“Cat?” I wiggle closer, sliding my cheek along his bare chest. “It’s working!” He sits up, and I grumble a protest. “Easy, kardia mou. I’m just cutting deeper.” My breath hitches. His sweetheart? Most people have forgotten the ancient language of the Gods. The tribes must have retained some endearments. No one’s ever called me anything special before, except Thanos, and I’m not sure “little monster” counts. Griffin must cut himself first. I force my eyes open just as he’s coming at me with the knife. Everything’s blurry, but my heart still flips over at the sight of him—midnight hair, sculpted features, wide, sensual mouth, magnetic gray eyes. I could stare at him for hours. His blade draws a line of fire across my hand. “She’ll find me,” I croak. I have no idea how long my blood’s been exposed. “Alpha Fisa?”
