by Katie May
Helio regards Avery with unnerving intensity before dismissing him with a sigh, absently grabbing my fingers and playing with them. Desmond just laughs.
“So you’re the feared God of Death?” he questions with amusement. “You look…young.”
But Avery doesn’t wrench his eyes away from me.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says softly, his voice like honey.
My lips twitch as I give him a slow perusal, my thoughts drifting from what he can do for my community to what he can do for me. Thoughts that pertain to images of naked flesh, roving hands, and lust-filled eyes.
Mine.
“Please, have a seat. I would love the chance to get to know you.”
Preferably in the bedroom.
IT’S unfortunate that I fell in love with fucking Tate next.
Fucking Tate.
I honestly didn’t know he was a god until months after. The fucker lied to me for years, pretending to be a lowly servant, a warrior, a guard. He was one of the only men who refused to bow down to me. With a silver tongue and witty sense of humor, he cut through my defenses until I couldn’t help but love the asshole.
Fucking Tate.
My back arches off the bed with the strength of my orgasm, and Desmond pulls his lips away from my pussy, the evidence of my arousal glistening on his luscious lips.
“Damn, that was beautiful,” Avery says reverently as he strokes his cock.
Tate rolls his eyes. “She sounded like a fucking cow,” he deadpans.
I cross my arms under my chest, the movement pushing my boobs up. All of my men zero in on my pink nipples.
“Excuse me?” I question harshly as I stare at the newest addition to my…err…harem. I don’t overly like that word, but it’s no secret that these men belong to me, and I, to them. I firmly believe the God of Fate planted them in my life.
Even fucking Tate, who I can’t help but love almost as much as I hate.
He scrubs a hand through his garnet red hair as Helio coughs to cover up his laugh.
“I’ll say it one more time.” My voice is low and deadly. “Excuse fucking me?”
“You want me to excuse fucking you?” Tate asks dryly. “You make no sense.”
“You’re such an asshole sometimes,” I retort as I begin to pluck my nipples. As his eyes feast on my bare chest, I absently trace my areola. He can try and act unaffected all he wants, but I see his cock tenting the loose pants he wears.
And then…
I see it.
For a brief second, his face contorts and his hair changes color. Instead of familiar luscious, red locks, they turn dark and cut short. The freckles disappear from his face as if they had never been there in the first place. His body grows in bulk, almost rivaling Desmond’s athletic build.
“What the fuck?” I exclaim. He still feels like my Tate—I would recognize his soul anywhere—but…
He doesn’t panic at being discovered. Instead, he sighs warily, dropping the illusion with a snap of his fingers.
In my soldier’s place stands the God of Deception.
At my glare, he merely shrugs sheepishly.
“I couldn’t help myself,” he says without remorse. And…I believe him.
Our powers are not just gifts, but curses. I need to inflict pain more than I need air to breathe. Helio needs vengeance. Demond needs to fight. And Avery…he needs death.
“You lied to me,” I say, my nails pressing down on my sensitive palms, leaving behind crescent-shaped indents. Betrayal makes my blood boil, makes pain radiate down my chest as if someone had stuck a blade there.
“I lied to everyone,” he counters, attempting to appear impassive—but panic momentarily flitters in his normally apathetic gaze. He’s afraid I’ll send him away. He’s afraid I’ll leave him because of the secrets he kept. But I drink darkness and feast on pain. His demons are nothing compared to my own.
His appearance may have been a lie, but the hard man underneath is one I know intimately. One I…dare I say…love?
“Come here,” I snipe, beckoning him forward. “Make love to your goddess.” His eyes flare with heat as he shrugs off his pants, his proud cock on display. As he thrusts into me without preamble—he’s never been one for foreplay—I clench my walls around his girth, pressing my mouth to his ear. “Make it hurt.”
