Daimon: Guardians of Hades Series Book 6

was constant. Forever Penelope’s. He was constant.
He was.
Marinda appeared behind Cass, her tropical blue eyes shimmering with tears. “Cal’s awake.”
Cass’s face warmed as she turned to Marinda, her soft rosy lips curling in a smile as her aquamarine eyes brightened with love and happiness.
Gods, she was beautiful.
That thought hit him like a gorgon, striking so hard and fast out of the blue that he actually took a step back to brace himself.
He stared at Cass, reeling, stunned by how she had made him feel with only a smile.
He watched her go inside, too shaken to follow as his mind whirled.
He wasn’t looking for a woman. Penelope was the only woman he would ever love.
But as he stared after Cass, drawn to following her, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lying to himself.
That he had been lying to himself for years and that was why he constantly felt as if he was drowning.
Cassandra was forcing him to face the truth—that he was lonely and to protect himself from the pain of that loneliness, he had convinced himself that he was being noble, that he still loved Penelope and that being loyal to her was vital to him.
The real reason he was always on edge around Cass, always quick to anger and fast to lash out at her verbally to drive her away, hit him like a thunderbolt.
He wasn’t angry with her because he felt she was trying to destroy his loyalty to Penelope, attempting to steal him from her.
He was angry because he wanted Cass.
He looked down at his gloved hands, lifted them palm up before him and watched the frost flowers blooming across the black leather.
And he couldn’t have her.

Chapter 4
Daimon cringed as Valen hollered an obscenity across the main living room of the house, launching it like a missile at Cal as he flipped him off. He had been pleased when his brothers had regained consciousness, but now he was beginning to wish they had stayed asleep. At least the mansion had been quiet then.
Keras had mistakenly ordered the two of them to rest, and they had spent the last two days on the cream couches in the TV area, dressed in sweatpants and worn T-shirts, lounging and playing video games, and fighting whenever one of them won.
“You sure you can’t go home yet?” Daimon aimed it at Valen, who shifted his hand to flash his extended middle finger at him too.
“Captain’s orders.” Valen grinned and waggled his finger. “You’re stuck with me.”
“You seem well enough to go home,” he grumbled as he picked up several empty discarded packets of potato chips and shook his head at the number of juice glasses occupying the coffee table.
He swore Valen and Cal used a fresh glass every time they wanted a drink.
Valen fake-swooned, pressing the back of his right hand against his forehead as he sagged back against the couch cushions, still hammering buttons on the black controller with his left hand. “I’m sick, man. Have a heart.”
The television announced a winner.
“Shit, kid, I can beat you one-handed.” Valen pressed his bare left foot against Cal’s shoulder where he was sitting on the floor, surrounded by popcorn and broken chips.
“Fuck off.” Cal grabbed Valen’s ankle and shoved his foot away. “Your stinky feet are putting me off my game.”
Daimon pretended to check an invisible watch on his wrist. “You guys have around a minute before Eva and Marinda get back from the store.”
He cast a pointed look at the mess surrounding his brothers.
“Is this the impression you want to make on them?” He shook his head. “Reckon they’ll think you’re both losers and dump your arses.”
Valen and Cal were on their feet in a heartbeat, Cal rushing to the kitchen for a dustpan and brush while Valen bundled the glasses and bowls into his arms, spilling more food onto the table and floor. Daimon made a mental note to threaten them with their women thinking they were losers in the future, whenever the two of them were being annoying. It was a great motivator.
Cal paused halfway through sweeping the floor, his shoulders going rigid beneath his khaki T-shirt. “They’re here.”
He raised his hand and the air in the room shifted, swirling into a miniature tempest that gathered all the mess into the pan for him.
“Cheater,” Valen muttered as he rushed to the kitchen with another load of dishes. “If I used my powers—”
“Esher would kill you.” Daimon didn’t let him finish that sentence, because Valen could command lightning and had come close to incinerating the mansion enough times already. He didn’t want his brother getting ideas about using his power to any degree within the vicinity of it.
Valen sobered. Shrugged stiffly. “Wasn’t going to do anything.”
If his brother had tacked ‘spoilsport’ onto that sentence, it wouldn’t have made him sound any sulkier.
Daimon dragged a hand down his face and sighed as he prayed for strength. He wasn’t cut out for this. Esher was meant to be the one in charge at the mansion, not him. He definitely wasn’t cut out to stand in for Keras or even Ares. The two of them should have been here taking care of things, but Ares had gone to pack some things for Megan so they could move into the mansion, and Keras was busy doing something.
The gods only knew what.
His brother was becoming more and more secretive.
Daimon had a feeling that was not a good thing.
The front door opened and Cass’s scent of magic and sin hit him hard, had his gaze straying towards her despite his effort to keep his focus fixed on what he was doing.
Eva stared at the stack of empty wrappers in his hand and then her blue eyes shot to Valen, her black eyebrows lowering above them. Her Italian accent was sharp as she said, “Did you eat all of that when you knew we were getting food?”
Valen pointed at Daimon. “He ate it. I told him not to, but you should see him carb load.