by Lucy Auburn
Playing with mortals. Stealing and lying. Tricking and taking. No wonder he put himself and his twin on the god hunters' path.
His last wish. I taste it all at once as his final thoughts go through me: Protect Sasha. Get her out of here. Followed by: Tell Rio I'm sorry, if you ever see him again. Tell him... tell him I love him.
Then he's gone.
One of the nurses pulls me away, while another grabs Sasha. They shock Leo once, twice, but we all know that he's dead. When his time of death is recorded, Sasha sinks down onto her hospital bed, and it looks like she might never stand again.
I stumble from his bed, wondering at the power that courses through me, the sense of duality. If I didn't have the cuffs and manacles on me, I almost think I might be able to do what Leo did: create another secret version of myself, shapeshift into her, and slip away into the shadows.
I've never drank from a dying godblood before.
It's not really something my mother ever encouraged me to do. We were Death and her daughter; mortals were our prey, our source of food, their deaths plentiful and their lives short. None of the Ares' sons we rode into battle with ever truly risked their half-immortal lives. If they were wounded, Ares either discarded them, throwing his disappointments down here into his prison, or had them healed.
If they died like Aleksander...
Well, it never occurred to me to drink his life force. Not even as he died in my arms. At first that seems logical—I loved him after all—but as I probe the memory, I start to wonder. Standing at the foot of the others' beds, watching the nurses put Yoric, Garnet, and Portia back together, I can sense their life forces on the air. They may not be dying, but pain and energy has pushed their godblood powers to the limit, and their auras cling all around them, undeniable. Their wounded half-mortal bodies cannot quite contain what lives inside.
I never tasted Alek's life force.
His death, as certain as it felt to me, wasn't accompanied by the scent of his aura on the air.
Almost as if it was ushered away from me, taken somewhere, bottled or... something as he died. A soul, unmoored from its godblood body, and stored somewhere for safekeeping. His death would've been very real, but if some of my dark guesses about my mother's secrets are true, incredibly temporary.
I just don't know why—or even if—she did it.
And I doubt she'll ever give me answers.
So I just stand at the foot of my friends' beds, and wait to see which way the coin toss will land. Eventually, Yoric is put back together, his vitals stabilized, his arm fixed and a sprained ankle braced. Portia is similarly treated. Garnet looks like she might not make it at first, but the doctor wheels her into surgery, and when he brings her back she's unconscious but doing alright. As the anesthesia wears off and she slowly comes out of it, I surprise myself by feeling relieved.
The only one we lost was Leo.
And his sister will never be the same.
Thankfully, her pain seems to be helped some by the sedatives the nurses give her. They've covered Leo's body, which will go—somewhere, I suppose. I doubt Ares has a mausoleum or a graveyard for all his prison's victims. Maybe he'll get to be buried near Olympia, at the foot of the Celestial Realms, in the Immortal Gardens. Or maybe Sasha has somewhere she wants him to go.
It seems immeasurably cruel that after such a great loss, she's still trapped in here. You'd think the death of a brother would grant her a release. But I doubt Ares has become much more merciful than he was the last time I knew him.
"Mora." Portia's voice calls me over to her side. Grabbing a chair, I pull it up to her bed and watch her turn her face towards me, bright pink splashes of blush high on her cheeks, pain and fatigue making her eyes half-lidded. "There's something you should know. I did something really, really stupid. And I think it almost killed me."
I blink at her. "What is it?"
"I had a ticket... out of the arena." A little smirk lights up her face for a moment. "Something I got a long time ago. Just in case. Didn't think I'd ever need it. Because my father protected me."
Alarm passes through me. "You didn't use it?"
"Wait. Let me finish."
Her breathing is somewhat labored, the pain of her inhale and exhale obvious. Broken ribs, a bruised jaw, a cast on her arm—she's been through far more than I thought a spoiled daughter of Wealth could ever survive.
