He shot her a warm smile that reached his eyes. “Only for pizza. Pepperoni?”
The second she nodded, he disappeared.
She was getting eerily used to how they popped in and out too, leaving only swirling ribbons of black smoke in their wake. Before she could draw in a breath, someone else poofed into the room.
The white-haired one. Daimon. The man Marek had said wanted nothing to do with her and had been intent on igniting Ares’s fury and instigating a fight.
His coat was missing from his usual ensemble of a thick roll-neck jumper, jeans and those black gloves. Did he live somewhere chilly?
His pale blue eyes scanned the apartment and then fell to her. They held her gaze, inquisitive and cold.
“Ares not here?” he said, a frown pulling at his dark silvery eyebrows.
Megan shook her head.
“You know where he is?” Daimon stepped closer to her and she didn’t like it.
It felt as though he wanted to tower over her, as though he felt she was beneath him and should know it. He had insisted on calling her a Carrier earlier, rather than her name. Had he done so purely to annoy Ares or because he felt she was unworthy of him speaking her name?
“Um... something about penitence?”
“Not to worry.” He turned to leave and she grabbed his wrist.
She instantly snatched her hand back, grimacing as it burned as though she had stuck her hand into a freezer full of ice and water.
“Gods, don’t do that!” He stepped back, distancing himself and glaring at her. “You want burns? Just damn well ask if you want something.”
How was he so cold? She stared at her throbbing freezing fingers. She had touched him for barely a second but they were numb. Last night, he had frozen the gun. Was his cold something to do with that power? Had he just used it on her?
Something told her that he wouldn’t do such a thing. Her actions had shocked him and he had sounded genuinely upset and concerned.
“What’s penitence?”
He glanced at her hand, a frown narrowing his eyes. “A recipe for a foul mood when it comes to Ares. I would keep clear if I were you.”
The same answer Marek had given to her.
“I can pass him a message if you want?” she said, hoping to lighten the dark air between them.
“Nah. Apologies work best if you do them in person. If he doesn’t tear you apart for speaking, tell him I was here.” Daimon turned away from her and paused. He tilted his head a fraction towards her, so his face was almost in profile, but didn’t look at her. “He won’t let you go, you know? There’s something about you... and right now he’s weak without his power. I would leave if he gives you the chance. Eternity with him... without being able to touch... it would kill you both.”
The bitterness in his voice stunned her. His eyes paled with anger, his look inhuman, and he clenched his fists, causing the leather gloves to creak. He faced forwards and was gone.
“Wait!” Megan leaped to her feet and turned on the spot, disturbing the black smoke. She shouted at the ceiling, “What do you mean?”
Marek reappeared. “The gods won’t listen to you. Who are you shouting at?”
She felt like a fool.
“Daimon. He... he told me that Ares won’t let me go now that his power is gone... something about eternity not touching him will kill us both.” She glared at the ceiling. “Get back here!”
Marek laughed and set the pizza box down on the ebony coffee table. “Daimon will be back in Hong Kong by now. Besides, he won’t listen to you anyway. Just ignore him.”
Her shoulders sagged, her tension draining away. She really wasn’t in the mood for cryptic shit.
“Why is he so cold?” She brought her gaze down from the ceiling and settled it on Marek.
“Ah, Daimon is always distant.”
She looked down at her hand. Her fingers still felt numb but feeling was slowly returning to them. “No. I mean... he’s as cold as ice.”
“You touched him?” Marek’s voice rose an octave and he grabbed her hand, yanking it towards him. “What were you thinking? Never touch him.”
He flipped her hand over, inspecting it so thoroughly that she began to realise that he was honestly concerned about her. He moved her fingers one by one and frowned at them.
“I’m fine,” she said, wanting to alleviate his worry. “It didn’t hurt really.”
He looked from her hand to her face. “I have to say that I am surprised. You should have frostbite from touching him. Not even I can withstand it.”
Megan took her hand from him and held it to her chest. She got the message. She wouldn’t touch Daimon again.
“Why is he that cold?” She sat down on the couch and kept holding her hand.
Marek heaved a sigh. “It is his power. He controls ice but it became a part of his body. Now he can’t touch anyone except Keras and Ares, and sometimes Esher, without hurting them... and now that Ares’s fire is gone, even he might not be able to withstand it.”
She looked up at the ceiling again, her thoughts thousands of miles away with Daimon.
He couldn’t touch people without hurting them, maybe even killing them.
What terrible lonely life did he lead?
She couldn’t imagine not being able to touch someone or be touched.
A shiver danced down her spine. An eternity without being able to touch would kill you both.
“Ares shared this problem before he lost his power, didn’t he?” Her gaze shot to Marek and the sorrowful look in his brown eyes confirmed her suspicions.
Her blood chilled. Poor Ares. Poor Daimon. Both of them had spent God only knew how long without knowing the touch of another.
“Not all of us have that problem. The rest of us... our powers did not manifest like Daimon’s and Ares’s.”
Megan wasn’t listening.
