Page 26 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows (Runaway Prince Hotel #5)

Eyes on the prize, Théo. Pleasure comes later, and I intend to savor it.

This uncharacteristic distraction tells me that Zagreus found his place inside my mind, body, and soul in a way that no one has before.

Damn, I’m such a goner. He must know it.

Volkoff’s attention snaps back to me, his voice pulling me back to reality. “And the piece? May we?”

I meet Zagreus’s unwavering smile, the crate between us heavy with meaning. “Before we reveal anything,” I say, voice casual, “let’s talk payment. Everything’s in order, I assume?”

Volkoff arches a brow, and the man to his right—whose name I’ve chosen to ignore—confirms, “You’ll be compensated as agreed. Swiss account. Discretion assured.” They realize it’s under an alias, but what do I care? I won’t sit there long.

As if inhaling Volkoff’s power, Natasha’s nostrils flare when she leans in, her nails tapping the edge of the chair. “Though we’ll need confirmation before that happens.”

Although I’m not prone to freaking out, my stomach is in knots as Zagreus finds my hand resting on my fidgeting thigh and places his hand on my wrist, a muted reassurance. “Of course,” he says to Volkoff.

I retrieve the painting from its confinement. Layers of protection surround the unframed masterpiece, guarding it from harm. Revealing it with deliberate care serves as its own reward.

Zagreus hums. “You have an eye for beautiful things,” he says, flicking a look at Natasha—beautiful, yes, though she wrinkles her nip/tucked nose at the last word.

“Indulge my curiosity—what’s the first word that comes to mind when you picture this piece you’re so eager to have?

” He pauses, voice dropping to a murmur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

Volkoff frowns, his composure faltering.

“I…” He cuts a glance towards Natasha, whose brows knit in confusion; curt tone, he still turns to her, and I can’t tell why.

“It fascinates me. I can’t wait for it to be in my private collection—permanently—and sink into it…

” He trails off, grimacing as if questioning why he divulged so much.

“I guess owning Hidden Shadows offers a different experience than viewing it in a museum from afar… I can relate.” Zagreus’s tone turns cold, all traces of playfulness gone. I’m relieved I’m not on the receiving end of it. “After all, it was stolen from its rightful owner to begin with.”

The guests fidget in their seats, and Alexis—who’s been standing in the entryway—walks up next to Natasha. Does he sense the looming danger?

At last, they all drink in Zagreus’s painting, gawking at the powerful emotions it triggers. The art expert drags out the process of confirming its authenticity, a satisfied grin stretching across his thin lips. I’m certain it’ll go according to plan, but the wait is excruciating.

“A copy now hangs in the Princedelphia Metropolitan Museum,” I finish.

Volkoff’s eyes widen, his predatory look evolving to a near-feverish intensity.

He inclines his head, muttering through clenched teeth, “…so that’s how…

mmm… interesting… You’re bold, I like it.

” Another nod. “Let me arrange the transfer to pay for your handiwork.” He turns to the bald guy while the art expert resumes his post at the table. “Set it up.”

Within minutes, I get a proof of transfer. First part of the deal: done.

True to form, my favorite Greek god kept the rest of his plan to himself. I get why bringing his actual work mattered—but then what? I trust him enough to watch it unfold.

Zagreus’s power ripples through the room like a subtle gust of wind. His beautiful brown eyes go stone cold, fixing on each person in turn. Did the power balance just shift, or what?

The audience falls into trance for a few seconds, and Volkoff leans back as if he’s forgotten why we’re here.

“What were we discussing?” Natasha whispers.

“My handiwork,” I answer, bolder than before.

Zagreus exhales in satisfaction, clutching the crate containing his original work. We part ways with Volkoff and his entourage without fuss.

Outside, the fading evening light meets us as his spell fades, leaving us to appear as ourselves again. The weight of the transaction lingers between us as we hop into a taxi. Grinning as wide as the Cheshire Cat, he stretches his arms above his head. “Well, that went off without a hitch.”

I peer at him—he doesn’t return it—and wait until we’re in the hotel room, door locked, to confront him. “You erased their memories, didn’t you?”

Zagreus winks. “That was always the plan.” He deposits the precious artifact on the desk, shrugs off his jacket, and meets my eyes—fully aware of my intentions for that jacket later tonight.

“They won’t remember a thing about you. As far as they’re concerned, they never met you, or me, and one day they’ll notice a vast hole in their bank statement.

” He smirks, stripping further, showcasing an appetizing sliver of skin that I long to lick.

His look betrays that he understands the effect he has on me.

From the doorway, I stare, mouth gaping—caught between awe, disbelief at his tricks, and raw desire.

He waves me over, and I stroll next to him.

His fingers caress my cheek. “You think I should’ve used one of those gadgets from Men in Black ?

Guess I missed my chance. Anyway”—his voice turns huskier—“the only phallic accessories I’m interested in are the ones we can use together… whenever you’re ready.”

A tremor ripples across my skin at the enticing thought.

There’s exploring to partake in first. His hands graze the sides of my clothed body and rest at my hips as his focus settles back to business.

“Tricking them was necessary to protect you, but you’re not out of the woods yet.

” His sigh is both heavy, pained, and I might have missed the point.

Once again, I don’t interfere, too busy admiring the view.

“For what it’s worth, they’ll sleep better tonight.

You will, too.” He clears his throat. “How about a sexy shower, then passionate sex to burn off your very obvious, very unnecessary tension?”

Who am I to argue with him? So, we proceed to follow his wicked plan to a T.

Slowly. Lustfully. Lovingly.

Much, much later, we’re lying like starfish on the massive bed, half covered by smelly, rumpled, sticky sheets. Both of us basking in the haze of our post-coital glow, incapable of moving.

Extending his arm, Zagreus brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, his smile lazy and deliberate. He licks his lips. “For my peace of mind, care to tell me what you’ll do with all that dirty money?”

I roll my eyes, then my gaze drifts to the ceiling’s molding, pushing my conversation with Hecate’s at the café to the furthest corner of my mind.

“Haven’t decided.”