by Ruby Dixon
"Hedonism," he corrects. "Gorging oneself on all the pleasures that the mortal world has to offer."
Splitting hairs, but okay. "So the biggest things are food, drink, and sex."
"And battle."
I frown at that. "Why battle?"
"Because I am a god of battle and war. The spilling of blood pleases me." His smile is rather chilling. "Another Aspect of me would seek out pleasure—any of them. Preferably all of them at once."
I try to picture what it would be like if I'd met that Aron instead of this one and for some reason, my stupid brain goes back to when I slid my hands under his kilt and caressed his dick. Something deep inside me clenches pleasurably, and I can feel my cheeks heating. When I meet Aron's gaze, he's studying me and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.
I clear my throat and gesture at the map in front of him. "You're the expert on this world. You tell me where you think you'd head."
He glances down, his dark hair spilling over one hard, muscled shoulder. All that pale skin and long hair should make him look gothy. He's anything but. There's a powerful air about him that makes one sit up and notice, and he's so muscular and imposing that there's no way anyone would think he's old. Ageless, sure. Withered? Never. Not with those cheekbones and piercing eyes. His colorlessness just seems menacing instead of ageing, and the scar on his face stands out that much more.
Aron's gaze flicks to me, and our eyes meet. For a moment, I feel flushed again, but then his eyes narrow at me and I realize he must have said something and I'm just sitting here, creeping on him. "Well?" he demands.
"Sorry, you were saying?" Sometimes I really hate myself for being such a perv.
“I was saying it does not matter where we think an Aspect will go. It depends on where they arrive during the Anticipation. After all, I arrived in Aventine, and it was supposed to be a city loyal to me.” His lips thin with distaste. “We might as well point at a spot on the map and head there. It’s as good a guess as any.”
“Okay, well if you were Hedonism and you wanted to head someplace specific, where would you head?”
He thinks for a moment. “Mephis, I suppose. They are fond of nose-spices there.”
Drugs. "It's as good a guess as any other," I admit, because I don't have any ideas of my own. I don't know this place like he does. "And it's somewhere to start, I suppose. Is Mephis far from here?"
"Is Mephis far?" He snorts. "Is Mephis far? What a foolish question. Are you human?"
"Wow, are you a huge asshole?" I retort. "I was just asking."
"Everything will be far. Every place we travel will be grueling. Do you think the High Father sent me here so I could trot gamely between two neighboring cities and then return to him with my tail tucked between my legs, lesson learned in a day?" He straightens and crosses his arms over his broad chest, the look on his face downright scathing. "The High Father means to break me to his will. He plans to remake me and to teach me lesson after lesson until I come crawling to him, begging for forgiveness. So yes, it will be a long journey. It will be terrible. It will be dangerous. My other Aspects of self will be doing their best to purge my existence from this world to ensure their own survival. So no, it will not be a pleasant little voyage."
I gape at him for a moment as he bends down to study the map once more. "Wow, I think I really, truly hate you."
Aron shrugs. "I do not imagine I came to the mortal plane to make friends. It is no concern of mine what you think."
Yeah, he made that pretty clear from the start. For a moment, I glare hatefully at his shoulders, wondering how one person can be so damn unpleasant when a moment ago, I was blushing at the thought of him. I'm the idiot here. He's just being who he is—Arrogance. It doesn't mean I have to like him.
I really, really want to go home. For a brief, despairing flash, I think about packing up my things and abandoning him. Better yet, sending him on his way to Mephis or wherever the fuck he wants to go and staying behind with Omos and his cheese and his goats and his books.
Except…I can't. I remember the wracking pain when Aron and I were separated. I'm stuck with him.
And everyone's going to try to kill me because of it.
I lie down on the bed, too depressed to even consider what the next few weeks—or hell, months! years!—of my life will be like. I pull the blankets over my head and roll over to face the wall.
"What are you doing?" Aron snaps, rustling the map. "We are discussing strategy. Stop this foolishness."
