by Staci Hart
He reached for the golden belt of her robes and pulled, snapping it, and her robes fell open, baring a sliver of her body to him. His hands roamed, touching all he could reach, but she didn’t yield — instead she flipped the clasps of his cloak and breastplate, moving the heavy armor out of the way, pushing it to the ground with a clank.
His chest was broad, the curves and ridges of his body like words that spoke to her, whispering promises of pleasure to the deepest parts of her. She trailed her hands up every one before stretching out over him to reach under her pillows for the shackles.
He nipped her breast as her fingers closed around them, and she gasped, backing away to sit back on his lap.
The links of the shackles clinked when she shook them in display, and he smiled, holding his arms above his head in submission.
His trust would be his undoing.
Aphrodite crawled to the head of the bed and chained him to the marble columns, tugging at them once they were locked with a devious smile.
Back down his body she went, ridding him of clothes all the way down — the belt of his robes, the fabric underneath, his sandals. And when she climbed off the bed and stood to admire him with her robes hanging open, she was struck with appreciation and apprehension.
Ares lay naked, stretched out and vulnerable, every perfect curve of his body on display against the deep red of his cloak beneath him, and awareness of her power over him surged through her. It was like caging a panther, beautiful and dangerous — if she kept him fed, she could tame him. And if she couldn’t, he would devour her until there was nothing left but bones.
His eyes were dark as he watched every move she made — her long fingers as they slid one strap of her robes off her shoulder, then the other. They slipped to the floor with a whisper, and she turned her back to him, slowly, deliberately, hinging at the waist to untie her sandals.
It was all for show, her power on display as she stepped to the foot of the bed and crawled between his legs, dipping her head to bring her lips to his thigh, her tongue tracing a path up and up. Her hair trailed against him as she kissed his hip, sending a shiver through him, but she didn’t stop. Up she went, licking and sucking his skin, up his chest, to his neck.
He turned, his lips searching for her, but she denied him, teasing as she moved down his body until she was nestled between his legs. She met his eyes — his were molten, burning, lust drunk and hooded — holding him with her gaze as she licked a line up his hard length, flicking her tongue when she reached the ridge of his crown.
Again and again, a slow tease, up his length and down, closing her lips around the tip of him for only a second before she let him go and moved down his length again, never giving him what she knew he wanted.
Once he was huffing and straining against the shackles, his body tight and tense under her touch, she rose and shifted, moving up his body to straddle his chest. She leaned back, bracing a hand on his thigh, holding his eyes again as she slipped her finger into her mouth, dragged it to her peaked nipple, twisting and toying with it, her body rising and falling with his breath.
His neck craned to watch, and she kept on with the tease, moving her hand down her stomach, between her legs. Up the hot center of her and down, and when her finger disappeared inside of her, Ares lost all composure, begging her name, shifting his body beneath her. But she kept on, rolling her hips, her pulse speeding, her breath shallow.
Ares was mad with want, which was precisely where she wanted him.
She leaned forward, kissing him, his breath so heavy and loud and hot against her cheek, his lips so desperate. Down she went again, finding her place between his legs, and she gripped his base, lifting him to close her mouth around him and drop down until she could take no more of him.
He bucked beneath her, pulsed in her mouth, growled her name until he was close to release.
This was when she let him go, taking him into her hands, stroking him as she said with a husky voice, “There is something you must do for me.”
Startled by the sound of her voice, he bent his neck to look down at her with eyes half shut.
“Anything,” he breathed.
“You must make me a promise. Swear to me now that you will not harm Adonis.
His eyes widened, and he roared, tugging at the chains, pulling with all his strength. They did not yield.
“Tricked.” The word was spit through bared teeth.
“Not tricked, love. Nothing will change between us. You can have me always, but you must swear to do no harm.” She pumped harder, reminding him the stakes.