MY LOVE FOR ARSIN—OR Sin—is completely irrational, defying all logic and understanding. I shouldn’t love a man like him, a monster like him, but those emotions sweep over me like a tidal wave, arriving when I’m least expecting them. One second, I’m planning his execution, and the next, I’m desperately and hopelessly in love with him.
His shaggy blond hair hangs in clumps around his sunken face as he kneels before my throne. Still, there’s something in his eyes that isn’t quite…right. I don’t have any other words for it. There’s something broken in this man, something shattered. When he tilts his head up and smiles at me—a twisted sort of smile that does funny things to my insides—I raise a hand to stop Helio before he can deliver the killing blow.
My gentle giant stares at me with acute understanding, his muscles bunching as he drops the axe.
“What are you waiting for?” Tate scoffs, his tone acerbic, almost bitter. He glares down at Sin as if he can physically cut him with his eyes.
But a tiny voice in my head warns me not to kill this man, this killer. He’s certifiably insane, but I can’t lose him. Staring into his mossy eyes only reinforces that idea. It’s like a hole cut in a sweater—it slowly starts to unravel until it can never keep you warm again.
And Arsin, as the God of Flames, is pure fire.
“Are you going to kill me, my love?” Sin cackles, throwing his head back in mocking mirth. When he faces me once more, pure insanity reflects back at me. There’s no love in his eyes, no warmth, just…coldness.
“No,” I say, before I can think better of it.
“No?” Sin quirks a blond brow, white teeth gleaming as he continues to offer me that cold, cold smile. Maybe cold is the wrong word for it. No words can encapsulate the malicious twist of his lips and the cunningness in his eyes.
“No.” I shake my head once and rise from where I sit on the throne. Desmond and Avery rise with me while Tate—fucking Tate—continues to lounge indolently in the seat beside me, eyes narrowed into penetrating slits. “I’m not killing you today, God of Flames. Leave if you must.”
As I exit the throne room, Desmond and Avery on either side of me and Helio at my back, I can hear Sin’s crazed laughter echoing around me. The noise sends pinpricks up and down my arms, but it also causes heat to blossom in my core.
This man…
He’s going to set the world on fire one day, killing everyone in it, and I’m going to willingly burn for him.
I GASP, those memories rushing towards me like a freight train.
Desmond. Helio. Avery. Tate. Sin.
My five lovers. My five mates.
My eyes desperately open as I survey the room I’ve found myself in. I half expect to be in my throne room, surrounded by my men. Instead, I find myself in a…living room?
It appears cozy, with a fire burning in a hearth in front of the couch. Numerous animal heads are propped on the wall, almost as if this house belongs to a hunter of some sort. Intricately woven rugs line the wooden floors, and I spot the cliché bearskin rug you would see in a romantic comedy in front of the fireplace. There is no television that I can see and no landline.
How…?
Where…?
The last thing I remember is walking home from my shift at the bar. And then someone attacked me.
Was I rendered unconscious? Has something happened?
Everything is fuzzy. I have memories of my home here—my brothers and father, my friends, my schooling, my job—but I’ve also seen brief glimpses of another life. Did I hit my head? Am I going insane?
But something in my gut tells me that I’m not who I always thought I was. I’m not just Emily Lope
z, friendly college student. I’m…
I’m the Goddess of Pain.
That revelation sits in my stomach like a heavy ball of lead. It doesn’t move around or anything like that; it just sits there, mildly uncomfortable like an itch you know you shouldn’t scratch. My heart hammers an unfamiliar song in my ribcage as those familiar tendrils of panic cascade through me.
I’m the fucking Goddess of Pain.
A part of me wonders if I should be worried. I mean, how many women do you know suddenly have the realization that they’re some supernatural entity intent on creating pain? I’ll give you a hint—not a fucking lot.
At the same time, the rightness of those words settle over me, calming me.
Footsteps behind me shake me out of my reverie. Jumping to my feet, I grab the nearest weapon, which happens to be a lamp.
My arm turns limp when I spot the familiar man standing in the shadows of the room.
Helio.