"Go fuck yourself," I tell him and ignore him. If he wants to be an asshole, I can be one, too.
I ignore Aron for the rest of the day, no matter his attempts to get my attention. After a while, he gets surly and leaves to go prepare for our journey. From my half-assed listening, he chided Omos that the monk had no weapons at his house, and has spent most of the afternoon creating his own. He's whittled wood, broken pottery, and used the shards to craft some deadly-looking objects. Omos has fluttered around the little library itself, sometimes scratching notes into one of his books, sometimes packing up more food.
I ate. And slept. And ate some more. No one seems to think I can help out. I'm not talking to Aron and Omos just shoos me away when I try to help, so I keep busy with making clothes for myself and washing what I do have. Omos donated one of his gray robes, but it hangs on me like a potato sack and chafes against my skin, so I've done my best to modify it and make it less bulky. I ripped up the seams under the arms and took out a large chunk of fabric, then knotted the sides so they fit tighter. I tore off the hem of the robe and made myself a long wrap-around skirt that's easier to walk in. The remnants of my filmy dress from the Citadel have been scrapped and torn to pieces and now serve as a belt and scarf to keep the worst of the sand and dirt out of my hair.
I made a bra band out of it, too, because everyone seems to think a girl should jiggle but me. Screw that. They might not believe in bras in this world, but I can stage a one-woman revolution if it means I can run unhindered. I work on shoes, too. Omos gave me a pair of sandals that were far too big for my feet and seem to be nothing but straps attached to a wedge of thick hide. I do my best to work those down and resize them, too, because I suspect I'm going to be doing a lot of walking in the near future.
I'm still mad at Aron, of course. I carry that irritation with me throughout the day, though it fades as Omos makes a warm vegetable stew for dinner and adds fresh-baked bread. Aron's just being his usual dick self. He is the way he is because the High Father is working on purging the dickishness out of him. It could have been worse, I suppose.
I could have ended up with the lust Aspect of his personality.
I ignore the way certain parts of me tingle at that thought. I also ignore the fact that my mind goes back to the log he was packing under his kilt and the way I rubbed up against him and how good he felt.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
25
As I eat my third bowl of dinner, Omos fusses over both myself and Aron, who is poring over maps as if they'll give him answers. I still have a million questions that need answering, but Omos carefully steers the conversation to neutral territory. I suspect he doesn't want to piss off a god…or he and Aron had a conversation this afternoon about keeping things from me. Either way, it doesn't take long to realize I'm not going to get what I need tonight.
I crawl into bed and pull the covers over me, achy and tired. I still hurt from our last journey and the thought of starting another in the morning makes me want to despair, but I like breathing. If we stay in one place too long, someone's going to come after us with murder on his mind. There's no choice but to leave.
I'm just about to drift off to sleep when the narrow cot shakes and an enormous body thumps down next to me, pushing me over to the side. What the fuck? I look over, yanking my blankets back as I realize it's Aron, coming to lie down next to me. "What the hell are you doing?" I hiss at him, trying to keep my voice down.
"Getting into bed with you."
"I realize that! Why? You don't freaking sleep, remember?"
"I didn't say I was going to sleep," he tells me, cranky. "But you need to sleep, and this way I can keep an eye on you."
Aron ignores the outraged noises I make and gets under the blankets with me. After a moment, he steals one of the pillows and shifts his big body, trying to get comfortable. I grit my teeth, enduring his constant bouncing of the bed.
"Hm," he says after a moment.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "What?"
"This is rather comfortable. I see now why mortals are so lazy."
Boy, he really is something else. He puts his hands behind his head and I shove back at the elbow jabbing me in the back of the neck. "One of us has to sleep, you know."
"So sleep."
"You could get on the floor."
He snorts. "I am a god. I do not sleep on floors."
"Fine. Then I will." I grab the blankets and start to get up, only to be dragged back down into the bed by Aron. I make an outraged sound as I fall backward, flailing into the cot.
