Charlie
I was going to die.
Right here. On this very path. In the middle of a stupidly romantic sunset, with birds chirping like they were on payroll and the wind doing its best impression of a soft violin ballad.
Apollo was walking beside me, looking every bit the myth and legend he was — tall, quiet, unfairly gorgeous. And composed. So damn composed.
Meanwhile, I was tripping over roots and my own libido like a gremlin with a head cold.
It wasn’t fair.
He had the audacity to look serene, like he hadn’t turned into a twenty-foot fire-breathing god-beast earlier. Meanwhile, I was vibrating with the kind of romantic panic that usually precedes public fainting.
I tried to focus on the trees. The river. The iron gates of the stronghold looming up ahead. Anything other than how warm he’
