Chapter 13 Soraya
“Oh my God, can you two please stop with the kissing?” Nisa screams and stomps to the fridge.
Ares grips my ass tighter as he presses one last kiss on my lips. “They will never understand.”
“Is this their new normal?” I hear a voice I haven’t heard in weeks.
“Hecate, finally you’re back.” I turn, trying to get out of Ares’s arms to hug her, but he is not letting me go. Instead, he dips his head down into my neck and inhales.
“Not yet, Little Flame.” His voice is muffled against my neck.
Deimos enters carrying a glass and a plate. “Every fucking day, I swear, you two are tiring.”
Ares lifts his head. “You can always go to your place.”
Deimos shrugs. “It doesn’t have this much food in it.” He sets his eyes on Hecate. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”
Hecate rolls her eyes. “You sure? Because I’m not from the Caribbean.”
Deimos’s eyes widen, but he keeps it together as he places the plate and glass in the sink
Phobos calls out to Nisa, and she jumps off the stool. “Don’t forget, I’m going to Laura’s for her sleepover birthday thing today.”
“Phobos will get you after school.”
Nisa runs up and hugs Ares and me, and then she is off.
“Be safe and call us if anything happens,” Ares states.
“Yes, bye, guys.” Nisa waves as she zooms out of the kitchen.
I rub Ares’s arms. “I have to leave too.”
Ares grunts. “One more kiss before you go.”
I smile, turning slowly. I melt when his lips finally meet mine. He pulls me closer, and I can feel his cock hardening.
“God, get a room,” Deimos mocks.
I put my hands on his face, and he leans his scarred side into my palm. “I love you.”
“Now until forever,” Ares responds.
I hear a retching sound. Deimos is pretending to vomit.
“I think it’s sweet. I like this, and then there are days I want someone to crack me like a crab and slurp my insides,” Hecate says casually.
“I’ve got to go.” I come out of Ares’s embrace and grab my bag and keys. “Remember, we have dinner today at 7 p.m.”
Hecate shakes her head. “I swear, by the fates, we will be here early.”
I look at Ares and wink, and then I am gone.
ARES
“So now until forever, huh?” Hecate teases me beside the coffeemaker. The coffee maker hisses, spitting out the last brew.
“Mind your business. What did you find out?” I pour a cup of coffee.
Deimos grabs a Red Bull from the fridge and leans on the counter. For once, he’s listening intently.
“I found out that Elias is a direct descendant of—brace yourself—King Orinon of Thrace.”
I almost drop my coffee from shock. “What?”
Hecate nods and swirls her wrist. A book appears on the island.
“It took me a while, but,” Her hands look like she was moving the pages. The book opens. “Right here.”
She points to a line from Thrace down to a David Weitman.
Her finger taps on Weitman’s name. “That is Elias’s great-grandfather. He is a descendant of Orinon.”
I had so many questions floating in my head. Where do I start?
Deimos steps closer to the counter and gazes at the book. “So, is Soraya descended from Talia?”
My lungs tighten with the thought of Talia and Soraya being related.
Hecate raises her hand and moves it back and forth over the book; the pages turn under her command. “Here.”
I hold my breath as her finger traces Soraya’s genealogy back to Talia, the forgotten queen.
“How do you feel about this?” Hecate asks.
I drag my hand down my face. “I don’t know.”
“Do you still love Soraya?” Hecate asks as she closes her fist and the book disappears.
“I do.”
Hecate smiles. “And that’s all that matters.”
Deimos scratches his neck. “That means this is more complex than we know.”
Hecate sighs. “There is more. Elias was also involved in the human trafficking ring that Nisa was involved in.
”Elias was also involved in the human trafficking ring that Nisa was involved in.”
The room drops quiet and cold. “I want to kill him all over again.”
“Agreed. So I sent a small message to Tartarus to make sure he is tortured…forever.” Hecate smiles.
“If it’s not Dionysus, then who is responsible for all of this?”
“Who is behind all this then?” My jaw clenches with tension.
Hecate passes her hand through her hair. “I suspect three goddesses: Artemis, Athena, and Aphrodite.”
“All are cunning and pains in my ass.” I take a gulp of my coffee, letting the hot drink steam to my stomach.
“Still no loopholes on my end,” Hecate says. “I’ve been digging through old tomes for weeks. I’m on the edge of something.”
As Hecate speaks, I begin losing faith. The situation remains: I have to kill Soraya to free Talia. The truth is that my love for Talia remains, but she is becoming a distant memory. Yet she will never find peace if Soraya lives.
I close my eyes and groan when I hear Hecate’s voice. “We will figure it out, Ares. I promise.”
