Chapter 22 #2
“I think you should start from the beginning,” I blink, confused and not entirely sure I’m ready for what he’s about to tell me.
He turns to face the eastern wall, where more than a couple of dozen weapons are carefully aligned—each one priceless, with jeweled handles, and ancient inscriptions along their blades.
“This is who I am,” he says, lifting a curved blade from the wall, the edge shining under the chandelier.
And I feel my breath fading. “Something born of violence and rage. An entity created for one purpose—destruction. I’m called a god because that’s the name humans gave us.
But in truth, we are entities created by the same force.
A power beyond comprehension.” He sets the weapon back into place, just to run his fingers along the edge of a double-headed ax.
“That’s why people call him the Devil—even though in some cultures, he bears different names like Zeus or Asura.”
He turns to face me fully now, his voice low, his eyes locked on mine.
“He’s not entirely evil in every religion.
It all depends on how people perceive us, his children.
We also bear different names in different regions.
From the Maori warrior king to the Slavic Chernobog.
Over time, cultures shaped us into different forms—but we’re essentially the same being.
” He takes me by the waist and guides me to a wall where ancient artifacts like gold urns, shattered relics, and even stone fragments tell grim stories of monsters invading the human world, leaving nothing behind but torture and war.
“My father created me, and my brothers and sisters, without giving us any special purposes at first. Messing with people’s lives was our main form of entertainment.
We took whatever we wanted. Made everyone bow for our pleasure.
” He says, trailing a finger down my spine, and just like that, those familiar tingles are building up again, making my body all so willing to bow for his pleasure too.
I expect him to go on with his story. Yet the fire in my eyes, the desire he ignited with nothing more than a touch of a finger.
I wish I could hide it, to control myself, but I’m as lost as those poor bastards he just described.
And from there on, things only go downhill for my resistance as he leads me to the far corner of the room, where a cloth covers what seems to be a chair.
The moment he pulls the cloth away; I realize that’s not just a chair.
It’s a gold throne.
“Really, Ares?” I ask, arching a brow. I could tell he was arrogant, but a gold fucking throne? That’s a little too much—even for him.
“What kind of god would I be without a throne?” He pauses.
“This was a gift from King Midas. An offering for his god.” He smiles, taking my waist and guiding me to sit on it.
“I told you I’d take care of you today.” There’s a grin on his face that somehow confirms there’s not a single decent thought in his head right now.
“The role of queen suits you,” he murmurs, kneeling in front of me.
“Now, where was I?” His lips glide down my collarbone in a slow, breathtaking line.
“To the part where you destroyed people for your entertainment,” I mutter, because I feel he’s doing the same thing to me—destroying me, dismantling me piece by piece.
“That was part of the old me. My father took care of that. You see, we went so far that we almost destroyed humanity. Our games grew so wicked, we craved nothing but to watch people break, cry... or run.” His fingers drum against the throne’s arm.
“Until Father realized that if we lost humanity, we’d lose our entire purpose.
Spend eternity alone, until eventually, we’d turn on each other.
So, he decided to wipe our memory clean.
Well, most of them. We remember fragments, bits, and pieces.
But never the whole picture. So, we could never return there.
So, we could never re-create it.” His hands go lower, lifting my shirt—which is technically his shirt—to expose my bare skin.
“And then he took our powers, leaving me with only one gift. The ability to hear someone’s greatest fears. ”
“You can hear my fears?” I ask, almost quivering, knowing how often my mind’s been on Elias. And by now, I know this isn’t a trick. He's not bluffing. I’ve seen what he’s capable of.
“Not yours,” he hisses, almost annoyed by the fact that he can’t get inside my mind. “It doesn’t work if I'm too attached to a person.”
Too attached.
The notion scares me, but as much as I’d like to deny it, it also causes an unfamiliar sensation to tighten inside my chest. I’m not a fan of attachments or commitments. Elias was the only person I ever really got attached to and look where that got me.
