When I perceived, like something that is falling,
The mountain tremble, whence a chill seized on me,
As seizes him who to his death is going.
dante alighieri, Purgatorio, Canto XX
“Chloe wasn’t talking about you,” I said to John, leaning my elbows against the rough wood of the dock railing. “She meant the other lord.”
John raised a dark eyebrow. “Oh, that one,” he said. “My mistake.”
He should have looked intimidating — the death deity on the back of his rearing ebony stallion — and I suppose he did seem that way to everyone else, at least judging by their reactions to the sight of him. Behind me, I heard Reed let out a soft expletive of surprise, and Chloe gasped.
But he was the most gorgeous boy I’d ever seen, even with his mouth twisted into a slightly cynical smile at the idea of anyone referring to him as the Lord. He was, as no one knew better than me, far from without sin.
I’d given up trying to control my pulse, which leaped rebelliously every time I laid eyes on him. I had no more control over my heart when John was around than John evidently did with his obnoxious horse, Alastor, who was prancing around in the frothy waves as if he’d stepped on some of the water glasses Alex had dropped . . . not that it would make a difference, since they’d have been pounded to dust beneath the horse’s massive hooves.
You can get away with making theatrical entrances on the back of a jet-black stallion when you’re the lord of the Underworld, especially while wearing black jeans, studded wrist cuffs, and tactical boots. Granted, John had abandoned the long leather coat he usually wore, but the way the strong, hot wind off the lake caused the waves to crash around Alastor’s forelocks and sent John’s long dark hair — “death metal goth,” I’d once overheard my mom inaccurately describe John’s hair to my dad — streaming around his face and neck gave his entrance an extremely dramatic effect.
John’s appearance did not, however, have the same mesmerizing effect on Alex as it did me and everyone else on the dock.
“Not that guy.” Alex joined me at the dock railing, a disgusted look on his face. “I can’t stand that guy. This is all his fault.”
Uh-oh. This was not the most opportune time for Alex’s memory to be coming back . . . and not the most ideal tone for him to be taking around John.
“Alex,” John said mildly, his gaze flicking towards my cousin. “I could tell it was you from all the way across the beach. Pierce only gets that particular tone in her voice when you’re around. What are you doing here?”
He had to keep a firm hand on Alastor’s reins, so the muscles in his biceps swelled a little, causing the sleeves of his T-shirt to strain.
This was extremely distracting — at least to me — but I had other things to worry about. I was pretty sure a fight was about to break out between my cousin and my boyfriend, which was bad since John and I were still searching for solid ground between ourselves, kind of the way Alastor was searching for solid ground in the sand beneath his hooves.
“Alex thought I needed rescuing,” I explained. “But we talked and got it all straightened out, so he’s good now.”
Unfortunately, John didn’t fall for this blatant lie.
“How did he get out of the castle? Typhon never would have let him past —” John broke off, his gaze going to my hip. “Where did that come from?”
