Chapter 22
twenty-two
-Brynn-
After a few hours outside, Ares moved us to his bedroom while I was too tired to react. I just let him carry me there, barely flinching as he cleaned my wounds with a wet towel. Then he moved to clean the mess he’d made between my thighs before crawling into bed for what was left of the night.
It’s late morning when we both wake up, and this time I don’t find a note on the nightstand. Ares is right next to me as I open my eyes, a satisfied smirk on his lips, like he knows damn well what he’s done to me. While I still can’t wrap my head around how I ended up here.
I was just supposed to get the information and leave. Now something’s happened that’ll tie me to him forever.
I’m not sure what to say, so I’ll let him do the talking. I feel like things are getting more complicated by the minute. Like every choice I make will be the wrong one.
“Hungry?” He breaks the silence with a much more cheerful attitude than his usual self.
“A little,” I murmur, hoping to wipe this dumb look off my face, though it doesn’t seem to be working.
“Let’s get you something to eat then. I wore you out last night.” He smirks, pushing the sheet that covered him aside, leaving the bed fully naked. And just like that, I lost my appetite... at least the one for food, because I have a new appetite now.
There’s not much for me to do except watch him pull on a pair of shorts and toss me one of his T-shirts, since my clothes are completely ruined from last night.
We head to the kitchen next, and I half-expect him to order something, or at least call one of his maids to make us something to eat. Instead, he opens the fridge, takes out a box of eggs, some tomatoes, and a few peppers.
I have no idea what he’s making for breakfast, but I feel I shouldn’t leave him to cook alone.
“Want some help?” I ask, fully prepared to prove just how much of a walking kitchen disaster I really am.
“No. Today I’m taking care of you. Just sit here until breakfast’s ready,” he says, taking my hand and guiding me to a chair at the kitchen island.
Take care of me.
That sounds so strange. I don’t think anyone’s ever really taken care of me before. Sure, Elias used to cook sometimes so we wouldn’t starve to death, but it always came with a price. Like me doing the laundry or some other chore around the house.
Maybe Ares has a price, too. I just need to learn what it is. But for now, I let him pamper me, even if it makes me feel a little uncomfortable, because I’m not used to it.
“You’re not here with me. What are you thinking about?” he asks, dropping some tomatoes into the frying pan along with some chopped onion, peppers, and a mix of herbs and spices.
For a moment, I think I just stare at him, unsure of what I should say.
Maybe even unsure of the real answer myself.
“Last night was… hard for me to talk about.” I trail off because I have the feeling it was also difficult for him to listen.
“But that’s not all I was thinking about.
Last night… you… the things you said about being the Devil’s son… ”
How the fuck did I end up in the middle of this?
“We’ll talk about that after we eat. Breakfast’s almost ready,” he says, cracking in the eggs, adding cheese, and a few more herbs into the frying pan.
“What is that?” I ask, eyeing the dish that is unfamiliar to me.
“It’s called Shakshuka. It's something from the Middle East. I’ve traveled the world, a lot, and this is one of my favorite dishes. Mostly because it doesn’t take much time or effort,” he smiles.
He lets everything cook for a few more minutes, then sets the pan on a wooden cutting board and takes some fresh pita bread from the basket.
I already know he has someone handling the supplies, because he’s not the kind to go grocery shopping.
Which explains the fresh stock of... pretty much everything.
I’m starving, so I dig in, grateful I don’t have to follow any proper table manners, and that I can be myself around him, since we both end up eating directly from the pan.
I have to admit, I’m surprised how good it is, how flavorful. And I find myself wondering what hidden qualities he might have.
I so wish things were different.
We finish what I consider to be the best breakfast of my life. Or maybe I’m just saying that because I’ve been living off Pop-Tarts and cereal for the past year. Either way, I don’t remember the last time I had a meal this good.
Normally, I’d have offered to leave by now—maybe several times.
Still, I need answers, not just about what happened last night, but also about what happened to Elias. And time’s running out. Only two days left to sort things out, and I feel I’m getting nowhere. I have no idea where the next games will be, let alone how to infiltrate them.
Ares needed to make a few calls, so I darted to the bathroom to jump into the shower, hurrying to get out of there as fast as possible. He mentioned something about joining me, but I’m still not entirely comfortable with him seeing me naked.