She looked around at the apartment and ran her hand over the material of the couch. She had thought it itchy before and now she knew why. It must have something to do with Ares’s fire. Flame retardant material. She closed her eyes and leaned into the back of the couch, fingers running over the scratchy red material. The same itchy material that his bedclothes were made from.
Her heart went out to Ares.
How did having to endure such discomfort while he slept make him feel?
How much did he hurt because he lived life without physical contact, always fearing he would hurt the ones he loved?
She wanted to know because she couldn’t imagine how much he had suffered. She could only imagine how she would feel if she had been in his position.
It would have killed her.
But he could touch others now.
Was he only touching her because he could?
Daimon had told him to get it out of his system and take advantage. Is that what Ares wanted to do with her, or was it more than that? Was the desire in his eyes because he thought she was beautiful and he was attracted to her, or was it born of hungers long denied?
The thought that he might just want to use her because he could touch her left her feeling worse than when she had thought he might just want to have a fling with her. At least then, she had thought he desired her specifically, not just wanted to bed the nearest available woman.
“Do not do my brother an injustice,” Marek said and she opened her eyes. “Ares is not that sort of man. He is a good man. An honourable man. Give him time, and you will see that for yourself.”
She hoped he was right.
The delicious scent of pizza wafted from the box on the table and her gaze shifted to it. She needed her strength and a full stomach might improve her temper and give her a better perspective, and it would give her time to continue questioning Marek. It would certainly go a long way towards brightening her mood. Pizza was her favourite comfort food.
She stared longingly at the white box.
“That hungry?” He reached down and flipped the lid open, releasing a stronger wave of pepperoni-sc
ented bliss. “I think Ares has plates somewhere.”
“Don’t bother.” She uncurled from the couch, grabbed a slice of heavily topped thin crust pizza, folded it in half and bit into it. A moan escaped her.
Marek smiled and turned on the television. He selected a slice of pizza and ate in silence. For a moment, everything felt normal, and then he spoke.
“Seriously though. Give Ares a wide berth when he returns. Penitence is a bitch.”
Her stomach rolled in time with the thunder outside.
CHAPTER 9
The light shining directly down on Ares stole his vision, rendering everything beyond the golden halo surrounding him as darkness. His knees hurt where they pressed into the dirt beneath him, tiny stones penetrating his jeans and leaving painful dents that would no doubt take hours to disappear. That pain was insignificant compared with the raw agony of his back but it gave him something small to use as his point of focus.
He tugged the thick leather straps that restrained his hands in front of him, twisting the worn brown material. The metal ring they were attached to remained still despite the force of his actions. Metal of the gods. Sometimes he despised its strength.
A whirr cut the silence.
He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.
The whip cracked across his back. The sharp sound echoed into the absorbing darkness.
A muttered apology left his dry lips. His nine hundred and ninety third.
Seven to go.
Ares hated this kind of penitence. The metal whip cracked again, catching him straight down his spine this time. He arched forwards and roared his apology. Nine hundred and ninety four.
Six more and he could return to her.
Marek had better be behaving himself.
The whip whistled and slashed his back. Fresh blood crawled down his skin. These last five were going to be a bitch. The pain of each strike blinded him and the sweat on his skin stung the lacerations. He tensed his jaw against the raw agony, bowed his head, and clenched the leather binding him, trying with all his might to resist crying out with each strike of the razor-sharp whip.
The woman at his back laughed.
Nine hundred and ninety nine.
Ares flinched and uttered the apology.
One thousand.
He swallowed and the last apology fell from his lips.
Nemesis struck him again.
Ares ground his teeth, stood on aching stiff legs, and growled as he pulled his wrists apart. His muscles rippled as fury surged through him, restoring enough of his strength to fulfil his desire to be free. The flimsy leather snapped and fell from his wrists.
He pivoted on his heel to face her.
The curvy redhead raised her whip and lashed out. He caught the braided metal, swiftly twisted it around his arm, and yanked it towards him. She stumbled on the uneven ground, her blood red sandals sending small stones scattering in all directions.
Nemesis stared cold and hard into his eyes with vicious red ones that glowed around the edges. She frowned at him and tugged on the whip, but he held firm, straightening to his full height. Her black sheer robes fluttered on a chill breeze, dancing outwards from her waist where elegant gold metalwork covered her garment like a corset and reaching towards him like tendrils of smoke.
He never had liked her.
She was born of the old gods and her position had given her a smug sense of superiority.
He didn’t kneel before her because of who she was or any power she commanded over him.
He submitted to punishment because he chose to do so.
“One thousand has passed. Strike me again and I will see to it that you are the one on your knees begging me for forgiveness.”
Her pretty pale face and coy sweet smile did nothing to hide the ugly monster she truly was inside. He saw through the skin she wore to the darkness beneath, and the twisted desire rising inside her, a hunger to feel him bruising her skin and spilling her blood for a change. Perverse. It was the only word that fitted her.
