Shift (Hearts and Arrows Book 2)

by Staci Hart

  And so he did.

  Kat’s phone rang in her earbuds, and when she glanced at her phone and saw Dillon’s name, the shock was hot and cold, racing up her spine.

  She sent the call to voice mail, hands shaking.

  The music faded back in. It was a little chilly on the beach under the iconic bridge. The heels of her combat boots dug into the sand as she zipped up her leather jacket and stuffed her hands into the pockets.

  He’d called — wanting what, she didn’t know.

  An apology, she thought, her heart heaving at the prospect. Because she didn’t know if she could listen to him beg her for another chance, not without changing her mind. And she couldn’t change her mind.

  She couldn’t be with a man who would hurt her, whether he intended to or not. And she knew he hadn’t intended to; somehow, she was certain. But whatever had taken him over was not something she could fight. It was the same sickness she’d seen in Eric, a disease that had no cure.

  Kat was ready to leave the city and her memories there and go back to the life she’d known. And the minute Eric was out of the way, she’d do just that. But Kiki hadn’t told their father yet and wouldn’t until Kat was able to mediate.

  Not that she was wrong for waiting. If Katsu so much as caught a hint of what had happened at the bar, what Dillon had done, there would be hell to pay.

  A shiver rolled through her at the thought.

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. He’d left a message. Her throat burned, eyes pricked. So she stood and walked away.

  Walking away was the easiest and hardest thing she could do.

  Kat made her way to the bridge, climbing the stairs to the pedestrian walkway, the cold wind whipping her hair around her face.

  The time she’d taken was necessary and pointless. It was the only thing she had known to do, but she wasn’t any closer to answers than she had been the day before. Kiki was safe at Owen’s. And if anything went down, Dillon would be there.

  Nothing would make it past Dillon. She’d seen that for herself.

  Kat stopped at the top of the bridge, leaning over the rail, her fingers wandering to the pearl on her necklace.

  Dillon had scared her, but for more reason than what had happened. The only man she’d ever had a lasting relationship with was her father. And Dillon had given her hope for more, hope for something real, hope in finding her equal. But it had slipped away from her, and there would be no getting it back.

  The loss of her hope was acid burning through her heart, tearing holes and rips she didn’t know could be repaired.

  She pushed off the rail and began her walk across the bridge, taking in the view of Manhattan in front of her. Her eyes ran up the bridge cables, chasing the illusion of crisscrossing wires that ran up to the stone archways. The beauty and history in the city topped Vegas, hands down. But she couldn’t stay. Not anymore.

  It was time to move on.

  On the other side, with her decision made, she walked down the stairs and to the water taxi that would take her back across the East River, back to the life she didn’t want anymore. On the ride across, she rested her arms on the boat rail and looked down at the water rushing by, the regret and sorrow for things she couldn’t have and couldn’t change sweeping over her like the cold wind. And she looked back at the city, memorizing it as she said goodbye.

  Dita stared into the fire, her eyes unfocused, her hand clutching the vessel with the key to a three-thousand-year-old mystery inside.

  When she looked away, she was startled to find Perry sitting silently in an armchair next to her, her face turned to the fire, waiting.

  “How long have you been here?” Dita asked, her voice rough.

  “Not long. I didn’t want to disturb you.” She nodded at Dita’s hand. “Are you planning on drinking that?”

  “It’s time. I’ve waited too long as it is.” Dita looked down at the vial, glowing blue in the dim room. “Will you stay?”

  “I will always stay,” she said as she moved to Dita’s side and took her hand.

  Dita squeezed it once and released it. Fingers shaking, she pulled out the cork and tipped her head back, the warm water tasting of salt and skin and pain.

  Everything went dark.

  The blackness that pressed down on her was a tangible thing, a suffocating stillness so complete, there was no sound, no light.

  There was nothing.

  And then there was.

  A small blue light in the distance didn’t beckon; it screamed freedom from the dark. And then it sped toward her, then it grew wider, and then it consumed her.

