The bitch is hiding something.
“Found something,” Rafe interjects quietly.
I move towards him and peer over his shoulder.
At first, I think I’m looking at a sketchbook, but then I realize that the designs on the page are tattoos. Intermixed with the sketches are photographs of skin with the designs.
“Aphrodite has a tattoo book?” My brows lift in disbelief.
I try to remember if I ever saw any on the goddess before.
Rafe continues to study the book intently, and I finally find what has captured his attention.
There, in the far corner of the page, is the sketch of a very familiar rune.
The same rune on Thea’s dagger.
It almost appears to be two swooping lines with an arch overtop of it and a dot below it. Unlike the other sketches, there are no accompanying photographs.
“It could just be a coincidence,” I murmur as Rafe flips to the front of the book.
He grunts but doesn’t agree or disagree. I’m beginning to believe nothing to do with Thea is a coincidence. I don’t know if it’s divine intervention or fate or the product of meddling gods…but a coincidence? Definitely not.
“Wait. Stop.” I jab a finger down. “Look.”
Written in cursive script are the words—Property of Athena.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
THEA
“So where, exactly, is this Labyrinth?” I ask the following morning as we all sit around the dining room table for breakfast.
Everett created chocolate chip pancakes—yes, fucking, please—and fluffy scrambled eggs.
I reach for another pancake at the same moment Krystian does, and our fingers touch. Heat engulfs my cheeks, and I quickly duck my head, especially when a sensual, mischievous smirk decorates his face.
I don’t know how to act with Krystian now that we had sex. I’m not sure if this changes things between us.
I know I want it to.
“Go ahead, love,” Krystian purrs, pulling back his hand.
He nods towards the pancake.
When I simply gawk at him, memories of our time together playing on a loop in my head, Everett blows out a breath, grabs the pancake, and drops it on my plate.
I dig in with ruthless abandon.
“We can portal to the entrance of it,” Zaid explains, carefully cutting his pancakes into perfect squares. “But from there, we’re on our own.”
A frog jumps from the ground onto Zaid’s shoulder, and I freeze, a forkful of pancake halfway to my mouth. I wait for him to acknowledge the green amphibian, to bat it away or scream, but he continues eating, a thoughtful expression crossing his face.
What the fuck?
I wait for someone—anyone—to acknowledge the frog’s arrival, but no one does.
“What should we expect?” Everett asks gruffly, pushing back his empty plate and reclining in his seat.
