Empire of Secrets: A New Adult Paranormal Romance with Young Adult Appeal (God of Secrets Book 2) Read online

  Fork. He may want a fork.

  I open one, then another and another drawer looking for cutlery, finally finding it in one, to the side of the sink, at the far end.

  I’m feeling nosey, so I take to opening and closing cupboards—something I couldn’t do before with Portia supervising me. Nonperishables like cereal and chocolate Pop-Tarts—yes, Pop-tarts—are stocked, but fresh food like apples or pears or tomatoes are lacking from the fridge. There’s only three eggs to be found, but there’s ketchup and mustard and a bunch of other condiments I don’t recognize.

  I pull out the ketchup and put it on the island.

  I’m not sure where the overflowing, floor-to-ceiling cupboard full of spices that I find further down the line fits in the grand scheme of things, but it’s ginormous, overflowing with bottles and all manner of containers of colorful powders.

  The thing must be a good four feet wide. I’ve never seen so many spices in one place and I study the labels, many of which are in scripts I’ve never seen. I open and sniff a few. They’re definitely exotic, like Harpoc.

  I startle when I close the cupboard door to find Harpoc, clad in white sweats and a T-shirt, leaning against the counter near the microwave, arms crossed, wet hair again in perfect order. His beautiful gold and silver eyes are dancing.

  He looks sexy in white with his black features and olive complexion, and I can’t help myself. I pause, drinking him in.

  My inner minion gives me another groan, but I ignore her. At least she’s stopped commenting on my infatuation.

  The microwave’s ding interrupts what he’s about to joke—because he’s grinning and too sharp to miss that I’m taken with him. He pivots, opens the drawer, and pulls out a pair of pot holders.

  I ogle at his trim waist and firm, muscled arms as he reaches up and retrieves his dinner.

  “What did you learn about me from my kitchen?” he asks, turning.

  He’s still grinning as he sets his plate on the island, then comes around and joins me, on another stool.

  I grab a fry off his plate to which he feigns offense, but he squeezes ketchup on his burger and more on his plate, then picks up the hamburger and takes a bite.

  “I learned you love kitchen gadgets, but rarely use them once you get them, judging by what’s in your drawers. The contents of your fridge tell me you’re not a chef, not that I expected you to be with all the secrets you’re so busy sealing.”

  A corner of his mouth turns up.

  “You have a quick, no fuss breakfast, at home most mornings—” I sneak a glance. “—perhaps because you don’t enjoy your own company.”

  He raises an eyebrow but continues eating.

  “You’re clean, unlike a lot of guys—” I clear my throat. “—or me, and insist the place be kept in order.”

  He chuckles. “You can thank Portia for that.”

  I furrow my brow. “What I don’t understand is your penchant for spices since you don’t cook.”

  He swallows. “I collect them like souvenirs.”

  I tilt my head.

  “Smell is a very powerful sense. It can connect us with fond memories, so if I’ve enjoyed a particular place, I make a habit of bringing a spice or two back with me.”

  “Is that why you bought that bottle of spices from Atitamos’s?”

  He’s chewing, so he nods.

  “That’s a great idea.”

  “I thought so.” He laughs.

  He’s a god, Pell. I can almost see my inner minion rolling her eyes.

  Doesn’t mean he’s got a corner on the “great ideas” market.

  She doesn’t respond.

  “I’ve yet to add the Atitamos’s bottle to the collection, but I will.”

  “So you enjoyed Greece?”

  He looks me squarely in the eye. “Not Greece. You.” There’s no jesting in his expression, and my toes curl on the rung of the stool.

  I made him promise to be forthright. He’s doing a good job of it. Boy, how.

  I’ve no idea how to respond, so I snag another fry, then continue my monologue. “From the rest of your place, I learned you enjoy comfort and want to come home to a space that allows you to truly unwind. Also, you’re a citizen of the universes you travel, enjoying diversity, especially their spices, condiments, and music.”