His head fell back, the muscles in his neck taut. “Aphrodite, not now …”
“I will give you all you want, Ares. And more.” She dropped down to take him with her mouth again, and he flexed into her.
“Gods … please …” He strained against the chains.
“Swear it.” She took him again until he was at the edge of release.
“I swear! I swear to you. I will do Adonis no harm. I swear.”
Her heart sang as she climbed up to him and laid her hands on his face. “Thank you,” she whispered and kissed him, sealing the promise — hers and his alike.
She reached back and lifted his base and shifted her hips, trailing the tip of him up the line of her, and when he rested against the center, she lowered her body, filling herself with him, doing just as she’d said.
She would give him all he wanted, all he desired. All of her.
Aphrodite braced her hands on his chest, shifting her hips, rolling her body, heart hammering in her ears until he gasped her name, his body flexing beneath her, and when he came, the power she held in the moment spurred her own release, a blazing rush that seared through her.
Her job was done. Her wishes secured.
She collapsed against his chest, their hearts beating in time with his, and for a long moment, they lay that way with nothing but the sound of their breath to fill the empty space around them.
“Ares,” she whispered, “hear me. If you break your promise, you will never have me again.”
As he took a deep breath and let it out, she rose and fell. And he answered with the only words he could.
“I know.”
He had promised, and she believed him. But when Adonis was killed, her first thought was that it had been Ares. Apollo’s admission had shocked her — it seemed inconceivable that he would move so boldly against her. Apollo was not one to be so bold.
Ares was. He would have taken any chance he had to rid himself of Adonis.
Her trust in Ares had been shaken ever since, and she did her best to stay away from him. It wasn’t always easy, especially when they competed. They were too competitive, too passionate to stay away from each other when there was a game and prize at stake.
She’d always suspected Ares’s involvement was more than he admitted, but she’d used a token on him to force the truth — he couldn’t lie under the power of a token. There was no tangible proof that he’d been a part of it, but her faith and trust had been damaged and had never repaired.
“You’ve got that look in your eye, Dita,” Eros said.
She blinked, realizing she was flushed. “What look?”
“Right. Okay.” Eros rolled his eyes and laughed as he stood to go. “Did you want me to go find Dad for you?”
Dita made a face. “You are such a shit. Go put some pants on.”
She flung her book at him, and it flew across the room, the air whistling through the pages. Bisoux jumped and trotted away as it thumped to the ground at Eros’s feet.
He twiddled his fingers at her, and she rolled her eyes as his perfect, naked ass trotted out the door.
Apollo walked into his office that afternoon and up to a window, leaning against the frame to look down on Central Park.
He had a plan, which was the best he could ask for, and his next task would be to decide when to deploy his prophecy. Dita had the stage set, but his move would be big. Of that, he was sure.
O
f everything else, he wasn’t sure at all.
Apollo pushed off the wall and made his way across the dark wood floors to pick up his mandolin, strumming it absently as he stared at one of his Warhols across the room. Shelves of books and plays framed either side of the painting, including original playbills from Shakespeare plays, first editions of all the classics, original handwritten Poe poems, and ancient scrolls from Plato and Homer.
The room was sectioned off by music, art, and literature, and he sat surrounded by instruments from ancient lyres and zithers to electric guitars and a grand piano. Tall white bookshelves lined the walls, holding records and boxes of sheet music, and a phonograph stood in the corner. His gallery sat in a room off the office, a huge space filled with statues and sketches from Michelangelo, paintings from Rembrandt to Picasso, photography from Adams to Uelsmann — just a small selection of works from his favorite humans.
On one open shelf was his laurel crown, the very same that he’d made from Daphne’s branches, the one he’d worn for eons as a symbol of his loss, his grief, as a way to carry her with him wherever he went, though she was always in his heart. He could not escape her, and he didn’t want to.
The situation was an impossible one. He couldn’t blame Dita for never giving in, not with her believing he’d killed Adonis. Apollo wished as he did so often that he could tell her the truth, and he cursed Ares as he remembered back to that day, the day that everything had fallen apart.
