Possessed. Stephanie Doyle

body under the oversize sweater. Thin, yes. But that didn’t necessarily mean weak.

      “Ahh.” She winced and gripped her stomach with her hand.

      “What’s the matter?”

      “Nothing,” she said. “Cramps. Anyway, when Cassandra spurned Apollo, he cursed her. No one would ever believe her prophecies again. A hell of a thing to know you speak the truth, but to have no one believe you. I give my mother credit. She picked the absolute right name for me before she split.”

      He looked up from his continuing assessment of her body when she stopped talking. He knew she’d caught him looking at her, staring really, but he didn’t care. Maybe she would chalk it up as typical male perusal. With her elegant face, jet-black hair and green eyes, he had to imagine she was used to the attention.

      In fact it occurred to him that she was stunning. He hadn’t noticed that last night when he’d called her disgusting.

      The knife, he caught himself. He was supposed to be looking for a knife.

      “Do you mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked. “I want to splash some water on my face. It’s been a long night.”

      She hesitated. He could see it. But eventually she shrugged. “Sure. First door on the right.”