Chapter 8

Hephaestus POV

Crap. I had lost my mind for a minute.

I stared down at the golden cymbal before me. She had used them as plates.

Plates!

I picked the cymbals in horror, cleaning up the oil that glistened on the plate with my kilt. The nymph or human or whatever the hell she was, hummed, sending vibrations up my skin, stirring the beast between my thighs.

“You used the cymbal as a plate,” I grumbled.

“Oh it's not a plate? Couldn't find plates so I figured they would.” She grinned, peeking up at me.

So beautiful. So ethereal. So damned dangerous.

“Or a kitchen,” she mumbled. “I had to cook outside using coal and few things I could find. Why'd you hang plates on the walls though?”

They're cymbals, I wanted to say. Was her mind a one way traffic or something?

“They're cymbals,” I corrected her with a sigh, shaking my head at her ignorance. Her carefree attitude was infuriating and intriguing at the