He looks exactly as I remember him from my…vision? Memory? Tall, with broad shoulders and a splatter of dark chest hair. His beard is just as prominent as it was before, framing luscious lips I would sell my soul to taste. With his bare chest on display, I see his numerous tattoos climbing up his arms and across his chest. And there, right over his heart, is a fucking pumpkin that he got for me after I started calling him that as a joke.
“Helio?” I whisper hesitantly, almost tentatively.
He cocks his head to the side as he considers me silently, and I’m once again bombarded with another revelation. Those eyes…
I felt them before, caressing my skin.
Helio is my stalker.
The man who’s been following me the last few weeks.
“How do you know my name?” he demands, his voice gruff. And something splinters inside of me. I’m bleeding now, and I don’t know how to stop the steady flow.
“Do you…remember me?” I continue, gauging his reaction for any sort of familiarity. Recognition. Anything.
When his face remains impassive, lips compressed in a thin line, I fall even further, my pieces shattering when I hit the ground.
Maybe I’m insane.
That sounds perfectly reasonable.
But once more, I dismiss the prospect that I’m making all of this up. I may not have all my memories back—only brief glimpses and snippets—but the power I feel coursing through my veins is very, very real. When I looked up at that blood-red moon, something changed irreversibly inside of me. I’m no longer Emily Lopez. I’m something greater, something more.
And Helio, my silent giant with the all-seeing onyx eyes, is a part of that.
“You’ve been watching me,” I say slowly, watching as he takes a lumbering step forward. He’s so big that his muscles contract with every movement he makes. I remember vividly how it feels to trace the bulging veins on his biceps with my lips. Isn’t that ironic? I don’t remember my true parents’ name, but I remember how his skin tastes. If that doesn’t say something about my hussy vagina, then I don’t know what does.
“Yes,” he answers in that rough, raspy voice. It’s not a smoker’s voice, though. As far as I know, Helio has never smoked a day in his life. It’s merely him. Every word he says sounds gravelly and husky, a low, seductive tone that never fails to make goosebumps pebble on my arms.
Something occurs to me then, and the intensity of it has me dropping the lamp and collapsing back on the couch. It’s as if I can’t continue using my muscles, as if my legs have failed me, as if my lungs can no longer take in oxygen.
“Are you…” I trail off, swallow, before trying again. “Are you trying to kill me?”
CHAPTER 9
HELIO
I’ve watched her for weeks.
When the order came, promising a hefty sum of cash to put down an unknown female, I jumped at the opportunity.
I hid in the shadows, constantly vigilant and constantly watching her.
I remember the first time I saw her, approximately four weeks ago. She was walking to one of her classes, lips curved into a genuine smile as she walked alongside a blond-haired boy. Everyone she passed waved to her, smiled at her, wanted to be her. And, at least in the men’s cases, wanted to have her.
So I watched, blending into the shadows as seamlessly as a ghost. And that is what I am—a ghost. An entity that only exists at night, that parents tell their kids about before bed and around a campfire in order to scare them. I’m a nightmare embodied, and Emily Lopez is an unattainable daydream.
I had the opportunity to kill her once. She was leaving work, completely oblivious to my presence. As she turned the corner, my knife a hair’s breadth away from her sensitive neck, I found that I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t snuff her light out.
Instead, I watched her. Memorized her.
It wasn’t just because she was gorgeous, though there was no denying that she was. With dark hair framing a cherubic, innocent face, she could’ve been plucked straight from my fantasies. No, it wasn’t just that. It was something else, this innate need inside of me that demanded I protect her.
Now, she’s here in my home, staring up at me from beneath thick lashes. Her question, though innocent in nature, gives me a pause.
Am I trying to kill her?
The logical answer should be an abrupt no, but I’m not entirely sure. It’s my job to kill her, and I’ve never once failed before. It’s what makes me the best assassin in the United States.