  He offers me the rest of his fries, so I pull his plate toward me and have at it, after squeezing out more ketchup.

  He’s shaking his head, shoulders tense. “That’s amazing, I feel like an open book.”

  I nearly snort french fry out my nose, then start coughing because it goes down the wrong pipe.

  Harpoc swivels around, then heads for the cupboard by the sink and fills a clear glass with water.

  “I didn’t mean to get you all choked up,” he says, setting it down in front of me.

  I take several sips after I stop coughing. “You’re anything but an open book, and you know it.”

  His Adam’s apple bobs. “Your ability to read me, merely by my home is… impressive. You’re an ace archeologist.”

  Losing my dream career still stings, but I know he means it as a compliment, so I bob my head, taking another sip. “Thank you.”

  But I sense unease. He’s a private kind of guy, and I just decoded a small part of who he really is by doing nothing but looking through his place.

  “I’ll be curious to see what insights you can offer with this leak.” He smiles, but it feels forced, like a diversion, as he rubs the back of his neck.

  “Is that what caused…?” I point toward outside, then stuff another fry in my mouth.

  A dull roar still filters in, so I know the chaos is not yet completely under control, but it must be well in hand or I can’t imagine he would have returned.

  “It is.” He hesitates to say more but apparently thinks better of it and adds, “You’ll be helping find the leak, so you’ll need to know about the secrets that have spilled.”

  Good, now we’re getting somewhere.

  With the change in topics, his shoulders relax. “It seems the rats found out about the contract for garbage breakdown—”

  This just sounds too fantastic, but I try to take it seriously because there really are giant rats battling soldiers. “Like, collection?”

  “No, a contract with Mense’s landfill to break down the refuse after it’s collected. I sealed the secret between our lead sanitation engineer and the Queen of Scarabs not more than a month ago.”

  “Scarabs, as in glorified dung beetles?”

  He chuckles. “She wouldn’t appreciate you calling her that, but yes.”

  “Wouldn’t a contract for refuse ‘breakdown’ be public knowledge?”

  “Yes, but the Queen of Scarabs bribed our lead engineer. She wants to get him to award it to her over the rats.”

  I shiver. “Please tell me she’s not as big as those rats.”

  Harpoc tilts his head. “Why?”

  “Scarabs, roaches, any bug with an armor shell that flies, sends me over the edge of sanity.”

  I don’t care that Egyptians worshipped scarabs…. I would have been a horrible Egyptian, and I’m good with that.

  He’s grinning, no doubt thinking my aversion is cute. Cute, my eye. I pray I never have to see this queen because I know I’ll flip.

  “Demon the Cockroach and I did not get along at all in college. He skulked around my dorm room my entire sophomore spring semester, using guerilla tactics to terrorize me. His worst… he climbed up the back of the blind.” I scrunch my face remembering. “I heard every damn step he took, those stinking wings against the aluminum mini blind slats—” A shiver rocks my body. “—all the way to the top. Then he flew at me when I tried to whack him with my shoe.”

  Harpoc stops smiling. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “I switched dorms my junior year and never looked back.”

  I shake my head, trying to break free of the horrific cockroach-from-hell memory and take another sip of water, breathing deeply, calming. “
So Arimanius’s rats know about the bribe.”

  “Seems so, based upon interviews I conducted of several of the rats we captured.”

  I’m guessing those weren’t just “interviews,” because I’ve seen him when he’s focused, but I digress.

  “I’d be pissed, too, if it were me. I mean, come on. It’s just not fair.” I want to say “serves you right,” but I bite my tongue.

  Harpoc gives me a long look but doesn’t say more.

  Sarcasm fills my inner minion’s voice, Love to know how sealing a secret like this prevents chaos, like the god guy claims.

  But before I can spruce up the comment into a question with a bit less antagonism, Harpoc covers a yawn. I know he’s wiped out, I’m a bit tired myself. To think I started the day in Turkey.

  “Long day, what say we head to bed?” Harpoc wags his brows.