  She slammed into the memories with a sick crack.

  It unfolded like a nightmare. She saw herself in the meadow, hair flying, eyes glowing, hand splayed in the direction of Apollo’s son, the boy clawing at his blind eyes.

  A flash of light, so bright she shielded her eyes. Apollo roaring, throwing open the doors to his chambers, cracking the marble walls. He’d learned what she’d done, and he’d make her pay.

  A flash of light, and then she was in Ares’s chambers. Ares and Apollo, arms clasped, Ares smug, Apollo furious. The words of their oath. Ares would punish Adonis for Apollo. They would keep it from her. It was the only way.

  A flash of light, a pulling of her heart, blind eyes, hands seeking.

  She was in a clearing in the woods, and when she saw him, her knees gave out. Not Adonis, standing at the edge of the trees, spear drawn, his mortal face twisted with determination.

  It was Ares.

  He was a boar, colossal in size, hackles bristling, tusks swinging, hooves pounding, and she screamed, hands splayed. But she had no power here. She could not save him then or now. She could only watch Ares tear him open to the sound of the scream of her lover, the roar of her captor, the shrieking from her own throat.

  She saw it all.

  The light again, brighter, pulling her in, reaching in to turn her inside out.

  Her eyes flew open, her lungs burning and empty as her back shot off the couch, snapping into an arch.

  Perry smoothed her hair from her face, soothed her with words Dita couldn’t hear as she gasped.

  Lies, lies, lies.

  It was all lies. Centuries of lies. All they’d built was false. All she’d felt was pretend.

  Because he had betrayed her.

  He’d killed Adonis.

  Her breath was ragged, her body cold and numb.

  “It was Ares,” she whispered.

  “No,” Perry breathed.

  And she shattered.

  Dita climbed into Perry’s lap and wept, her shock burning to despair and then to anger so white, so hot, so painful, she thought she might come apart.

  Her power pulsed around her, in her palms, in the air stirring her hair, in her glistening tears as she stood and stumbled into her room, to her closet, leaning on the wall next to the keypad.

  She stood, shivering in the threshold, holding herself together, and the device spun around and around until it came to rest on a room of blood red.

  Perry reached for her — Dita hadn’t noticed her approach — but Dita’s head whipped around, meeting her friend’s eyes.

  “Don’t,” was her only warning. And then she stepped into Ares’s room.

  Her feet sank into the thick scarlet carpet as she walked under a crystal chandelier, crisp and white against the deep burgundy walls, the color of blood straight from the heart. The wind twisted around her with rose petals dancing in the current.

  An ancient pot painted with a story of her and Ares caught her attention — a tale of lust, of woman and man, of the fated two who would spend an eternity caught in a game of love they would never win.

  A scream climbed from the black of her heart, a scream that shook the heavens and tore a rent in her soul.

  The chandelier exploded, shooting crystal shrapnel through the room.

  And then she raged.

  She shredded the scrolls, set the books on fire. Threw pots and statues, their
white stone leaving chalky starbursts on the crimson walls.

  And Persephone watched on, hands on her lips, the tears on her face her only protest as Aphrodite destroyed everything she could wrap her long white fingers around.

  When nothing was left but shards and ashes, she stood in the center of the room, a wild thing, eyes glowing blue, chest heaving.

  “It is time he paid.”

  Aphrodite saw nothing but blood as she stormed to the elevator, but Persephone didn’t move.

  She had to get help.

  Zeus.

  And as she rushed to find him, she only hoped they’d get there in time.

  Dita’s hands trembled by her sides, and when the elevator doors opened, when she walked into the common room and saw Ares in the kitchen, her intentions could not be mistaken.

  He froze when he caught sight of her, his expression shifting from shock to comprehension.

  It was the only moment she gave him.

  Her hands shot out, wind whipping around her, and with a twitch of her fingers, Ares flew out of his chair, slamming into the wall hard enough to burst the plaster with a thud, his chair in pieces at his feet.

  “You.” She stalked toward him.

