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“Did anyone tell you that meddling is unwelcome?” Hera said.
Erato’s jaw dropped.
“Now I know you are unwell. Meddling is unwelcome? Coming from you? The literal Empress of Meddling?”
She reached out and touched Hera’s forehead.
“Are you okay? Do you have a fever?”
Hera smacked the hand away, Erato yelped.
“How much do I have to pay you to leave me alone?”
“See? Now you just got me all worried even more.” Erato touched her, fingers warm, comforting. Hera hated every single second of it. She considered smacking the offending appendage again. Instead, she yanked her hand and glared at Erato.
“Would you—”
The doors of Olympus banged open, and Nemesis all but fell in, covered in blood, her arm hanging limply at her side, Clio trying and failing to keep her upright.
Hera was on her feet before the redhead hit the floor. She was too busy to see the bloodied Queen of Diamonds clutched in Nemesis’s broken fingers.
11
WHERE SCREAMING VOICEMAILS FROM ASSHAT EXES CANNOT RUIN A COZY MORNING (AND THE EMPRESS BEGINS DOUBTING THIS ENTIRE PLAN…)
The blood had long since stopped, and Nemesis was resting peacefully—or as peacefully as the Goddess of Vengeance could—in her bed in the penthouse, and yet, Hera still felt the heat of it on her hands.
She scrubbed her palms under the steady stream of the faucet in the spare bathroom and questioned if she would ever not feel it on her skin. The conflicting emotions of not wanting to ever feel it again and never wanting to stop feeling it tore at her chest, making breathing difficult.
A throat clearing just steps from the ajar bathroom door was a distraction. Hera wondered if it would be a welcome one.
“If you’re here to explain what happened, do so quickly.”
The door cracked a touch wider, revealing Clio’s apologetic face.
“Uhm… Well…”
Hera threw the door fully open, banging it against the wall, and brushed past the muse. In the middle of the kitchen, she stopped, turned around and realized she had no idea why she was where she was to begin with.
The muse stood a few steps behind her, cautiously assessing the situation, emotions fleeting on the chiseled features, the always carefully arranged bob uncharacteristically disheveled, the lower lip split and bleeding. Hera waved her hand and healed the small cut, not bothering to make it painless. Clio hissed and brought her hand up, touching the now-whole flesh.
Hera told herself she’d helped because the sight of blood reminded her too much of Nemesis’s bruised face. She chose not to dwell too long on any other reasons. She was absolutely not going soft.
“Speak, Muse.”
Clio bit the newly healed lip, and Hera almost rolled her eyes. Seriously? The muse smiled sheepishly, caught out.
“The security was too much. It’s the truth. We had everything planned out. It was a good plan too. I mean, she’s stubborn and rash, but I did devise a good plan. I have centuries of good plans to draw from. So…”
“So?” Hera tapped her foot.
“So, we should have amended the plan when we were confronted with too much security. We couldn’t foresee the old bastard doubling and, in places, tripling his guards. I guess after the corporate takeover thing, he might’ve wisened up. I don’t know…”
Hera snapped her fingers and halted Clio’s rambling.
“I don’t care about what you don’t know. I care about what you do. Go on.”
Clio bit her lip again before catching Hera’s gaze and hurrying into an explanation.
