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She looked over at Keegan, so alert, she thought, so intense. An impatient man who somehow held bottomless wells of patience. A hard man who was, in essence, made of kindness. A living, breathing contradiction.
And now, because he loved where he’d vowed he wouldn’t, he feared for her. And fear clouded judgment when it must remain keen. It rocked the heart when the heart must stay steady, and troubled the mind when the mind must hold cool and clear.
“Love costs nothing. I wonder at those who can’t feel it, or won’t give or take it.
You don’t maybe think the whole eating-that-girl-demon is like a metaphor?” “No, sorry. I think it’s literal. A virgin—naturally—demon who could take any form she wished. He wanted that power, the demon element to add to his own. I don’t know if she was the first he cannibalized, but I doubt she was the last.” “So he’s the Hannibal Lecter of gods?” “Only you, Marco. Besides, he wouldn’t bother to chase it down with a nice Chianti.”