"Thought I wouldn't need it. So when you were beaten by the guards in the yard... and the cell... and they were going to just dump you... I traded it. To get you here. Safe passage. That was before my father turned his back on me, and I actually needed it."
Horror and nausea fills me. "You did all that to protect me?"
"Yeah. Isn't that funny? I don't even really like you. It just seemed like such a... waste. I knew you were hiding something. I didn't want you to die before I found out what."
Remembering the blank space in between my rousing beating and waking up in the med-bay, I realize her version of the story is the one that best makes sense. The guards dumped me in our cell, nowhere near medical help. And Portia doesn't exactly have the key to get out of the cell.
She must've called other guards, tried to get them to help, and had to bribe them. Her ticket out of the arena—a literal ticket, or some favor, I don't really know—in exchange for my life.
"Why would you do that? Surely it wasn't just curiosity."
Portia shrugs, then winces as the movement pulls on her healing injuries. "Like I said, I don't really know. I guess it just made sense at the time. Now look at me."
Emotion bubbles up inside me. I feel as I did the night that Omar died in the streets, his wife and child wailing in fear, the car that hit him disappearing into the darkness. He looked at me like I was something more than I am, saw me as a woman with hope in her future.
It seems impossible that Portia could see me the same way.
She isn't Omar. She knows the truth—knows who my mother is. And Portia is no optimistic, happy-go-lucky mortal.
Despite all that, she saved me anyway.
The Ares gold cuffs seem to burn at my wrists. Reaching out, I gently place a hand over hers, and stare into her deep green eyes, seeing the threads of gold from this close. She raises her golden brows at me, face a little slack and open, no doubt from all the drugs running through her system.
I don't think I'll ever see her this vulnerable and truthful again. So I take this moment to lean forward, lower my voice, and promise her, "I'm going to get you out of here."
She laughs, then coughs, wincing. From across the room, the nurse scolds her; Portia mutters a curse in response, but without heat. To me she says, "You can't do that, you big dummy. I don't care how tall you are or how much the arena leaders want to fuck you. There's no getting out of Godblood Prison."
"Prisoners have escaped before."
"Have they? Or does Ares just let us believe they escaped, because it serves him to give us false hope?"
"Aleksander, his firstborn son, escaped," I insist. "And others. I've heard of them."
"That's different. Aleksander was released." She shakes her head, golden hair shifting on the pillow beneath her. "You'll never get out of here. And even if you did, you wouldn't be able to take me with you."
"But I have a secret." It feels like I owe her this, though I lean in close enough that my breath skims her skin, wanting this part to be for her ears alone. "I can eat death. Including the kind of death that runs through Ares gold, and his magicked bars, and even the stone walls of this prison. I can destroy it—and all I need is a little more time, a little more strategy, to make this place crumble."
Her eyes widen. Quickly, I remind her, "You can't tell anyone. Not even Ferdinand."
"Like I'd tell that ass anything."
"I'm serious, Portia. Promise me. Make me a Word is Gold."
She groans, sighs. "I didn't know you knew about that. Damn you, Mora. Fine—a Word is Gold." Closing her eyes, she breathes deep, her aura drawing in around her. Wh
en her lashes flutter open again, her irises are all gold, metallic enough to reflect the light. "I swear on all my wealth, the wealth of my ancestors, and the wealth of my descendants, that I will keep my word. My word is gold, my word is bond. Your secret is safe with me."
Our palms meet, and I feel a tingle run up my skin. As it dissipates, Portia's eyes turn back to a deep forest green with the barest hints of gold in them. Her word is sealed now: if she gives up my secret she'll lose all her wealth and the wealth of her family, something she'll never risk.
It's a bond tighter than one any mortal has ever made on their dead mother's grave or a holy book they never read.
Portia says, "And your word? Are you really going to get me out of here?"
"I'll do whatever I have to in order to make it happen."
"Hmmm. Sounds like it's going to be tougher than you thought, though."
It is. So I tell her, "We'll train together. And I'll help keep you safe, just like you helped keep me safe. I just need to... gather power. Level up. Once I'm ready, this place will burn."