I want to keep quiet and not give him anything, but something makes me speak anyway. “I don’t see how that’s a problem when it comes to me.”
“Hmmm, can’t tell if you’re fishing for a compliment or just deep in denial. Either way, let me prove my point.” He pushes my thighs apart, pulling my ass closer to the throne’s edge, his tongue instantly drawing a straight line to the center of my core.
Caught off guard, my fingers clutch the throne’s arms, eyes growing wide as he slips two fingers inside of me.
Well, that escalated quickly.
Not that I’m complaining. My body’s already vibrating under his touch, and even though I can’t explain why, he’s the only man who could ever make me truly feel like a woman. Like I’m a whole person, and not just a broken shard scraped out of my past.
That tempo in my legs, that I can’t control, is there again, like a madness I don’t know how to resist, taking over my body. Ares is that madness. That delirium. That unapologetically perfect spark I needed so badly but never saw coming.
His fingers move in and out, his lips sucking my clit like the damn thing belongs to him now, doing exactly what he promised—taking care of me.
For a moment, I forget why I’m here. I forget the whole purpose of everything, like it all fades, and the only thing remaining is the movement of his fingers and lips. Torturous. Unforgiving. Blissfully brutal.
My whole body responds so quickly that it feels like I’m a different person. Someone born for pleasure and not the pain I’ve been through.
“You know Brynn…” he whispers, giving me a breath, though his fingers don’t stop moving.
“My role here on earth is to keep the balance, a perfect equilibrium so that the mistakes of our past won’t repeat themselves ever again.
” He hums, pressing his thumb against my clit, and I feel I’m about to explode.
But that’s not what takes me over the edge.
It’s his ragged breath, his words coming out like he’s having difficulty keeping his focus.
“So, what do you think? Am I doing a good job keeping the balance?”
And suddenly, that’s all I can focus on. The rhythm of his fingers. The precision of his tongue. The perfect balance he creates to guide me to one place. Ecstasy.
“Yes,” I breathe, my voice almost a whisper, like someone stole my vocal cords.
“Yes,” I say again, hoping this time he heard it, because I need him to keep going, even if it’s just for a few more seconds.
My body pulses with a chaotic need. My mind races to a place I should never allow it to, letting him take full control of me for a second.
Something I’ve never done before. Something I’ve never let anyone do before.
I break right in front of him, shatter into a million pieces, like I’ll never be whole again.
And the worst part? I want him to do it all over again.
Now, I do understand why the Greeks worshiped him, because he is a true god.
I just can’t allow him to be my god.
I’m still shaking as he lifts his head and settles at my feet, resting it against my thighs, his gaze lost far away in the distance, my fingers playing in his ink-black hair.
“I wish I knew how the fuck this happened.” He trails off, not with regret, but with a type of confusion clinging to his words.
“Well, I’m pretty sure you made me sit in the chair, then kneeled, and…” I can’t help but laugh, because I know that’s not what he meant.
And suddenly, it feels strange. I haven’t laughed in so long. I haven’t felt anything remotely close to joy in so long, it almost seems wrong doing it.
His head turns to the side, teeth sinking into the inside of my thigh. “I mean all of this, my little curse. How quickly I let you in. How easily you snuck into a place no one’s ever reached.”
If I were any other woman, his confession would’ve filled my heart with joy, while mine constricts with pain. This is something neither of us expected, but the difference between me and Ares is that I can’t allow it to grow.
And that brings me to another topic I’ve been avoiding, though it crossed my mind several times these past few days. “I know from the legends that the gods have children. How does that work? Is it the same as it is for everyone else?”
“You’re asking if there’s a chance I knocked you up?”
“If you’re going to put it like that…”
“We don’t function exactly like mortals.
We can have children, but we need our father's approval first. I don’t know if it's magic exactly, but it’s some kind of special power.
When he allows it, then it happens. It’s his way of keeping us under control.
Especially since we live throughout the centuries, and if he allowed it to happen freely, we’d have probably outgrown the number of mortals by now.