“Well, that’s just fucking lovely,” she scoffs, throwing her hands up in the air. The movement lifts the bottom of the skin-tight shirt she’s required to wear for work. I catch a glimpse of a lean, tanned stomach, and for some undefinable reason, my cock begins to harden. She jumps up abruptly, lips pulling away from her teeth in a snarl…though I’ll be the first to admit it’s more cute than terrifying.
“How do you know my name?” I rumble. Nobody—not even my supervisor—knows my real name. I’m known as the Butcher by the people in my community. Helio is the name I was born with, but the Butcher is who I’ve become.
“Are. You. Going. To. Kill. Me?” she demands, stalking forward until her face is centimeters from my own. I inhale her sweet, honey scent as my cock continues to twitch in my pants. Why do I have such a strong, visceral reaction to her? I’m not a virgin…at least, I don’t think I am. I don’t have any memories of fucking a woman, but surely, I must have, right? When I close my eyes, I remember slipping my cock between wet folds as a woman screams my name and calls me…pumpkin.
Yeah, my fantasies are fucked up, even for me.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly, running the pad of my thumb across her neck. For a brief moment, I imagine a blade in place of my finger, and the thought sends dread rippling down my spine.
“Do you want to?” she breathes, those sooty lashes of hers fluttering.
I continue to regard her curiously, warily almost, as she meets my gaze without any fear. Grown men have cowered in terror when in my proximity, yet this slip of a girl—barely the height of my chest—is glaring up at me as if I’d personally offended her.
Keeping my face blank, I search her face carefully. I only kill the bad and the wicked—the people who deserve it.
And Emily Lopez? She most definitely does not deserve to be put down by my blade.
I practically sag in relief at the direction of my thoughts, at the way I had justified sparing her life. I know in my heart that this woman does not deserve to die.
As I stare into her gorgeous eyes, I feel myself falling. Not physically, of course, but mentally. Falling into her. Falling into her essence that curls around me like rays of sunlight.
And then, I remember.
THE GODDESS of Pain is not what I expected.
I’ve been alive for thousands of years, wandering the Realm of the Gods with senseless abandon. While some of my brethren chose to settle down and create a kingdom for themselves, I remained a nomad. I’ve never had a home before, and I never wanted one. Why would I, when
I could enact vengeance best on my own? You’d be surprised the deranged acts people commit when they think no one is watching. When they think they can get away with it.
I thrive on justice, on karma.
And I thrive on doing it by myself.
But then, a goddess demanded my presence, and for the first time in centuries, I heeded her call.
As her assistant, Rebecca, leads me down a twining hallway, I envision my meeting with the legendary goddess capable of evoking fear in lesser men. I expect her to be cruel and hideous, the taint on her soul reflecting on the outside.
Instead, when I enter the elegant banquet hall, I see a young woman with a jovial smile on her face, laughing alongside a tall man with messy brown hair. They both glance up when I enter, and a knot forms in my throat when I meet her eyes.
She’s…beautiful. The light radiating from her smile is just as bright as the light I see in her soul. How can that be? How can the Goddess of Pain still have more goodness in her than most men and women I meet? Shouldn’t she be dark and twisted?
“Helio!” she states, gracefully moving from the chair. My eyes sweep over her generous curves before I smooth my expression over. The man beside her smiles broadly, as if he knows the direction of my thoughts and can’t help but agree. He moves to stand beside her, lightly tracing a line down her arm to her wrist.
Jealousy momentarily blinds me, the emotion foreign and entirely unexpected.
The man’s smile grows as he leans forward to whisper something in her ear. She giggles, the sound racing straight to my cock, and I just barely hold in my growl.
“I would like to hire you,” the Goddess of Pain says evenly as she moves around the table. She wears a white dress with a neckline that drops to her stomach, revealing ample cleavage. “My sources say that you’re able to tell what punishment fits the crime. Is that true?”
I don’t bother responding with words, choosing instead to nod once. I learned long ago not to waste my breath on trivial things.