  My damn cheeks warm, and it’s bright enough in this kitchen that there’s no hiding it.

  He enjoys my embarrassment; it’s clear from his expression as he stretches over the island and grabs the silver dome, re-covering his dirty plate.

  I hop down and stick the ketchup back in the fridge. But as we meet at the end of the island, he takes my hand, giving me a passion-filled look before turning.

  I feel the brush of fairy wings inside my stomach, and it feels like they’re doing laps as we retrace our steps to his bedroom and that god-size bed of his.

  We brush our teeth and pee, then stride back out and my anxiety peaks. Which side?

  “Do you have a preference?” he asks.

  “Me? It’s your bed.” My voice squeaks despite me willing it to remain steady.

  “I usually sleep on the left.”

  “Perfect, then the right it is for me.”

  He’s pulled off his T-shirt by the time I round to my side, and I can’t help but appreciate his muscled chest with that infinity rose tattoo across it.

  “I hadn’t pictured you as a rose kind of guy, but I’ve noticed lots of them around,” I say, filling the discomfort of the silence.

  “The rose is the universal symbol of secrets, a sign that topics discussed within a room or wherever you see the symbol are not to be repeated.”

  He says it so simply, but it’s never more true of him; he’s a walking, talking infinity loop of secrets. At least he has been. I’ve yet to see what changes I might affect.

  He pulls down his sweats, and I try to look away, operative word being, try. But my eyes linger.

  By the time I catch myself, he’s turned toward me and is arranging the covers to make room for me in his arms.

  My turn. Stupid me, I should have stripped the same time he did.

  I bite my lip.

  Like ripping off a Band-Aid, Pell.

  If only, because he’s lain down and his head is on the pillow, watching me with heat smoldering in his eyes.

  I slide my thumbs into the waistband of my sweats, summoning courage, then shove them down as fast as I can, and sit, hopefully hiding my bright red undies below the top of the abundant covers. Yes, bright red undies, the same lacy things as the ones he apparently liked me in at that hotel.

  Portia laid them out for me, that and a white T-shirt, and not knowing where any other of my clothes were at that point, it’s what I put on.

  My hoodie quickly follows, after I wrangle with my T-shirt to keep it in place while pulling the sweatshirt off.

  Whew.

  I slide under the covers, then backward, and feel his arms welcome me fully, wrapping around me, pulling me closer to his bare chest until my back meets him. One arm becomes my pillow and I nuzzle into it, into him. The other finds my abdomen.

  “I’m glad you said, yes.” He says it with such earnestness, almost like a prayer, then raises his hand and gently hitches my wayward locks behind my ear.

  The intimacy makes gooseflesh pebble all over me.

  He rises on an elbow, then leans forward and plants a kiss on my now-bare neck, then another on my cheek, then temple. “Mmm. You smell like my soap.”

  “Is that a good thing?” I run a hand up and down his arm, encouraging him on.

  While the fairies still flit about my stomach, their flight is less chaotic. They’re settling down, enjoying this, like me.

  “Definitely.” He lies back down, placing his hand back on my abdomen. “Good night, my little harpy.”

  “Good night….” I need a better name for him.

  My brain sets to work on the task, but it’s not long before slow, even breathing sounds from behind me.

  Poor guy… poor god, was tired.

  I snuggle down into the covers, enjoying the feel of him spooned around me.

  But just as I’m drifting off, my brain farts, and I suck in a breath.

  The sphinx, Zephyr, and Midas were none too happy about me leaking their secrets.

  If those rats are this upset after learning about the injustice…. The Queen of Scarabs can’t be too happy about her secret getting out, either.

  Shit.

  As an investigator on this case, we’re both going to have to talk to her.

  Chapter Five

  “Have some orgasmic coffee.” Harpoc beams as he hands me a mug of the stuff where I’m reclining against an army of pillows, still in bed.

  “You’re never going to let me forget, are you?” I take a sip and close my eyes. A moan escapes, but I don’t care because this coffee is even better than that ritzy hotel’s, if that’s even possible.