"Sounds nice."
As she drifts off to sleep and I prepare to spend at least the rest of the tournament watching her—my guard seems to have forgotten about me, no doubt glued to the warriors taking each other down—footsteps down the hallway get my attention. The nurses turn towards the door, looking alarmed. The doctor, grey-haired and all, steps between them and holds his coffee cup in a tight hand like he's preparing for battle.
It's like they're expecting something. Bad news, I'm sure. And even though this should be their domain, a place where they can protect anyone within these walls, they don't look like they think they have the advantage of higher ground.
A guard opens the door and walks through. I tense, hands on my cuffs, wondering if Leo's death will be enough. If I have the power, between him and Vesuvius, to face a guard in all my glory.
I'm not ready, but maybe I never will be.
Chapter Eighteen
It isn't some kind of death squad here to take the injured challengers back to the arena, though. A teal-haired Jasper walks through, slightly bloodied and bruised but mostly looking no worse than he ever has, despite having just fought in the arena. His eyes are a strange bright blue that reminds me of food coloring.
Motioning behind him, he ushers four warriors through the doors, two supporting a gravely injured male godblood, while a female godblood limps through on their own. Cheerily, Jasper leans over to the guard and tells him, "That'll do for now. Go back to sitting on your laurels."
Something passes between them, and the guard nods, very much like a well-trained dog. Jasper wasn't lying about his ability to get them to do what he wants. I've even started to suspect he or Damien did something to Tia and Cara, because I haven't seen either one of them in days.
"Calm down, good doc," Jasper says, seeing the grave expression on the doctor's face. "We're not here to start anything. Just wanted to get my wounded warriors to the front of the line. As always, we'll compensate you well, Jerry."
"It's Dr. Moreland." The doctor sighs, shaking his head, and I realize this is the first time I've even heard his name. "You know the rules, Jasper: we treat all the sick equally, caring for the worst off patients first. Since you're here, though, we might as well take a look at these injuries. Were you hurt somewhere, cut maybe?"
Jasper's eyes trail across the room, and stop on me, as the doctor is speaking. Without looking away from me, the demigod tells the mortal, "Just take care of my warriors. I'm fine. In fact, I have a little bit of business with this one here."
Striding forward, he raises his brows at me and holds out a hand. I glance at Portia, who is drifting away; Garnet and Yoric look better as well, the sedatives and painkillers doing their job. The nurses seem to be letting Sasha escort her brother's body to some back room, no doubt the morgue, where she'll hopefully get some form of closure and finally say goodbye to him.
Intrigue fills me as I look up into Jasper's eyes, which are swirling from an artificial blue to a deep red-purple color. His hair shifts a little, like wet watercolor paint being moved around by a brush. Bits of light blue and white move through the teal strands like clouds across the sky on a bright day.
"What business do you have with me?"
"Private stuff." He slips my hand onto his, and I'm struck by how cool his skin feels. "Come with me. The doc won't mind—I use his back rooms all the time. They don't let him take patients back there anymore, after all. Not since that one Kratos son stabbed the good doctor."
Curiosity and intrigue wins over my better senses. I get the feeling I know what Jasper is about to ask me for, and my answers haven't changed, but if he's offering some more of what happened the last time I was in the med-bay with him, I'm well-motivated to accept. After all, I just saw my friends be nearly beaten to death, and one actually die. I know the same fate awaits me if I stick around here too long.
Whatever life force Jasper might unwittingly give me, I'll take it. As long as I can negotiate out of joining up with his arena team again.
"I'll let you take me to the back room, but only because I'm curious about this stabbing. And I don't want to wake Portia up."
Rising, I let my hand fall from his, not wanting to give him too many ideas. I'm not the kind of woman who links her arm around a man's and goes along with him, after all. And I definitely don't let myself be led—since I have an idea where the back room is, I stride in front of Jasper, chin up, letting him follow.
