𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒───percy jackson & the olympians

02. the sun god flirts with me

"WHAT THE HELL are you doing here?"

I glare at the boy in front of me who narrows his eyes right back. He crosses his arms and sends me a harsh look. Dark eyes trail over my face—the same eyes that scorched my skin and set my body ablaze just four months ago. Eyes that once looked at me as if I was the most beautiful thing they'd ever seen and now are looking at me like they can't stand me.

I can't believe I was stupid enough to hook up with this dickhead. I don't know what I was thinking, but clearly, I wasn't thinking straight. If he had shown his true colors before I took him home, that night would have turned out insanely different.

I eye the muscles in his biceps as he shifts his arms and suddenly remember why I had been so idiotic in the first place. Fuck.

"I think I should be asking you that," he replies, tone icy. "Are you stalking me?"

I scoff, my glare turning that much more deadly. "If I were to stalk someone, it would be Louis Tomlinson. Not a fucking asshole like you."

He clenches his jaw, staring at me with so much hatred that I fear it may just burn a hole through my skull. Whatever. This is all his fault. I'm the one who should be upset, not him.

Percy clears his throat. "Woah, uh, do you really think you should be saying that around a goddess?"

Artemis snorts off-handedly. "Child, you have never met my brother nor heard his colorful language."

I open my mouth to make a remark, but a sharp pain stabs at my upper arm before I get the chance. Wincing, I look down to find it bleeding again.

"Grover," Artemis calls out to the goat boy. "Get Daphne some ambrosia."

He nods eagerly and bows before gesturing for me to follow him. "Come with me!"

Tossing one last glare in the direction of the dark-haired asshole, I quickly follow behind Grover into a tent that looks too small on the outside but is way too large on the inside. Silk decorates the tent, the walls covered in various animal pelts. Above, there are drawings of moons and stars meant to represent the actual night sky. Somehow, I immediately start to feel better upon entering. Something warm and comfortable about this place.

"Alright," Grover says, holding a small square out to me. "Eat this. You'll feel better."

Wary, I take the square and carefully take a bite. It melts in my mouth and tastes nothing like what I thought it would. It tastes like gajrela, an Indian dessert sort of like sweet carrot pudding. But it doesn't taste like just any gajrela.

It tastes like the one my mom used to make for me.

For a second, my heart stops and it becomes difficult to breathe. I've been shoving down the feeling of grief for the past five years, and it's suddenly too hard to continue doing so. I haven't had her cooking in so long or anything like it, and I'm not quite sure how to feel now.

"Are you okay?" Grover asks worriedly. "You look a little pale."

I blink. "Yeah. I'm fine. Why does it taste like this?"

"Ambrosia usually tastes like some kind of food that you enjoy. Why? What does it taste like for you?"

I look away, a guarded expression washing over me.

"Like a sweet my mother used to make for me."

"Oh," Grover replies, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry."

All I can do is nod at him because I'm afraid that if I open my mouth, I won't be able to stop the tears from falling.

Grover helps me clean my wound, and eventually, the pain subsides enough to be bearable. The quiet in the tent allows me some much needed time to think about the events of the past hour. It's almost too much to take in—gods and goddesses, monsters, demigods, the whole of my Greek mythology textbook coming to life.