12. Caelus
Caelus
“If only you knew,” I whispered, knowing she was too far away to hear the admission.
Furies, the woman was relentless — maddeningly so.
And yet, I could not stop myself from seeking her out at the first opportunity.
I could not refrain from riling her up just to watch her fury burn.
And now, after that ill-advised, reactive decision to knock her to the ground, I could not stop myself from obsessing over the feeling of her body beneath mine.
I paused to readjust my aching cock through the thick leather of my pants. My balls were firmly in the blue category now.
Entirely your own fault, idiot.
I trailed Nyssa through the forest, eyes lingering on the curve of her ass as she moved. It definitely wasn’t helping the cock situation, but it seemed I was a man of little impulse control today.
In an attempt to distract myself from her biteable curves, I let my mind wander.
Unsurprisingly, it landed right back on her again — on the day I’d first met the goddess of death.
I’d only been a boy of seven then, the illusive daughter of Hades little more than a mystery to most. I wasn’t even old enough to have hairs sprouting on my chest or tickling my balls.
I sat on a cold, uncomfortable throne, doing my best to be still and avoid drawing attention. Do not disappoint your father, Mother had ordered.
I hated this thing. Hated the shiny gold, the lingering stares, the expectations placed upon my too-small shoulders.
What if I wasn’t powerful like Father, or cunning like Mother? What if I was the first god to never develop powers at all?
Suddenly, the room quietened — like a bucket of water dousing flame.
Hades had arrived.
The King of the Underworld was not what I expected. He looked as though grief itself had taken an immortal form: pallid, grey skin, abyss-dark eyes, tousled ebony hair. His black formalwear fit like a suit of armour.
He looked as though every ounce of colour and joy had been drained from him until nothing remained but icy sorrow.
He had not arrived alone.
The girl standing beside him was radiant in comparison.
His daughter. She was small, but wholly unafraid.
Her emerald eyes met and held the gaze of any who dared to look down on her.
Long hair, as dark as midnight, fell in waves to her waist as she held her head high.
The girl did not shrink, not even under my father’s cutting stare, which grown men often failed to meet.
She looked as though the moon itself had kissed her skin — soft, pale, and shimmering. I’d never met anyone so hauntingly beautiful.
I longed to go to her. To speak to her. But Mother had not allowed it. I was forbidden to leave the throne while they were here. Not even to use the bathroom.
Still, I could not look away, not even if I wanted to.
Midnight and moonlight. That’s what she was.
As though she felt my stare, the girl with the piercing green eyes turned to face me.
Something seized within my small body. I did not understand it, but my gaze was stuck — glued to hers.
And she did not look away either.
At some point during my reminiscing, Nyssa had vanished. There one moment and gone the next. I scanned the trees, but she had simply disappeared, like a taunting wisp of smoke, forever dancing out of reach.
Frowning, I turned west — or at least, I thought it was west.
I still had to complete Artemis’ trial if I wanted a shot at the final round. The Xifos tis Moiras had one goal — a goal that just so happened to line up perfectly with mine.
As I walked, I shoved my hands into my pockets. My fingers brushed against something sticky. Frowning deeper, I withdrew my now-gooey fingers. I stared at the mess of half-melted caramels clinging to my skin, then threw back my head in uproarious laughter.
“Caramel,” she’d said.
Still chuckling, I licked my fingers and kept walking.
Not an hour later, a flicker of movement in my periphery halted my footsteps.
A flash of white to my right. Gone before I snapped my head round.
Then, the sound of paws from my left.
One-two, three-four. One-two, three-four.
I counted. Four steps. Four feet. That definitively ruled out harpies, lamia, the Minotaur, and several of the forest’s other known inhabitants — though plenty of deadly beasts still remained a possibility.
Inhale .
I drew a dagger from my belt and readied my stance.
Exhale.
I braced.
Inhale .
The forest had gone silent. No footfalls, no birdsong. Whatever it was, it was no longer circling me. My stomach dropped and heart raced as I realised, I was no longer being hunted. I had already been caught.
Inhale—
And stop fucking breathing.
I came face to face with the narrowed golden eyes of a gigantic white wolf. He’d pounced and landed right at my booted fucking feet.