So don’t worry, you’re safe… For now.” He finishes with a smirk on his lips.
I can even say it holds a certain warmth.
That only scares me more.
But it does help me get to something I’ve been meaning to ever since we stepped into this room.
“Does your father keep track of how many gods he created? I mean, when one of you is gone, does he make another? Or are you immortal... nothing can kill you?” I try to steady my breath, making it look like a simple curiosity rather than a real investigation.
“I don’t know how he makes the decision of when or if we’re allowed to have a child.
We’re immortals, and we only rarely get killed.
Even when we lost our powers, we didn’t lose our ability to regenerate.
If I’m hurt, I’ll bleed, but my wounds heal in moments.
The only way to kill a god is a decapitation.
.. explosions... or maybe other godly powers.
We can regrow limbs over time, but we can’t exactly grow back a head.
Well, except for my brother, Mirmir—or Ulupoka, as he’s known to the Polynesians.
His power is full regeneration, so he's the only one who’s survived having his head removed from his body.
Poor bastard is still searching for it. Even lets himself be seen from time to time, too.
How do you think the legend of the Headless Horseman got started? ”
“Please don’t invite me to family dinners,” I chuckle, my fingers threading through his braids.
We spend several hours there, surrounded by wonders unknown to the rest of the world, as he tells me stories about power and wars. Of how kings bowed to him, of warriors he turned into legends.
I could stay there and listen to him for days. In fact, that’s all I ever want to do. For time to freeze in this moment, in this room. For Halloween never to come.
But, as always, the dream ends, and the reality hits me much faster than I anticipated.
“I don’t want you to go home,” he says, his voice growing more serious than just a few moments ago when he was telling me about the literal vaults of jewels he collected over time.
“Well, I don’t have anything to wear, so I’ll have to go there eventually.”
“I’ll buy you new clothes… and we can go pick up your stuff. But I want you to stay here for the week. I’ll be out of town for a few days, and I want to know you’re safe.”
“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” I arch a brow, hoping to get more out of him.
“Because I can’t keep an eye on you when I’m gone. Just promise me you’ll stay here until I get back, and I’ll take care of everything else after that.”
I want to fight him on this; to tell him I can take care of myself. I have been doing so for all this time. But the promise of someone else taking care of me sounds dangerously tempting, lying back, enjoying the ride, and letting someone else handle everything.
Though, my dreams never come true. I’ve learned that the hard way. So, for now, I just have to play pretend. I want him to think I trust him and that I’ll wait for him like the good little curse he considers me to be.
He’ll learn soon how much of a curse I can really be.
We spend the rest of the day getting to know each other, though I’m not letting him in as much as he’d like.
He knows better than to push it, trusting everything will come in due time. What he doesn’t know is that time is the only thing we don’t have.
He orders dinner and only starts packing his laptop and a handful of clothes after he sees that I’m well fed.
And I’m not letting this opportunity pass.
“You could take me along on this business trip. I’ll stay in the hotel room.
Maybe prepare a surprise for you when you get back to the hotel after a long day.
I do owe you…” I challenge as seductively as I can, hoping maybe I could find a spot next to him during this trip.
“Wish I could… But I promise I’ll take you with me on my next trips.
Paris maybe. I’ve got some London appointments next month.
” He’s trying to charm me into staying put.
And with the way his lips crash into mine, he might’ve succeeded—if things were different.
“Prague for Christmas. New York for New Year’s. ”
Okay, he’d definitely win on normal terms.
“Is it dangerous? Is that why you want me to stay here? Because I can handle a little danger.” I smile, playing every card I have to get him to take me along.
“More complicated than dangerous. I just need time to deal with a few things. Just promise me you’ll wait here for me.”
“Promise,” I say, crossing my fingers, knowing I’m not going to keep it.
I can’t wait for him, not how he wants me to. Not like this is a new beginning.
Because this is just the beginning of the end.