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Something in my chest gives a strange little flutter.

I glance at his enormous hand, waiting patiently at his side.

Then at his face.

“Actually,” I admit, “I think I might like it.”

His smile is slow.

Dangerous.

Entirely too pleased.

“Good.”

He offers me his hand again.

This time, I take it.

And as I lead the God of Wrath out onto Saint Street, I have one terrifying thought.

I came to New Orleans to get away from powerful men.

Now I’m taking the most powerful one I’ve ever met home with me.

And for some completely inexplicable reason, I feel safer than I have in years.

Chapter 3

Wren

There is a naked Greek god standing in my living room.

Well, technically, he’s standing in my doorway, because the naked Greek god has shoulders approximately the width of a city bus and apparently needs to turn sideways to fit through a standard door.

“Careful,” I warn as he ducks beneath the frame. “I just got my security deposit back from the last place. I’d really like to keep this one.”

Vidar pauses, one enormous hand braced against the doorframe.

“Someone charges you to live here?”

“Welcome to capitalism, sweetheart.”

His magenta eyes narrow. “Who?”

“Who what?”

“Who demands payment for your shelter?”

“My landlord. And before you ask, no, you cannot kill him.”

“I was going to suggest he reconsider his profession.”

“With your fists?”

“That depends on his answer.”

I sigh and shut the door behind us.