A/N: This is my first FanFiction story. Any comments or ideas for story lines that you guys want to read are greatly appreciated. I'll try to update as soon as possible. Hope you all enjoy!
Considering my right hand is covered in paint, I attempt to use my nearly paint-free left hand to tie my hair into a bun. It comes out sloppy and frizzy red strands fall to the side of my face. Momentarily forgetting about the paint, I brush them away, leaving a wet trail of blue across my cheek. I sigh and go back to dabbing small dots across the canvas. I am trying to draw the Camp Half-Blood Lake, but it doesn't look quite right yet…. It needs more green.
All of a sudden a voice comes out of nowhere.
"I think it could use some more black."
I jump forward, and as a result my hand violently flies to the right. A line of green stretches across the picture, effectively ruining the scene.
"Hades Nico!" I sneer. "Look what you've done now."
I turn around to see the tall demigod looming over me, scrutinizing my work. His jet-black hair covers his eyes, so he has to crane his neck up to see the painting. Using a pale hand he pushes his hair off his face and looks down at me. His dark eyes sweep over my face, and his mouth twists into a sort of half grimace, half smile. Is he smiling? My hands start flattening out my shirt before I realize what I'm doing. I ball them into tight fists and put them at my sides.
He cocks his head to the side and snickers.
"Feeling a little blue, Dare?"
Crap. The paint. My hand flies up to my face, leaving a handprint of green over the blue. I must look like a freaking clown.
"What do you want?" I reply nonchalantly.
"Chiron wants to see you in the Big House. Some sort of meeting with the heads of the cabins. I don't know why that includes you, but he told me to get you. Everyone's waiting," he says with a shrug.
"Does that mean you're going too?" I ask. What. Am. I. Saying? I smack my hand over my mouth, covering my lips in more paint.
"Eughh. It got in my mouth! The paint. Gross! Get it out! Get it out!" I start running around and spitting and basically looking like a moron. This sends Nico into hysterical fits of laugher.
"Itsh's all your f-f-fshault!" I cry, coming chest to chest with him. I stand on my tippy toes, trying to seem bigger. Why does he have to be so tall? He's only sixteen but he already has a foot on me. Plus, I'm four years older. Stupid genetics.
"My fault?" He raises an eyebrow and glares at me.
"Yeah."
"How so?"
"It's called, not popping up and scaring people while they're working!"
He rolls his eyes. "Nice comeback, Dare."
I shove him backwards, two green handprints perfectly visible on his black leather jacket. His jaw drops.
"You did not just do that," his eyes flash.
I try not to be scared, but he looks so intimidating. Hulking over me, he takes off the jacket and holds it up, assessing the damage. It turns out he is wearing a black tee shirt underneath. What a surprise. And of course, I definitely don't notice his huge biceps and how the shirt fits him so nicely….
"It's ruined!" he sulks, making me grin. "That was my favorite jacket."
"Just wash it. Grow up, di Angelo." It takes my best effort to suppress the giggle that bubbles to my lips.
"Just because you're four years older, doesn't make me a baby."
"It totally does."
"Shut up."
"You brought it up."
"Did not."
Just to prove my point, I reach up and tousle his hair.
"Rachel!" he whines. Suddenly, a slow smile spreads across his lips, and his eyes glint like a madman. With one easy swoop, he picks me up and starts walking to the lake.
"Nico," I gasp, kicking and screaming. "Put. Me. Down. This. Instant." I wipe my hands all over his face. Obviously, if the paint bothered him before, it doesn't now. He ignores my angry attempts to get him to stop. My hands leave marks all over his jaw and his neck. His skin is oddly smooth.
"If you throw me into the lake, so help me gods, I will kill you!" I screech.
"Who's the baby now?" he mutters.
"Nico. Put. Me. Down!" I sound like a bratty four-year-old. Whatever. He will definitely pay for this.
He pauses when he gets to the edge of the lake. Using some paint from his chin that hasn't dried, he dabs his finger and draws a smiley face on my cheek. His finger is freezing, like death itself, which is totally why a shiver crawls down my spine. I reach up to touch my face where he did, and blush.
At this, his eyebrows furrow together and he gives me a weird glare. He's about to say something. It looks like he's struggling for the right words. After a few seconds he decides against voicing whatever he wanted to say. He bites his lip and frowns.
"Fine, I will."
I feel his muscles extend underneath me, and with one easy push he tosses me into the lake.
When I resurface, I start yelling about Nico's his father will seem like a fluffy kitty compared to me. Apparently, the god of death doesn't like being called a kitten, so the comment is responded with an angry rumble of thunder. I cast a weary look back to shore, expecting to find Nico, but there's nothing. He's gone.
Gods, I hate that kid.