Maybe I’ll never be. It’s not like I have time to get used to it anyway.
We’re not meant to be.
The only reason I even dare to dream is because, in the back of my mind, I have this lingering doubt that maybe he wasn’t the one who killed Elias. Maybe it was someone else in the game.
But I’m afraid that’s just wishful thinking.
Just a way for my mind—and what’s left of my heart—to cling to one last scrap of happiness.
Because I realize now, no matter how evil or twisted he might be, no matter the game he’s playing, he’s the only real shot I have at feeling something other than pain and hate.
Ares steps into the bedroom just as I’m opening the bathroom door.
There’s a visible grunt on his face, probably because I didn’t wait for him.
But I make sure his grunt turns into a smile as he sees me stealing one of his shirts from the closet, even though I wait for him to get into the shower before I change.
I’ve just finished finger-combing my hair when he steps out, totally unbothered, wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist, which he tosses aside quickly to pull on a pair of black joggers and a white shirt.
I really need to stop staring at his abs. But then I’d be staring at his cock, and at this point, I don’t even know which one of those is worse. Gawking is gawking, no matter how you spin it.
Before I manage to embarrass myself with some dumb excuse about how I’m not really looking at him, he takes my hand and leads me out of the room. “Come on. I have something to show you.”
I’ve already been through most of his rooms, so I’m not sure what he could possibly surprise me with.
But from the way he’s heading, we’re not stopping on this level.
Instead, he leads me to a door I suspect goes to the basement.
It seems I’m right. There’s a set of stairs leading down as soon as he opens it.
He goes first, taking my hand to make sure I don’t trip. The lighting is dim, but just bright enough for me to see where I’m going. Still, I don’t let go of his hand.
There’s the independent part of me, asking me not to show I can be fragile. But there’s also the part that wants to feel everything—for the first time. The part that wants so badly to believe in the fairytale.
We walk down a long corridor with rooms on both sides, which leads me to believe he has another entire floor down here.
“Are you about to go Fifty Shades on me?” I ask half-smiling... maybe even half-daydreaming about it.
Though it doesn’t seem like that’s what he has in mind.
“Funny, you consider me to be so gentle,” he smirks, and a chill travels down my spine.
Now, I am interested.
He doesn’t offer any other clues as we stop in front of a door. “You said you needed answers. Well... this is who I am,” he says, turning the doorknob and letting me into a different world.
Lit shelves are lining up the walls, filled with hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of ancient artifacts. Pieces I’ve never seen before, and by the look of them, they belong in a museum.
In the center, a massive white marble statue of a man resting on pillows, completely naked and with a hard-on big enough to raise a flag. Well, I bet it’s hard... since it’s marble.
But as I look at it, I realize the features of his face are way too familiar.
It’s him. It’s Ares. The statue is a representation of him, and as I come to look better at his naked marble body, I realize it’s a one-on-one representation of him.
“That was a gift from Alexander of Antioch. He did some work for my sister, too, a while ago. Hers is more familiar since she let the public discover it. You might’ve heard of it.
It’s called The Venus of Milo,” he says it’s so casually like it’s completely normal for him that his sister is. .. the actual Goddess of Love.
“Okay, so your sister is Aphrodite… you’re telling me that you’re Ares… As in the Ares? The God of War?”
“Yes, the chaotic, brutal, bloodthirsty God of War. Couldn’t you tell by now?
” He lets on a smirk, clearly proud of this title.
And I think I even catch him flexing a muscle as he tilts his head, locking eyes with me as his warrior braids swing to the side to point out the obvious.
The obvious I’ve clearly missed until now.
“Not at this level,” I say, almost in shock, as I try to piece things together, even though none of it makes sense anymore.
But one thing I am certain of—he’s not lying. I saw it with my own eyes. “But weren’t you... like... romantically involved with Aphrodite?” I ask with a slight disgust, only now realizing that she’s the blonde he took to the club.
“No,” he mutters, as if he’s offended by the thought. “Some parts of the legends are true, but others are just pure myths, made up by people who didn’t have better things to do with their lives. They see us as gods, but we’re really just... entities.”