Chapter Two
Geri
Geri sat with her spine straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap—well, one hand at least. The other was firmly entwined with Apollo’s, his thumb moving in gentle strokes across her knuckles.
It was the only thing keeping her grounded as she sat across from Hera, the former Queen of the Olympian gods.
They were seated in the living room of Geri’s cabin on pack territory, nestled deep in the Alaskan wilderness.
The space was warm and solid, much like Geri herself—wood-paneled walls, a stone fireplace with a low-burning fire, and sturdy, lived-in furniture in earth tones.
There were no frilly curtains or decorative pillows, just thick wool blankets draped over the couch, and a few old photos of her family lined a simple shelf.
The scent of pine from the nearby forest drifted in through a slightly cracked window, mixing with the lingering hint of coffee.
It wasn’t elegant or showy, but it was home.
And Hera, regal as ever, sat in a high-backed chair with an expression that could make even the most powerful beings squirm. Her dark curls were pinned back, her gown a shimmering ivory that seemed to catch the light with every breath she took.
Apollo told her what had happened during the council meeting, that the other gods and goddesses hadn’t said yes right away.
So now, they were meeting with Hera because she held dominion over both the sanctity of marriage and the golden apple grove itself.
As the goddess of marriage, Hera’s blessing was essential for any union involving an immortal transformation, especially one that broke tradition as boldly as theirs.
The golden apples of immortality grew only in her sacred grove, tended by divine hands and fiercely protected.
Geri and Apollo’s fate rested, quite literally, in Hera’s hands.
Geri tried not to fidget. She had faced danger before—fought it, even—but this was something else entirely. This was Hera, and Hera was not someone you wanted to disappoint.
“I must say,” Hera began, her voice rich and measured, “Artemis’s arguments were persuasive, but I was more impressed by what Apollo said at the council meeting.”
Geri turned slightly, eyes flicking to Apollo. He gave her a reassuring squeeze but didn’t interrupt.
“Though your sister said more words, you spoke with conviction, Apollo,” Hera continued. “Genuine conviction. And for someone I’ve known as long as I have, that’s…rare.” Her tone held a note of teasing, but also a weight of truth.
Apollo chuckled softly, a little sheepish. “I meant every word.”
“I know,” Hera said, her gaze moving back to Geri. “And it wasn’t just your speech that swayed us. Geri, your wolf chose him. That isn’t something we take lightly, nor something that can be faked. The bond between a wolf and her mate is ancient—older than even some of the gods.”
“Thank you,” she swallowed hard.
Hera gave a small nod. “It makes sense, then, that you be allowed to eat the golden apple of immortality.”
Geri felt her heart stutter in her chest. She blinked. “Wait…You’re saying—?”
“I cast one vote like any other council member, and remember, the vote must be unanimous,” Hera said, her gaze steady as she folded her hands in her lap. “But I won’t pretend my voice doesn’t carry weight in this matter. The same goes for Aphrodite. What we say has a way of…influencing the others.”
Geri shifted slightly in her seat, her hand still wrapped in Apollo’s. Her heart beat faster, but she didn’t speak—she wasn’t sure she could trust her voice yet.
“But you already have Artemis on your side,” Hera continued, her lips curving into the faintest smile.
“And I’ve spoken with Hades. He’s not exactly subtle when it comes to the people he cares about.
” Her eyes flicked knowingly to Apollo. “Demeter made her stance clear when she vouched for Geri’s character.
And if I’m reading the tea leaves right, you probably have Hestia as well.
She likes sincerity. And both of you…are far more sincere than I expected. ”
Apollo gave a slight bow of his head. “We meant every word we said.”
Geri felt a surge of warmth in her chest. Hera’s tone wasn’t just diplomatic—it carried a trace of approval. Not easily won, especially from someone as exacting as the goddess in front of them.
Hera exhaled. “You’ll still need a unanimous decision. Politics, after all. But I think you’re close. And frankly…,” she arched an eyebrow. “I’d rather have you two on Olympus than some of the immortals who were born there.”
That pulled a small laugh from Apollo and a surprised smile from Geri.
“So rest for now. The final vote will be held soon. But you’ve done well—both of you.”
Geri let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Apollo gave her hand another squeeze, and this time, she looked at him, unable to stop the smile that broke over her face.
They weren’t finished yet.
But for the first time…it felt like they might actually make it.
Hera vanished in a shimmer of golden light, leaving behind the faint scent of citrus and spice. Geri turned to Apollo, her fingers still linked with his. Through their bond, she could feel the ease radiating from him, like sunlight warming her skin on a cold day.
“That was surprisingly easy,” she said, brows lifted. “She wasn’t what I expected.”
Apollo smirked. “Well, she’s not as feisty as before, since Zeus was banished.
“I’m still not sure she was part of that scheme or not,” Apollo added with a shrug, “but anyway—”
He leaned in and kissed her, his lips brushing hers with warmth and certainty.
The pressure was gentle, but it carried the full weight of everything they’d survived—every choice, every confession, every risk.
Geri melted into it, her doubts momentarily quieted.
The kiss didn’t promise that things would be easy, but it reminded her she wouldn’t be alone.
Geri’s wolf stirred at the kiss, rising to the surface with a contented hum that pulsed beneath her skin.
The connection between them thrummed like a heartbeat, strong and sure.
Her wolf, who had once been wary and restless, now settled with quiet satisfaction, pleased by the strength of their bond.