Erymanthus bolted into Apollo’s chambers, screaming, scratching at his eyes as blood rolled down his cheeks. Apollo rushed to his son, and the young man fell into his arms.
Apollo tried to pull the boy’s hands away, but he fought every attempt. “Who did this to you?”
“Aphrodite,” he wailed.
Shock jolted through him. “Why?” The word was soft with disbelief. “Why would she do such a thing?”
Erymanthus wailed. “I do not know. I did nothing wrong, father. I … I was walking alone and happened upon her and Adonis coupling.”
Apollo took a breath, and his first thought was that of skepticism. The boy was known to be immodest and crude — nothing like Apollo, though much like his shrewd mother, who had died during childbirth, despite Artemis’s attempts to save her.
He had vowed to take care of the child, but the boy had grown into a deviant, and Apollo was at a loss.
But still, as he looked upon his son, blinded and screeching, fury filled his heart. She could have come to Apollo, spoken to him, allowed him to handle the boy. But instead, she damaged him, hurt him. The slight was one that could not be ignored.
Apollo laid his hand over the boy’s eyes, his palm glowing white, but when he removed it, Erymanthus had not healed. Such was the work of gods, especially one as powerful as Aphrodite.
“She will pay for this,” he said, jaw tight. “Of that, I promise you.”
He dressed the boy’s wounds, laid him in bed, and left him weeping — heading straight for Ares.
Everyone knew of Ares’s displeasure for Adonis. Aphrodite had done harm to one of his own, and so he would do harm to one of hers.
But the thought of damaging Adonis made him uncomfortable. Without it being a matter of life or death or absolute necessity, he’d never punished or killed. He was not a vindictive god.
Ares was. And now they had a common cause.
Apollo found Ares on a stool in his room, gripping the hilt of his sword as he ran a sharpening stone down its length in long, smooth strokes.
Ares glanced up, scanning Apollo. “Are you all right? You look … murderous.” He grinned evilly and turned back to his blade to resume his task. The metallic scrape rang in Apollo’s ears.
“Aphrodite has blinded my son.”
Ares kept his eyes on his blade. “I would argue that the peculiar boy might have earned such a punishment. What did he do to her?”
“He witnessed her in coupling with Adonis.”
Ares hand froze, the rhythm broken for a stretched out moment before he began the long strokes again. “And you tell me this because … ”
“She must pay for what she has done, and there is a way to deal equal damage.”
“What do you propose?”
Apollo paced, unable to keep still any longer. “You have a grievance with Adonis, and I with Aphrodite. He is her treasure, and to harm him harms her.”
“Ah, Apollo,” Ares tsked. “You never did care to dirty your hands. I have sworn to her that I would do Adonis no harm.” He laid his sword down and turned to Apollo, leaning his muscular forearm on his knee. “If I am to help you, she can never know.”
Apollo nodded. “So, an oath?” It was the highest power that could bind them, higher than even Zeus had the authority to break.
“I believe that would be the foolproof way to approach the matter.”
Apollo took a breath, his mind reeling, too angry to think clearly, though he tried to reason through it as strategically as he was capable of. “He is not to be killed. Only hurt. Can you agree to that?”
“Oh, I believe I can.” He smiled savagely.
Ares rose and held out his hand. Apollo looked at it a moment, hesitating before finding resolve in his outrage.
He clasped forearms with Ares.
A beam of white light ran down Apollo’s arm, winding around his bicep, around his forearm and entwined the hands of the gods. A stream of blood ran down Ares’s arm and hand, and the threads joined, twisted around each other, binding the gods together.
Apollo spoke, “I swear that I shall never speak of the arrangement between Ares and me in the harming of Adonis, that I shall never speak of his connection to the acts that will be committed against the mortal.”
