a silver platter.

” His serious declaration means everything, and his sweet gestures show how much he cares. As much as I do.

Before I can process a word, he pounces. Knees pin mine, my pillow toppling silently to the floor. My skin ignites. My muscles tense. My breath catches. Pleasure surges through my limbs, and I melt beneath him, craving his closeness as he straddles me.

His lips attack my collarbone, peppering it with open-mouth kisses.

My jawline is next, and I’m loving every second of it.

My skin is ablaze at how convincing he can be.

Ignoring how his hard length presses against the inside of my left thigh, I let the whirlwind of sensations take over me; I’m a puddle of goo under his TLC.

At once, he halts, and his hot breath tickles my flushed cheek as our erections finally grind together. “Take it, Théo.” Then, his mouth covers mine.

I moan.