It wasn’t just the kiss—it was everything behind it.
The trust. The loyalty. The love. For the first time in a long while, Geri felt steady. Grounded.
She took a breath and asked, “When is Aphrodite coming?”
Apollo glanced at the clock on the wall and replied, “In a couple of minutes.”
Geri groaned lightly and let her head fall back against the couch. “Why did we agree to have it all done in one day?”
He chuckled, that easy, golden sound of his. “Better to get it all done, and then the council can vote.”
“I guess,” she sighed, not entirely convinced.
Apollo didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for her again, gathered her into his arms, and held her against his chest. She didn’t resist—how could she?
His hold was solid, reassuring, like a tether pulling her out of her own storm.
His warmth seeped into her bones, and it felt good, so damn good, to be held like this.
To not have to carry everything alone. And in that quiet moment, pressed against his heart, she wondered how she ever thought she’d go through life as a lone wolf.
Aphrodite materialized in the center of the room in a shimmer of rose-gold light, her voice lilting as she said, “Hello, lovebirds.”
“Aphrodite,” Apollo greeted with a smile, though his arms remained firmly wrapped around Geri.
The goddess of love floated across the room with effortless grace and sank into the armchair across from them. Her long, golden hair seemed to rearrange itself like liquid light around her as she settled in, pooling around her in soft ripples.
Geri couldn’t help but admire her. Aphrodite looked radiant, otherworldly.
Ethereal beauty in motion. But when Geri’s gaze met the goddess’s, her breath caught.
There was something sharp and focused in her eyes, something far more serious than her glowing exterior let on.
After a beat of silence, she asked, “What would you like to know?”
Aphrodite crossed one long leg over the other, resting her hands lightly on the armrests of the chair as she regarded them both with a calm, unreadable expression.
“I’ll be honest with you,” she began, her voice velvet smooth but carrying weight, “the council is watching this closely. If we approve immortality every time someone claims to be in love, we’d be overrun with golden apples and impulsive soul bonds.
“So, let’s start with something simple,” her gaze flicked between them. “Why each other?”
Geri hesitated, unsure how to put into words what had felt so much larger than speech. She glanced at Apollo, who gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.
He turned to Aphrodite. “Because she sees through me,” he said simply. “She doesn’t care about the god, the songs, the temples. She’s the first person ever who learned about the truth—and didn’t run when she got it.”
Aphrodite arched a brow and turned to Geri. “And you?”
Geri swallowed. “He’s…not who I expected.
He’s stubborn, annoying, too confident sometimes,” Apollo gave a mock-wounded expression, and she nudged him with her elbow, “but he never gives up. Not when things get hard. Not when I push him away. He made me feel safe even when I didn’t want to feel anything at all. ”
“That’s very poetic,” Aphrodite’s lips curled slightly, but her eyes stayed sharp. “But relationships aren’t just grand gestures and wolf bonds. What happens when it gets hard? When he’s off in another realm for months? When you fight?”
“We’ve fought already,” Geri said. “Plenty. And we’re still here.”
“I let her go once,” Apollo added, his voice quieter now. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
Aphrodite leaned back slowly, considering. “Words are easy, especially from you, sun god. So tell me this—” She turned back to Geri. “Do you love him because he fills a need, or because of who he is? Because there’s a difference.”
Geri looked over at Apollo and the warmth shining in his blue eyes. She didn’t hesitate.
“Because of who he is,” she said. “And despite who he is, too.”
Aphrodite blinked, then nodded slowly. “Better. Let’s continue.”
The goddess of love’s questions came like waves—steady, elegant, but relentless.
She wanted to know everything: how they handled disagreements, what sacrifices they’d made for one another, what they feared most about their bond.
Geri tried her best to answer honestly, but there were moments she stumbled, grasping for words to describe feelings that still felt raw and new.
At times, she felt completely out of her depth, like she’d wandered into a debate with no script and every wrong answer could cost her everything.
Through it all, Apollo never faltered. He spoke with an ease and steadiness that made Geri marvel.
Even when Aphrodite pressed him about his past lovers or asked him to define love without using poetry or charm, he responded with quiet conviction and unwavering sincerity.
Geri found herself watching him in those moments, realizing just how much his confidence reassured her.
Of course, he’s calm, she thought. He’s lived for millennia.
He’s a god. But it wasn’t just time that gave him that certainty, it was how sure he was of them.
And somehow, that gave her the strength to keep going.
Aphrodite leaned back in her chair. “One last question,” she said. “When the passion fades—and it will fade—what will be left to hold you together?”
The room stilled. Geri glanced at Apollo, heart pounding.
He answered first, his voice calm but firm. “Respect. Friendship. Loyalty. I know her down to the bones now. And I want to keep learning about her, even when it’s hard.”
“We’ve already been through hell,” Geri swallowed, her throat tight. “Not just figuratively. And we’re still standing. We might burn hot, but we’ve also learned to stay steady. I think…I think we’d still choose each other. Even on the quiet days.”
Aphrodite’s expression didn’t change. “Well,” she stood suddenly, “I have to go. Council business. Good luck.” And with a shimmer of light and the faint scent of roses, she vanished.
Geri blinked. “What the fuck was that?” she muttered, turning to Apollo. “I don’t think she believed in us.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Apollo pulled her close, lips twitching in a faint smile. “We believe in us.”