We’re on a busy New York sidewalk. And yet, it’s as if we’re suddenly in a bubble of silence. As if the entire rest of the world fades away to a low hum, until I can actually hear my throat tightening when he starts to walk towards me.
I shiver when he stops right in front of me, looming over me. I want to sneer at him. Or spit on his fancy shoes. Or worse. But all I can do is purse my lips and glare at him.
Ares smirks down into my eyes.
“They haven’t told you yet, have they?”
I swallow.
“Told me what?”
One of his dark brows raises in amusement.
“Never mind. You’ll find out soon enough. You know who I am?”
“Of course I know who you are.”
“I mean, apart from being your neighbor.”
I stiffen, desperately trying to swallow back the heat from my face.
“Neighbor?” My voice cracks. Not badly, but enough. “I hadn’t realized.”
The dangerous and lethally-attractive man looming over me smiles ruthlessly, coldly.
“You don’t recognize me?”
“I—I guess not.”
“Would it help if I took my clothes off?”
Dear. GOD.
My face turns as hot as the sun as I pray for a sinkhole to open at my feet.
“I—I—”
“The meeting is about to start.”
He lets his lips curl slightly, giving me the faintest flash of white teeth. Then, without blinking, he starts to move past where I’m still glued to the sidewalk.
He pauses right next to me, and my breath sucks in as he leans down, so close I can smell the woodsy, elegant scent of his cologne and feel the heat of his breath in my ear.
“Oh, and Neve…” he growls quietly. “Peach isn’t your color.”
My brows knit as I start to turn towards him in confusion.
“I’m not wearing—”
Oh God.
Yes, I am.
My mind flashes back to rooting around in my light-filled bedroom as I yanked off my hoodie and sweatpants. Where I pulled out the green top and black jeans…
After putting on the laundry-day pair of peach-colored panties.
I’m not the only person spying on their neighbor.
Son of a bitch.
Ares clears his throat, straightening up and buttoning his jacket as I melt into a puddle of mortification.
“See you in there, princess.”
Chapter 2
Ares
Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown.
Everyone knows that. Except kings usually know they’re going to be kings long before they take over the throne. They prepare for it their whole lives, train for it. They’re ready when the day arrives.
I wasn’t. Because I was never meant to be king. I’m Lancelot, burning and pillaging and fucking his way through the countryside. Not King fucking Arthur.
But life, or fate, or karma, or whatever you want to call it, had other plans for me.
Nine months ago, my father Aeneas, the head of the entire Drakos Family, died at the hands of my older brother, Atlas. My father was a hard, brutal man. But Atlas was unhinged. And power-hungry.