Ares spoke, “I swear that I shall punish Adonis on Apollo’s behalf and should any inquire, I shall never speak of my part of the responsibility.”
The bond threads grew brighter, flashing before they languished, forging their oath.
“Now,” Ares said, “it is time to begin.”
Apollo always had been a fool.
Ares ran through the thick woods, the trees whipping by in a blur as adrenaline coursed through him. He was in his favorite animal form; an enormous, feral boar, racing toward Adonis.
His heart beat hard in his barrel chest as he realized that the chance was upon him to rid himself of the nuisance that was Adonis with no fear of retribution.
For too long, he had shared her body with that human, the scrap of flesh that stood between them. Adonis was nothing, an abomination and disgrace, a burly child who thought himself to be a god.
But he had desecrated her body for the last time. Now — now he would be gone forever, and all Ares wished for would be his.
Ares skidded to a halt and lifted his snout, searching for Adonis, finding nothing. But when his nose hit the ground, his hooves stomping about, he ran his snout through the tall, cool grass until …
Ah, there you are.
He shot into the forest, overwhelmed by the thrill of the hunt, the finality of the moment, the sense of Adonis’s beating heart that would end with his hot blood on Ares’s hands.
Ares broke through the underbrush and slammed to a stop in a clearing, dark even in midday under the thick canopy of the trees. Fog floated up in curls and tendrils, licking at Ares’s belly as his eyes locked on Adonis before him, crouched in anticipation, spear in hand, determination on his brow.
Ares dropped his head, swinging it from side to side, slashing his tusks through the air like blades.
This ends now was the thought that consumed him as he stamped his hooves and charged the foolish man, his heart beating fiercely with triumph and vindication.
Apollo pushed open the doors of Ares’s chamber with such force that they slammed against the marble walls, shooting a crack up the slabs like lightning. Ares stood near the window, wiping blood from his face with wild eyes, his hair mussed and streaked with gore. His skin shone with a sheen of sweat and blood, and he smiled a wicked smile when he s
aw Apollo.
“He was not to die, Ares. You made a promise, an oath, you traitor.” Apollo’s voice boomed, echoing off the walls, and his skin glowed yellow-white.
Ares had the boldness to smirk. “Yes, well, I could not help myself. I promised I would punish him, but I never promised to let him live. I have not broken the oath, only bent it. The opportunity was too sweet to let pass.”
Apollo bared his teeth, screaming as he rushed Ares. Ares caught him when he neared, flipping him around to lock his arms behind his back in a swift, single motion.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Ares said through his teeth as Apollo struggled against him. “Now, remember whom you are dealing with. What is done is done.”
He whispered, “I will not forget this, Ares. Never.” Apollo burned brighter and brighter until the light was blinding, and a roar ripped from his throat. A pulse of light shot out of him in a dome-shaped burst and a boom felt through Olympus.
But no one would ever know why. Ares had made certain of that.
Ares dropped Apollo, shielding his eyes against the white light as it receded into Apollo, whose chest rose and fell with his heavy breath.
“I do not expect that you will.” Ares folded his arms across his broad chest. “Nor will I. I am indebted to you. You gave me a way to dispose of a foe who had long been protected from me, and for that, I thank you.”
Apollo stood, dumbfounded and furious, staring at his betrayer for a long moment before turning on his heel and flying through the halls to his chambers.
As he paced his quarters, he tried to sort through it all, marveling in disgust at his foolishness. He should never have trusted someone so villainous, so cruel. No, he should have handled the matter himself, and his weakness had placed him in the most precarious position, all because he had been so rash as to trust a snake.
And now … Gods. Aphrodite has lost all, and I am to blame.
His heart sank as his anger fell away, and guilt pressed down on him. The consequences of what he had done came into focus. She had deserved to be punished. But so severely? Apollo had not wanted Adonis dead, only damaged, though at that moment, he wanted no retribution. His only wish was to turn back the clock.