"You will stay right here," he says again. "If someone comes to assassinate me in the night, I can at least cover your body with mine and shield it."
I don't know if I'm touched or alarmed.
I lie stiffly in bed, wondering if this is some sort of colossal joke. "You are seriously not going to stay here."
"I seriously am."
I sigh and close my eyes, shoving the blankets up to my chin even though it's stuffy in the house. "Fine. Let me sleep, then."
He grunts acknowledgment, and I settle in. If I can't ditch him, I can at least try to ignore him, and I'm tired. I'm always tired. Now that I know I'm sleeping for two (so to speak) it explains a lot. Kinda sucks, too, but so has almost everything about being in this world. I've just about drifted off when Aron taps my shoulder.
I bite back a groan. "What?"
"How is it that you were enslaved by the Order of the Axe?"
I have to think for a moment, then realize that the “Order of the Axe” must be his priesthood. "I wasn't. They bought me from the guy that initially enslaved me. They dumped me into a room with a bunch of other women and were going to sacrifice us in your name, remember?"
"Mmm. None of them stepped forward. I recall this."
"Yeah, they were all smart enough to realize that they were getting saddled permanently with you." I yawn. "I'm the fool that didn't know. Can I go to sleep now?"
"I am not stopping you."
"You're talking," I tell him and close my eyes again. "You have to be silent for me to sleep." When he has no response to that, I say, "Well?"
"You said I had to be silent. I am being silent. Which is it?"
This is worse than arguing with a three-year-old. "Good night," I emphasize and close my eyes again.
"How long were you a slave for?"
I stare at the wall and grit my teeth. It's clear that I'm not going to get any sleep while Aron's around. Correction: while Aron is bored. "Like three days, max."
Aron grunts. "I thought it was longer."
I frown to myself. I shouldn't ask. I shouldn't. It's just going to make him keep talking. And yet… "Why did you think that? Did I have a 'slavey' look to me?"
"No. You glared at everyone in the room as if they were a problem. I admit, I appreciated that."
Some of the irritation I have with Aron fades away. "I was pretty pissed at being enslaved. Where I come from, that shit was abolished a long time ago."
"And where do you come from?"
"Oh no, don't change the subject. You still haven't told me why I looked slavey."
He sighs heavily, and his breath brushes against my hair. "Are all mortal women this difficult?"
"Yes. Now answer."
Aron snorts. "Because you had a very appealing body. If I was enslaving females, I would not want ugly ones. I would pick ones like you."
"I have no idea if that's a compliment or not. I'm going to go ahead and take it as one," I tell him with a yawn. "Can I please go to sleep now?"
"Go. Sleep. This is an idiotic conversation anyhow."
I roll my eyes and then settle in again. As I do, I can't help but think about the fact that he said I had a good body. He didn't say I was beautiful, of course. Arrogant Aron would never go out on a limb like that—but he liked my body…a body that's currently pressed against his in the bed.
I shouldn't even think about that.
Or the fact that I pretty much had my hands all over his dick at Tadekha's Citadel. And that I begged for it. A lot.
Like, a lot.
Of course, Aron hasn't brought it up again, so I won't either. It's just a shameful bit of history that I pray won't repeat itself again.
Even as I ponder this, he nudges me in the back. "You did not say where you are from."
"No, I didn't." After the first few rounds of getting the snot beat out of me every time I brought it up, I stopped saying anything at all. Even I'd find it a little hard to believe if a stranger came up to me and said they weren't from my world. It's not something that comes up in casual conversation.
"Where is it, then?" He nudges me again, this time so hard I nearly roll off the damn cot.
“You finally decided to ask?”
“I still don’t care,” he says arrogantly. “But you are…somewhat interesting.”
Wow. I bite back a sigh of irritation. "I told you before. I'm not from this world. My world is Earth. I don’t know how I got here. I kept hearing voices in an empty apartment next door, and when I went to go check it out, I got sucked into this world. Some jackass grabbed me the moment I showed up in Aventine and the next thing I knew, I was a slave girl."