  “Not if you continue to swoon over it.” He laughs.

  I open my eyes to see him, propped against his own pillows, stretching out his long legs, then taking a sip from his own mug. “Glad you like it.”

  “Say, I was going to ask last night but you were pretty beat. You promised to teach me hieroglyph and I’m wondering when we can start?”

  Harpoc pauses, mug halfway to his mouth, and gives me a long look.

  I hadn’t expected it to be a problem, so I’m not sure about his reaction. I clarify, “I hadn’t expected to find everyone here speaking it. I’d really like to be able to communicate with everyone.”

  He lowers his mug to his lap, but still hasn’t responded. I can see the wheels turning in his head.

  I frown because he promised to teach me, but more importantly, to be forthcoming.

  I take another sip of this amazing brew, hoping my silence will coax an answer out of him, but after several more seconds, he still hasn’t responded.

  “You’re probably really busy….” Maybe that’s the issue.

  He shakes his head, then opens his mouth, but closes it again. A conflicted look settles on his face and ignites my hackles.

  “Harpoc, you promised to be transparent.”

  “I did, which is why….” He closes his eyes.

  He told me he’s never lied to me and that what he withheld, he did to protect both of us. I wasn’t happy about it then, I’m not happy about his silence now.

  “You know what? Screw it,” he says, a second later, more to himself than me. He forces a smile when he looks back at me. “Yes, Pell, I’d love to teach you hieroglyph.”

  I’m not sure how to respond, so I just say, “Thanks.”

  Geez, was that so difficult?

  I take several sips of coffee over the next few minutes. Somehow it tastes less amazing with that awkward exchange still hanging in the air, but at least he’ll teach me. Hell, all I want to do is talk to people, is that such a crime?

  “Is Portia here?” Hopefully changing the topic will clear the air because he’s still stone silent.

  He wiggles his bare toes. “She arrives after I’m gone, usually.” He takes another sip. “Since you’ll be helping figure out this leak, I thought you should meet my core team.”

  “Core team?”

  “I can’t manage the empire on my own, I have a team.”

  But of course he does. I’d given zero thought to it. My brain goes into overdrive struggling to remember what, if anything, he’s told me abou
t this place. It can’t be much with how secretive he is, but I remember him mentioning lieutenants sealing the secrets of those without much power.

  “Are your ‘lieutenants’ part of this team?”

  “Only one, Lieutenant Commander Nuria Orlaith. She oversees all of my lieutenants. She’s a straight shooter. I think you’ll like her.”

  I’m not so sure about that if her job is to seal secrets, but I’ll keep quiet about that for now.

  I switch to a mysterious tone. “Is it a secret who else is on this core team?”

  Harpoc laughs. “No.”

  And just like that, he’s back from whatever dark place his thoughts went. He’s definitely the god of secrets.

  “There’s also General Idris Fuchur who leads my military.”

  “I take it he was pretty busy last night, too?”

  “You could say that. He’s from the Xannuros realm and doesn’t have secret magic, but he’s loyal, capable, and a forward thinker.”

  “Xannuros Realm?”

  Harpoc smiles. “No doubt you’ll discover a host of places you’ve never heard of if you hang around long enough.”

  I bob my head. “Maybe I’ll start my own spice collection.”

  A corner of his mouth hitches as he takes another sip from his mug. “Last there’s Aura who is responsible for secrets classification and intelligence gathering.”

  “Secrets classification?”

  “When secret magic alerts us to a secret that may need to be sealed, Aura screens the participants and decides if I need to get involved or whether it’s Nuria’s.”

  I nod, understanding, but not. “Does Aura have a last name?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never asked.”

  I furrow my brow. “I thought these were your—” I air quote. “—core officials, how can you not know her last name?”

  “Let’s just say, you’ll understand once you meet Aura.”

  I give him a long look. What’s he got up his sleeve?

  I drain my mug as does he, then we slide out of bed and head for our respective closets. The doorway to mine is right beside his, through the bathroom.