  He picked himself up off the ground and dusted his shirt off. “What’s this, Dita?” He smiled, a sinister motion, his eyes splitting her open.

  “Liar!” Another flick of her fingers, sending a pulse of energy that pushed him to the wall again and held him there.

  Her hand rose until his feet were dangling from the ground.

  “I don’t know what—”

  She choked his words off, his face reddening, fingers moving to his throat as if he could stop the force.

  “You lied to me, Ares. Everything was a lie.” A flick of her hands, and he jerked, feet scrabbling against the wall for purchase. “You killed him.”

  Ares bared his teeth, his face red and twisted as he extended his hand, throwing her with powers of his own.

  She was weightless, flying backward through the air, the world sideways. The crack of her body hitting the bookcase sounded like wood, but it was her bones, she realized distantly as she gasped from the ground, books still falling on her.

  Ares had fallen to the ground, released, but when he stood, he prowled, chin down, eyes murderous.

  She climbed to her feet, back against the wall, finding reserves of resolve in depths and cracks of her heart she hadn’t known existed. And she would not be beaten by him.

  Not anymore.

  She charged him, arms pumping.

  Ares reached out to grab her, but she ducked, rolling under his arm, scrambling to her feet. And they circled.

  “You’re crazy, Dita,” he said too calmly, too neatly. “Someone lied to you. Apollo told you himself it was him. He’s said it a thousand times.”

  “The only one who has lied to me is you.”

  “Who told you that?” he shouted, the veins and tendons in his neck bulging. “Tell me!”

  And the wind circled with her rage, lifting her hair. “Mnemosyne.” She snapped her fingers, and a couch flew across the room, slamming into Ares.

  The force was too much, too unexpected. He fell, landing on the ground with the couch on top of him.

  He tossed it across the room and stood, chest heaving, turning on her again with eyes unforgiving and cruel. “Don’t do this. You don’t want to do this.”

  “Don’t I?”

  She swept her hands across the room, and knives flew from the cutting block to Ares. He dodged, but there were too many — one slipped between his ribs, and another grazed his temple, the combination taking him to the ground.

  He pulled the knife from his torso with a roar so deep, so terrible, she was almost afraid.

  Almost.

  It wasn’t enough to see him hurt. She wanted her hands around his neck. She wanted to cause him pain with her bare hands, nose-to-nose so he could look into the eyes of the one he would never have again, and they could both know that she would be the source of his pain for the rest of his immortal life.

  She flew to where he lay, screaming, teeth bared, clawing for him, but he grabbed her by the wrists and stood. She twisted against him, trying to wrench her hands from his grip, her bones and tendons on fire as he squeezed them.

  He leaned into her face and hissed, “You should have chosen me.”

  “Fuck you!” she screamed and kicked him as hard as she could, her shin connecting with the tender flesh between his legs.

  He let her go and hit the ground. “You bitch. You stupid fucking bitch,” he coughed.

  “Fuck you!” she howled and kicked him in the teeth.

  Ares’s head flew back. It was a kick that should have landed him on his back, but he rebounded slowly, deliberately, before he spat out a gob of blood and stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes glowed red and paralyzing, his skin turning a shade of deep crimson, his hair black as pitch against it. Bigger, taller he grew with each breath, filling more space in the room than he’d had only a moment before.

  He took a step toward her, and she stepped back in terror.

  “He was a human. A mortal. How could he take my place?”

  Ares stalked toward her, and her hand shot out again. Books flew at him from the shelves and floor, but they only bounced off of him, and he only laughed.

  “And even when he abandoned you, you still chose him. I do not accept that. I will not accept that.” He didn’t stop coming at her, not until she was backed against the wall once more.

  “Where will you go?” Ares asked, his wrath fully formed, his voice biting and controlled.

  For the first time in her long life, she was truly frightened of him.

  “You cannot hide from me, my dove.” Words slick and laced with contempt. “You are mine, no one else’s.”

  Pride overcame her fear, filling her with false courage. “I will never be yours.”