He chuckles as he does, going around the corner with me and past the small operating room, his footsteps light, hair shifting through cool colors. "You're quite the female godblood, Mora. I've never met one quite like you."
"Thanks? I guess."
"Most are either obsessed with following in the legacy of their celestial parent, desperately trying to be pious or wealthy or... whatever. Not you. You don't seem to give a fuck what anyone thinks. Maybe because your mother is Death—I wouldn't know, as I've never met her."
Stopping in front of two doors, I try to figure out which one we're supposed to go into and give up. "You go first, and tell me more about how I'm not like other girls."
He laughs, the white flash of his teeth stark against his lips. On his arms, tattoos swirl for a moment, spinning between strange swirling designs, to branches of thorns, then simple circular black lines. I watch them as he reaches out to unlock the door on the right, a key falling out of his sleeve from seemingly nowhere.
He walks through and motions for me to follow as if he's the one in charge here and not a prisoner at all. I'll give Jasper this much: he intrigues me in a way Vesuvius hasn't, at least not so far. There's nothing straightforward about him at all.
Flicking on the light, he closes the door behind me and motions towards the empty room. "What do you think?"
"It looks like a room in a doctor's office," I note, pacing over to the exam bed that's been pushed up against the wall, glancing towards the empty cupboards and glass canister full of cotton balls. "So, are you going to give me an exam, Jasper?"
"I was thinking about it." Pacing up behind me, he puts his hands on my hips and pulls my ass towards his crotch, the swell of his erection rubbing against my ass cheeks. "You were very into me the last time we were here together, but you've been cold ever since. I think I know the reason why."
"You do?"
"You've been thinking of joining up with Vesuvius." Leaning forward, he nuzzles the sensitive skin behind my ear. "I know you fucked him. I could see it on his face. He's mooning over you like his balls are in a vice-grip, turning away other females, acting like his cock won't get it up for anyone else. I don't have that problem. But I do have a problem with the thought of you becoming his. Did you see me fight?"
"No." Canting my hips back, I push my ass against him until a low moan leaves his lips. "But it seems like you got a beating."
"Not like the one I gave V. He didn't see me coming. He's all brawn, no brains, Mora. He can't protect you l
ike I can. Can't challenge you like I can." Sliding one of his hands up my bare mid-drift, he plays with the bottom edge of my top, his smooth thumb pressing against my cleavage. "You wanted to have your fun with him. Even I can understand that. That father of his forged him like a sculptor. Have your fun with him all you want, Mora, but know this: I'm willing to offer you protection from whatever comes next, to make sure any guard who looks at you sideways never shows their face here again. Just as long as you don't join his team."
Reaching down, I thread my fingers between his and pull his hand up onto my breast, my nipples peaking with arousal. "Tia and Cara. That was you?"
"Charged and guilty. They're nothing but mortals without memory of this place now. Neither one of them will get to touch you ever again." He growls against the back of my ear, his lips brushing my earlobe, then thrusts his hips forward until I feeling his hardening cock slip between my ass cheeks through the fabric of our clothes. "Don't join V's team and you'll keep on getting to have me on your side. No matter what."
"I like the way that sounds," I admit, not telling him that I've already decided to stay out of this team business, unless forced to. Turning in his arms, I press my body against his heat, meeting his blue-green eyes as they swirl between colors. "There's just one thing I want before I accept your deal."
"Anything," he says, palming my ass with one hand, squeezing my breast with the other, his pupils dilating.
"Fuck me, Jasper. Come inside me. Let me suck your cock. Without any strings attached. No joining teams or changing loyalties. Just because we both want to."
He grins. "Done and done."
We kiss, all hungry mouths and nipping teeth. His hands pull my top off in one gesture, jerking it over my shoulders and tossing it to the floor. With my nipples bare to the air, Jasper grabs my breasts and massages them, then takes my hand and pulls it down towards his crotch. The cock inside its confines is surging against his white pants. Grabbing the zipper, I pull it down and jerk out his bare flesh, no underwear between me and the growing, hardening shaft.