The beast was as large as a pegasus. Larger, even.
He leaned forward and snarled so viciously that spittle splattered across my cheeks, his razor-sharp teeth bared in warning. I fought the urge to wipe it away and cocked my head instead, studying him.
Why had he not attacked?
Ever so slowly, I dropped my dagger and raised my hands, hoping it was a universal gesture of submission. He growled, low and guttural as I backed up a single step — but still he did not attack.
Breaking the wolf’s furious gaze, I surveyed him in his entirety.
Something in the way he held himself — shifting unsteadily, muscles quaking — made me pause.
The beast’s head was enormous, his fur as white as a snow-capped mountain.
It appeared so soft I had the strongest urge to run my fingers through it.
Refraining, I looked further down to his paws, as massive as dinner plates, claws as sharp as the dagger I’d just discarded.
I retreated another step, earning another snarl. It was then that I saw it — the reason for his agitation.
A silver arrow protruded from the wolf’s hindquarter. Crimson stained his otherwise pristine coat, blood pooling on the earth beneath his feet.
The beast is wounded.
Fury burned through my veins. I recognised the design of this arrow.
Artemis. Which could only mean her champion had attempted to overpower and forcibly bond him.
Fucking Furies.
I took another slow step, this time to his side to inspect the wound further. The wolf snapped at my face in warning, but he made no move to attack.
“Easy,” I breathed. Instinct guided my hand. There was more to this creature than a simple wolf. “I need to remove the arrow from your leg so your body can heal. It will hurt,” I warned.
He blinked and dropped his head, almost imperceptibly. Taking that as permission, I grasped the shaft of the arrow firmly in my right hand, bracing his leg with my left. I’d have to be quick, lest he suffer more.
Deep breath in.
I yanked the arrow free and leaped back as his jaws snapped shut at the space I’d just occupied.
But the snarl faded. He turned, licking at his wound, initiating his body’s healing processes with saliva. I watched with rapt fascination as the gash closed over before my eyes, leaving only bloodied fur as proof he was ever injured at all.
Then he turned to me once more, meeting my gaze. His golden eyes clashed with the silver of my own. I dared not move, dared not breathe. I knew I could burn him in an instant with my lightning, but I was desperately unwilling to do so.
The decision is in your paws now, buddy.
The wolf bowed his head and nuzzled my shoulder with his nose. I figured he was giving me his version of wolfy gratitude — until a blistering burn spread down my unscarred arm and up the side of my neck. It felt like lightning tearing across my skin — my lightning.
I cried out.
And just as suddenly, the pain stopped.
Breathing heavily, I ripped my shirt half open to inspect the damage, then froze. Three thick, white slashes had appeared across my skin, like claw marks. Yet the beast had not moved, and my shirt was still whole.
“Impossible,” I breathed.
Not impossible. Just unprecedented, said a deep, male voice, ricocheting through my mind.
Impossible. I thought, sure I had imagined it.
Must I repeat myself, godling? the voice rumbled again.
Brows raised in disbelief, I met the unflinching gaze of the wolf.
“How are you in my head?” I asked, not entirely sure I was still of sound mind.
The bond allows me to speak directly into your mind, and you to mine, Silver One.
“Bond…” I breathed. “You chose to bond with me?”
Evidently. Though I am beginning to question that choice with every passing second, he drawled. My name is Lykos, and I am the last of the Khionian wolves.
He dipped his head; both golden eyes locked onto my silver ones.
Do not make me regret this decision, godling.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I muttered bewilderedly.
With Lykos’ warning looming over my head, I summoned Hermes.
The god appeared with a snap , his eyes widening as he took in the giant wolf by my side. My giant wolf.
“You will surely have made your parents proud with this one,” Hermes smirked. “Place a hand on your beast?—”
Lykos interrupted with a growl, causing Hermes to flinch. I smirked, thoroughly enjoying the first reaction to my bonded companion.
“It is forbidden to touch another’s bonded without permission. And I’m not stupid enough to try. Place a hand on your wolf .”
I did as instructed.
The god of travel clasped his fingers around my forearm.
With a second snap , the three of us vanished from the forest, the faint ringing of a bell echoing behind us as we reappeared in the Parthenon’s hall.