  And she pulled back and slapped him with all her strength.

  Ares turned his face back to hers, his mouth a rip full of teeth. And then he pressed his lips to hers.

  She screamed, the force of his mouth on her own so great, she tasted blood. With his hands, hands that had loved her, hands that had held her, he picked her up by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall.

  Starbursts flashed in her eyes, her lungs burning.

  “You will not deny me. I will not let you deny me.”

  Another kiss, her hands scrabbling against his chest, scratching at his face, slapping him as she tried to push him away with tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Another slam as he pounded her into the wall again, her head hitting the plaster with a thump. Then again, and her vision began to fade.

  From what felt like a great distance, she heard him say, “You are mine, Aphrodite. You will always be mine.”

  Apollo burst into the room, standing paralyzed when he saw Dita hanging limp against the wall, feet dangling, held in place by Ares, huge and red and bloodthirsty.

  Perry ran in behind him, screaming Dita’s name as she moved for her.

  Apollo grabbed her. “Persephone, no.”

  Her frantic eyes were locked on Dita, and she struggled in Apollo’s arms.

  Thunder cracked. The room dimmed.

  Only then did Ares turn his head. “Hello, Zeus.”

  “Ares.” The word reverberated through the room, a single word carrying rage and ruin. Lightning crackled between the King of Gods’s fingertips as he extended them at his son. “Release her.”

  Ares lowered her, his eyes on his father. She fell to the ground in a heap, all but forgotten as Ares stepped away.

  Apollo ran to her, pulling her limp body into his lap, Perry at his side, whispering to her. Aphrodite’s long lashes fluttered when Perry moved her hair from her face.

  “She is mine, Zeus.” His fists clenched, voice low and challenging.

  Zeus laughed, the sound a bitter thundering in the room. “She is not yours, and she never
has been. It is time you recognize the simple fact that’s so clear to all who know her. Let her go.”

  “I will not.”

  “You will. And should you ever lay a finger on her again, there will be consequences.”

  Ares’s color faded, his glaring eyes returning to electric blue. His broad chest rose and fell as he grew a shade smaller, but fury rippled from him still.

  Zeus stepped toward him, fingertips pointed at Ares. “There is a place you’ve perhaps heard of. You see, your grandfather is there, as are all who would dared to disobey.” Lightning jumped from finger to finger, a web of light and power, stretching for Ares, as if it wanted to taste him.

  Ares went pale, his eyes on his father’s hand.

  “I will throw you in Tartarus with them. You will not harm her.”

  Ares stared at the lightning still, unmoving.

  “Say it!”

  “I will not harm her.”

  “Now, leave.”

  Ares turned to look down at Aphrodite lying unconscious on the ground, lingering on her face, and then at Zeus, who waited for the smallest excuse to punish him. And then he walked away.

  Zeus’s eyes did not leave his son until the doors of the elevator closed behind him.

  His attention turned to Aphrodite in that moment, kneeling down to scan her face. “Will she be all right?”

  Apollo nodded. “She needs rest and time, but she’ll be fine.”

  “Take her to her chambers. Persephone, leave Cerberus with her, just in case.”

  “Yes, Zeus.” Perry’s voice shuddered, her wide eyes brimming with tears.

  And Apollo gathered Aphrodite in his arms and carried her away, hoping for all their sake that it was over.

  Ares stormed into his apartment, shaking violently, nostrils flaring.

  He needed to destroy.

  His gaze fell on his couch, and he picked it up, howling as he threw it against the wall in a burst of wood and stuffing. A vase flew across the room to crash into the plaster. The coffee table split in two with his fist in the center. He threw it into the pile of ruin that wasn’t enough. He needed more, so much more.

  It was never enough, and it never would be.

  Fists balled at his sides, his thick neck and arms flared as every muscle flexed. And then he kicked his head back and screamed, a roar ripping from his lungs, shredding his throat. The sound of his fury shattered the wall of windows, the glass imploding into the room, shredding and splitting his skin.