A promise. It feels so close; that perfect life is just within reach, like my fingertips are grazing it, and it’s all about to be ripped away from me.
SORAYA
I love this time of the day, near closing time.
When I am alone with rock music in the background.
The scent of varnish and aged canvas permeates the air.
I adjust my gloves as I begin to remove the yellow tarnish on the painting.
As I bend, I can still feel the memory of Ares pounding behind me.
Then I just laid in his arms as he kissed me and murmured, “I love you” in my head.
Jesus, it’s a fabulous way to start the day.
When I get home, I am going to make a big dinner to thank Ares and the others.
I gaze up at the clock on the wall: 5:55 p.m. I am excited because a new painting is coming in today.
The heels of a shoe click-clack into my office. I take my gloves off and wash my hands.
“Ms. Maude.”
I turn, instantly, recognizing that posh accent anywhere. It was Venus, the beautiful stranger that I met in the café some days ago. I mean, she was striking before, like a Renaissance portrait. Now, as she enters the room, she carries herself with power.
“This way.” She flicks her wrist, instructing some men to place a painting covered with a cloth against the wall. She drops her purse and jacket on my chair.
“I thought you were coming later this week. You’re early,” I say, eager to see what’s under the cloth.
“Love doesn’t wait, my dear,” Venus says slyly with a smile.
The men rush out of the room, leaving us behind.
“Shall we?” Venus says, walking to the painting.
“Yes, please,” I reply, looking at the over-six-foot frame.
Venus tugs on the linen, and I hold my breath as it falls away.
I don’t recognize this painting. The colors are violent yet hypnotic. My heart thuds; something about it feels real and familiar. My hand trembles as I touch the golden frame.
The scene shows a marble hall. At the center kneels a man who looks like Ares, broad-shouldered, with a scar across his face.
Gold chains bound his hands, but still, he is trying to reach forward.
A woman with long red hair is chained to a stake.
Her eyes are cast heavenward at the lightning about to strike her.
The gods sit above, their faint-shaped thrones behind a fog, watching without pity.
My breath stops when I see the chalice hanging above them all, golden and celestial. It’s painted as if it glows on its own, casting a divine light on Ares and…the woman with the red hair.
I close my eyes, trying to remember where I have seen this before. I sigh. “Talia. I dreamt of her.” I shake my head and step back. “Wait, what is this?”
Venus smiles empathically and turns back to the painting. “This is truth and fate all on one canvas. You, of all people, should appreciate how art preserves what people try so hard to bury.”
Suddenly, it feels hard to breathe. “This is a grotesque fantasy.” It has to be a fantasy.
Venus chuckles. “Fantasy? Soraya, no, darling; this is history.”
She touches the frame, and slowly, the painting comes to life like a live-action movie.
I can hear Ares struggling in the chains. “Talia!” His screams make my blood run cold. It’s filled with rage and hatred.
“You have been living a fantasy created by Ares, your great love. Ares is no man; he is the God of War. Exiled. Cursed. Condemned for his weakness.”
I press my hand to my forehead. I should call security; this is insane. But the painting is still moving.
“This…no.” That’s all I could muster.
“History.” Venus walks up to me slowly, pointing back at the painting. “The truth is, Ares doesn’t change. He can’t. You see that woman with the red hair? Talia? That was the last mortal he ever loved. She screamed his name as Zeus burned her alive. Her soul is trapped in the chalice.”
Everything was coming at me at once. This must be a joke. I’m waiting for someone to just come out and say “sike.”
My knees tremble, and I reach for my desk. “No. No…no, he…Ares loves me.”
“Does he, though? Or does he just need you?” Venus’s voice drips with venom.
“The chalice that you drank from demands a vessel. The chalice binds the soul. Did he tell you that? He needs you tethered. That’s why he whispers, ‘I love you.’ That’s why he touches you like he would die without you.
But the truth is…you have to die to free Talia. ”
Ares wants me…dead? I refuse to cry in front of Venus. I bite down on my tongue.
“How do you know all of this? Ares wouldn’t—” I need proof. I need something solid.
“Ares wouldn’t? Oh, you stupid mortal.” Venus tilts her head in pity. “Gods don’t love mortals. We consume them. He is exchanging your soul to resurrect what he’s already lost. Every kiss, every touch, is like a prayer feeding into the curse. All to free her.”
The museum lights hum and flicker over my head. I stare at the painting, and I can feel bile rising up in my throat. Talia. I have been dreaming of her, the woman with the general in a tent. My head hurts; this can’t all be true.
“He does not differ from Elias, your aunt, and uncle. They all want your life as a prize.”