“You’re a god of love?” His mind was spinning like a tornado trying to make sense of what Titos had just confessed to him.

“Actually, I’m a demigod of love.”

“God. Demigod. Same difference from my perspective. You’re not human?”

“Correct.”

He looked at the man—correction demigod—whose bed he’d shared for the past few nights. From the top of Titos’s head to the bottom of his feet was the image of male perfection. He should’ve known things were too good to be true.

“How old are you?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“Two hundred twenty-nine.”