Shadows of Fate

Chapter 6

I yanked open the basement door and headed downstairs with my shoulders squared and my butt-kicking boots on. This was no longer my brother's room. This wasn't our sanctuary. This was a dungeon, and I was here for answers.

The bo-staff rested innocently against the wall at the bottom of the stairwell. In the dark, an intruder might have knocked it over, and it would smack into an overstuffed bookshelf. What a lame booby trap.

I tucked my foot under the staff and kicked it up like I knew what I was doing. My ready hand snatched it from the air, but not before it smacked me in the forehead. I yelped and the staff slipped from my hand. Trying to catch it with my foot, I ended up kicking it with my shin, causing me to stifle a shriek. Then, I tripped on an untied butt-kicking boot's lace and stumbled down the last few steps. The staff landed silently on the carpet where I promptly stepped on it and came crashing down with my hands flung out to protect my face from the bookshelf.

"Fine! I'm fine," I blurted out. I jerked to stand straight, pushing my hair out of my face.

Adjusting my shirt and clearing my throat in an attempt to regain composure, I glanced up and froze.

There, like the epitome of Adonis, sat my mysterious hero on the edge of the bed. Books were sprawled around his bare feet. He was clad in black pinstriped shorts that hit him at the knee and a red short-sleeved button up. His eyes were cast down, hidden under shaggy caramel locks. Holy crap, he's a hot nerd. This had to be a dream.

I snapped my shocked mouth shut. So much for oozing confidence. Fail.

Icarus looked up and those silver eyes swept over me. My cheeks heated. Damn it, Charlie! He's a prisoner meant for interrogating, not eye candy.

The volumes scattered over the bed and around his feet were old textbooks and encyclopedias. Yeah, we were those people. In the digital age, we still owned a full set of reference books, each one dog-eared and highlighted.

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I have some questions, and you better be ready with some—"

"What is this?" he asked.

"A—uh," I stuttered, "interrogation?"

"No, this." He held up a large anthology. I reached out to take it, but his hands clamped onto the book so hard they shook.

My fervor faded when I noted the slight fear in his tone. I sat beside him and looked to the book that he lowered back to his lap.

"It's a book of myths." My favorite collection of Greek mythology to be exact. "What's wrong?"

The red from his shirt reflected in his eyes like ruby shards. He stared at me as if desperate for answers. Answers that his expression told me he was afraid to find out.

"I know these stories." His breathless tone made my skin crawl. All of my senses seemed heightened to him. The way he spoke, the emotion in his gaze, the steady beat of his heart, I could read it all. My nervous system was hijacked by his every motion.

I cleared my throat and attempted to focus only on his words. "I'm sure you remember them from school. We read them in freshman year. I think everyone does."

"It's not that." He lowered his gaze back to the book. "They're wrong. The stories are all wrong."

"I don't know what your school taught you," I said a little too defensively, "But that version has great translations."

He shook his head and set the book aside as if it were infected.

"Why exactly do you think they're wrong?" I snatched the book, cradling it against my chest. Maybe I was a little overprotective about it, but I grew up reading these legends and wishing they were true. These stories were linked to the happiest memories of my childhood. The days before Dad grew distant, before Tobias got hurt, before it bothered me that my mother was gone. I refused to listen as Icarus told me my childhood was a lie.