I don’t bring up the fortune teller. The King of Pentacles card.
The Lovers card.
God help me, I forgot all about the Lovers card.
All Aron says is, "Mmm."
"What's that 'mmm' mean? That you don't believe me?"
"Why would I not believe you? You are speaking to a god. I know what is possible and what is not."
That makes me turn over. I sit up on my elbows and look down at him. That's right. He is a god. It's evident in his perfect form and coloring, and the way he seems to be just so much more than everyone else he encounters. "You don't think I'm lying?"
He tilts his head and raises one shoulder in a half-shrug. "When I was cast out, I imagine the boundaries between worlds grew thin so I—and my fellow gods—could come through. It stands to reason that you were pulled in through the same circumstance."
That's the most logical explanation for why I'm here, and I feel a little bit like crying and laughing both. I'm not special. I'm not a chosen one. I'm a doofus that wandered through the wrong place at the right time. It makes sense and yet…I'm disappointed because if it's just random happenstance as to why I'm here, there's no grand game plan for how I get back, either. And that's damn depressing. But it's an answer, and I finally have one. "Thanks, Aron."
"For what?"
"For believing me. No one has until now."
"I am a god," he says, as if that explains everything. Heck, maybe it does. He pats my shoulder. "Go to sleep. You keep talking and we will be leaving early in the morning."
As if I'm the Chatty Cathy. I bite back a snotty retort, because it won't do any good. "Going to sleep now."
"Good." His arm goes around my waist and he pulls me tight against him. I'm surprised when a moment later, he sniffs my hair. A hot flush moves over my body as I remember the night in Tadekha's Citadel and how I crawled all over the man as if my life depended on getting his knob. He'd made me come, but every time I reached for him, he pushed me away.
But…he'd been hard as a rock. I distinctly remember how hard he was, how erect every time I touched him. I think of the Lovers card again, and heat floods through me. If he touched me right now? I’d be wet. The realization is shameful.
He sniffs my hair again, and I wonder if he's hard right now. Is he overcome with
lust for me?
"You smell bad," Aron says. “When was the last time you bathed?”
Man, fuck this guy.
Morning arrives far too early, and then Omos is there, handing us our packs and is all smiles of excitement. "It is a good day for traveling," he tells me as he helps me put on my pack. "The weather is fair and lovely and there's a nice breeze. The gods are smiling down on you."
I want to retort that the gods are ill-tempered brats and that's why they're on the mortal plane, but I don't. Omos is just too nice. My pack is heavy with food supplies, extra blankets, a change of clothing, and anything else he could think to give us. I'm utterly touched by his kindness. As I look around his little monastery, a fat goat rambles past, heading for the crops, and he immediately chases it down, pushing it back toward the field. I smile at the sight, because this is such a peaceful existence.
Then, I glance over at Aron. There's nothing peaceful about the guy at all. Even standing still, he screams authority and arrogance…and impatience. His big arms are crossed over his chest and his long hair has been pulled back into a tail at his nape. The scars on his face are vivid against the sunlight and his strangely colored eyes look like slits as he watches me. I get the impression he's impatient and ready to be off, but I'm not ready to leave yet.
I like it here with Omos. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel safe. Like the world's not falling apart around my ears. And for a moment, the realization that I have to leave this safety is too much. I'm overwhelmed.
A gentle hand pats my back. "It'll be all right, my dear."
"I don't want to leave," I whisper to him, even as I fuss with the straps on my pack.
"I know. But you have a greater fate ahead of you than that of this poor monk." He smiles at me, so peaceful and fatherly that I fling my arms around his neck and hug him close. He pats my back and then whispers in my ear, "Be careful, lest Aron decide I'm stealing you away from him."
"Aron can go fuck himself," I murmur into his ear, but when I pull away, Aron's glowering at us both. He looks…jealous. It's not in a sexual way, of course. Not with Aron. It's more of a someone-else-is-playing-with-his-toys way. I ignore him, still mad about last night.
