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yourself?”
    She crouched in front of the dresser, pulled the bottom drawer open, and extracted a clean towel. “Oh yeah. Shit brown and puke green are my favorite colors. Aren’t they yours?”
    “Obviously. I’m a daemon, right?”
    One corner of her lips curved. A sexy little grin that supercharged his blood. And again he was struck by the fact she didn’t seem the least bit afraid of him.
    She stood, held out the towel and clothes. “While you get cleaned up, I’ll find bandages for your head.”
    He didn’t bother telling her he didn’t need bandages. Instead he took the clothes, pulled them against his chest so she could pass. Was just about to ask why she wasn’t scared as a normal person would be, when her body grazed his in the doorway.
    Her heat seared every inch of him, reigniting the arousal he’d felt back in the trees. Only this wasn’t just sexual. No, this was something more. An awareness. A déjà vu feeling. A memory he couldn’t quite bring into focus.
    Her feet stilled. Her smile faded. And his stomach felt as if it flipped over when he realized she felt it too.
    Who was she? What was she to him? And why the hell couldn’t he figure out how he knew her?
    She turned back toward the kitchen. “Take your time.”
    Why the hell was he so rattled around her?
    Skata. Maybe that last shift had been one too many. Maybe he’d finally suffered some serious brain damage in the process.
    Stepping into the bathroom, he shook off the thought, avoided the mirror. He didn’t need to see his reflection to know he looked like shit. He felt like it too. And not just from the change. Months of searching, only to be met with disappointment, were taking their toll. He needed food. A couple hours of shut-eye. And to find that damn dark-haired female before he lost the Orb for good.
    Steam filled the room as he let the water beat down on his battered body. He rubbed soap all over his skin, washed his hair with shampoo from a purple bottle that smelled way too girlie, then flipped off the water and dried with a towel from the rack. As he did, he caught sight of the ancient Greek text on his forearms that ran down to entwine his fingers.
    Man, if the Argonauts could see him now. No, nix that. He already knew exactly what they’d say or do if they’d seen the switcheroo he pulled in that clearing. Daemons weren’t just discriminated against in their world, they were the bitter enemy. If word got out he was half daemon, the Argonauts would be the first to crucify him, likely in Tiyrns Square, for all Argoleans to see. Forget the fact he was the last living descendant of the famed hero Perseus. And never mind that he’d helped their queen and all the Argonauts more times than he could count. He tossed the towel away in disgust, jerked on the fresh jeans. To them he’d forever be nothing more than a daemon. Useful one way: dead.
    He tugged on the dark blue T-shirt that barely fit, shoved his feet back into his boots, and finger-combed his hair. Screw what he thought he wanted. There was only one thing he needed right now. The Orb of Krónos. Once he had that…well, then the tide would finally turn.
    As for the blond…yeah, she was hot, but he didn’t have time for this. And the weird sensations pinging around in his chest when he looked at her weren’t just delaying him, they were distracting him. So he’d go out there, find out what she knew about his target, then be on his way.
    Decision made, he grabbed his weapon from the counter where he’d left it and opened the bathroom door. Steam preceded him into the hall, where the scent of bacon filled the air. His stomach growled, and he turned the corner to find the blond—shit, he should have asked for her name—standing at the stove, flipping bacon and scrambling eggs. She’d dressed in fresh clothes: another black shirt—this one, short-sleeved—a fresh pair of slim black pants, and the same kick-ass goth boots she’d worn earlier. But it wasn’t her