And then the shorts were a mistake. Seth said I looked hot, and later, in our bed that creaked, he showed me how hot he thought I looked in those shorts, but while I was out on the beach, my legs were so white they were blinding.

Dusk was quickly giving way to night when we stopped to grab dinner at The Beach Café. Seated inside at a large table, I couldn’t help but wonder if any of the patrons, the very mortal patrons, noticed anything off about our group. Besides the fact that our group had an extraordinary amount of attractive people—not like that was anything rare in L.A., but did they feel anything strange?

Could they sense at all that demigods, the children of demigods, and the Apollyon surrounded them? Like a weird vibe in the air or just that sensation you sometimes get that warns you something isn’t right?

I knew I never felt anything when I was a normal mortal. I’d believed that Erin was totally who and what she said she was. I had no idea she was a mortal creature known as a furie.

Other than the waitress openly gawking at the guys, she didn’t seem to realize that she was surrounded by mythical creatures as she took our drink order.

I went with a Coke. Most went with water . . . until it came to Herc’s order. He eyed the menu. “I’ll take a gin and tonic.”

The pretty waitress, who I’d already assumed was in the L.A. area to be an actress, because I assumed everyone there was there to act or model, blushed. “Can I see an I.D.?”

My eyes widened. I.D.? Hell. There was no—

“Honey, you already saw my I.D.,” Herc said as he glanced up. His gaze caught and held the waitress’s. Tiny hairs rose on my arm as a push rolled across the table, a flicker of recognizable power. “You know I am of age.”

The waitress blinked slowly and then said, “How about an appetizer?”

Holy wow.

I’d never get used to seeing a compulsion used, and even though it was over something so minor, I didn’t like it. “You shouldn’t do that.”

Herc looked at me like he couldn’t even fathom why I suggested that. “I want a drink, so I’m getting a drink.”

“But you don’t need a drink,” I reasoned, curling my fingers along the edges of the laminated menu. “Compulsions shouldn’t be used for something so . . . so trivial.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”