Ares released the whip, took two swift steps away from her and her sick hunger, and swallowed his pain as his anger ebbed and it rushed back in to overwhelm him. Each laceration on his back stung, burning fiercely as though all the fires of the Underworld were licking his skin, and he could barely draw breath.
He stepped away from the dark goddess, gathered his armour, weapons and t-shirt, and mustered his strength.
The air was cool as he stepped through it, darkness swirling around him, and his strength left him when he landed heavily in his apartment. His knees gave out and he hit the oak floor, a jolt rocking his tired body.
“Ares!” Her voice was sweet in his ears, exactly what he had wanted, needed to hear on his return, a soothing balm that eased his pain.
He sensed her rise from the couch but she didn’t come to him. Marek had probably warned her away.
Ares raised his head.
Marek was still there, and it was his rough tanned hand on her slender arm that was holding her back. In response to the sight of his brother touching her, he did something that shocked him.
He growled and bared his teeth, and felt the darker side of his blood awaken.
Marek instantly release her.
“I shall take my leave.” He turned to Megan. “Remember what I said.”
With that, he disappeared.
Ares glared at Megan.
“What did he tell you?” He grasped the arm of the couch with his left hand and the coffee table with his right.
It took so much effort that it left him trembling, but he pushed himself onto his feet.
She visibly tensed, as though restraining herself, and her round eyes grew wider, her skin paling as she looked him over.
“What the fuck did he tell you!”
She flinched away. “That you were grouchy after penitence and to give you a wide berth.”
He laughed, mirthless and cold. “Probably right.”
She swallowed and then moved a step towards him, beautiful concern lighting her brown eyes. He turned away, not wanting her assistance or her pity, not when it would only make him appear weak, and stumbled around the couch and towards his bedroom. The moment his knees hit the edge of the mattress, he flopped onto his front, landing hard and gently rocking up and down until the springs settled. His breath left him in a sigh and he closed his eyes.
Shuffling sounded behind him.
The bed depressed next to him.
He cracked his eyes open.
Megan sat on her knees beside him, her dark eyes wide and full of horror as they traversed his back. He should have covered up.
“What happened to you, Ares?” The soft way she spoke his name sent warmth curling through his chest and the concern in her eyes was genuine. It touched him deeply. She reached towards him and then withdrew her hand. A scowl marred her beautiful face and he knew her anger wasn’t directed at him. It was for the person who had done this to him. “Is this penitence?”
“Tonight, it is.” His throat felt like sandpaper and swallowing didn’t help. Gods, he needed to drink an ocean to quench his thirst.
His gaze dropped to Megan’s lips.
One sip from those and he would never be thirsty again.
She touched his left shoulder, her fingers light and soft as they caressed him, and he marvelled at the feel of it, at the fact that she could lay those delicate fingers on him without fear of burning.
“Daimon came by,” she whispered and his mood faltered.
Pain ripped through his back as he moved on the bed, pushing himself up into a sitting position. She drew her right hand back and held it close to her chest. Was she hurt? That thought speared his heart, shattering his fragile hold on his temper.
“What did he do to you?” he roared as he stood, no longer feeling the sting of the cuts as he moved.
Her eyes shot wide and she pulled her hand closer to her. “Nothing.”
“Show me,” he commanded in a rough snarl, scowling down at
her hand.
Something had happened to her.
He had left her alone and something had happened.
She shrank back. “No.”
“Show me!” He lunged for her, caught her wrist, and pulled her hand to him.
She flinched and gasped when her whole body jerked forwards to follow her arm. He inspected her fingers closely, studying each one for the slightest mark on her pale skin.
She was right. Nothing. She was unharmed.
“You touched him?” he said, unsure whether she had now.
Megan nodded and tears filled her eyes.
To his horror, he realised that they were because of him. He was holding her too tightly, hurting her.
Being a royal dick again.
He loosened his grip but didn’t let go of her hand. He stroked her fingers to soothe them and then her slim wrist, still marvelling over the fact that he could touch her, and that she still allowed him to after the way he had been treating her.
“You’re lucky you still have your hand,” he muttered to it.
Such a slender, delicate little hand it was too. She had tried to slug him good and proper with it earlier though, and he had no doubt she would have left a mark had she connected.
The ache in his back returned as his temper dulled again, causing it to spike right back up.
He dropped her hand.
“Get out.”
Megan didn’t move, not even when he jerked his chin towards the living area.
“I warn you, I need you out of here now.” The tethers holding his rage in began to twist and snap.
He could feel each one of them as they gave. Every laceration on his back, each one of the thousand, was agony that sent fire to his blood and wracked his body, and not even her presence could soothe him now that the pain was stealing control over him and his mood. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his temper under control but he certainly wasn’t going to let her be anywhere near the blast zone when it erupted. He had been a big enough dick already tonight.
“Leave!”
She calmly stepped down from the high mattress and then moved around him, as though he hadn’t just told her to get out and save herself. She made no sound as she stood behind him. Hot fingers dabbed against his back. He hissed in pain and fought to contain his temper for her sake. He couldn’t hurt her.
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