by Staci Hart
Kat moved to her side and knelt, resting her hand over her sister’s. “It’s not your fault. It’s Eric’s fault. And it’s going to be over soon. Dad will take care of it. Just think of it like Eric’s going to go away. Poof.”
“I’m not six, Kat. I know what’s going to happen to him, and I know it has to happen. I just don’t want to know how or when. I just want it to be over.”
They sat in silence for a moment, long enough for a sliver of hope and relief to creep in.
It was going to end, really end. No more lies. No more hiding. She could race. She could talk to her father and tell him everything she’d been through.
She could be with Dillon after all. If he’d take her back.
“When do you think you’ll call Dad?” Kat asked, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know. Soon. I don’t want to risk much more time, but I just … I need a minute.” She paused. “So you didn’t leave Dillon’s because you don’t want to be with him?”
Kat let out a breath. “No. I would have stayed as long as he let me. I was just scared but not of him. For you.”
“You have to tell him. You’ve got to tell him why. You’ve got to try.”
“I want to,” Kat said, feeling the depth of the words in her heart. “But why do you care so much?”
“I don’t really know. It just feels like you’re supposed to. Doesn’t it?”
Kat nodded. “If he even wants to speak to me after how I treated him. It was a real bitch move.”
“At least you know it was a bitch move.”
“I’m nothing if not honest.”
“Right. And moody and contrary,” Kiki added.
Kat laughed, though it dwindled out quickly, and she threaded her fingers in Kiki’s. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry it’s come to this. I’m sorry I couldn’t spare you and that it happened at all. I’m just … I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. For not listening to you, for not trusting you. I’ll make it right. I promise.”
And Kat could say no more, holding her sister instead, touched by hope she worried might be placed too soon.
The ceiling looked the same as it had twenty minutes before, and Ares was just as annoyed as the moment he’d turned his eyes up to stare at it.
The medallion flipped over and over with the motion of his fingers.
Flip.
His thumb against the ridges of golden scales.
Flip.
The mouth of one snake eating the other.
Flip.
The trinket never warmed, no matter how long he held it.
Flip.
Ebony and ivory, an infinite circle, twisting and knotted in a dance of death, traced over and over again by his fingers.
Nothing was in his control — not the game, not Dita, not his heart, not his choices. He was a slave to the demands of others.
This was not something he found himself able to endure gracefully.
Flip.
He’d thought he was so clever to fire Eric up, as temporary as it had to be, a way to use him, diluted. Not that it couldn’t still work, but if Kat came around, if she apologized, he didn’t think Dillon would refuse her. And with Kiki in her ear, she was bound to.
Flip.
He’d thought he derailed her again with Roy, a shot at taking her down, maybe even out. But Roy was even dumber than Ares had realized. He’d literally brought a knife to a gunfight.
Hera’s play had been just as weak and ineffective. And as his options dwindled, one remained — Eric.
Flip.
He’d win the competition, but he’d lose Dita. If he won her in the end, losing the competition wouldn’t matter.
Flip.
He could throw the competition, but she’d know it was a lie, a farce.
Ares closed his fist over the medallion, out of options.
There was another factor not in his control in the game of Dita’s heart — Adonis.
Adonis had been absent, but that had never proven to be a permanent state through their spats over the centuries. And if that dead fucking human found a way to ruin Ares’s plans from beyond the grave, he would never let it go.
Of all the things to be in his way, a ghost was the most infuriating. That the ghost had been interfering for thousands of years had pushed the limits of what he could withstand.
From the moment Adonis had entered manhood, Ares had to share her. She’d begun slipping through his fingers the very second she set her eyes on him. She’d watched the man obsessively, meeting him in secret, fighting through Hades for him, even feuding with her best friend, her closest ally, over his love and favor.
Madness. It had driven him to madness. Because he was not a god who cared to share. Especially when it came to her.
As she’d carried on her affair, Ares had watched, waited, planning and plotting, all while keeping his rage on a leash. He had been aware at least that the situation required caution.
And then, she’d laid her trap for Ares and her threat along with it. He would lose her forever should he lay a finger on the human.
There had been nothing to do but agree to her terms. He’d had fewer options then than he had even now.
Never could he have thought that a fight with Apollo would open the door to rid him of Adonis once and for all. And so he had.
Or so he’d thought he had.
The day Persephone had blessed Dita with a doorway to Elysium, Ares could no longer abide, could no longer tolerate his rage. So he had ridden the wings of his wrath to Earth, whispering into the ears of men, driving them mad. An entire village — from the eldest man to the smallest child — had held knife or stick or rock or used their bare hands to kill until no heartbeat remained. And Ares had relished in their blood, watched their lives drain away.
He imagined Adonis, imagined killing him over and over, remembered the hot blood against his skin and the feel of his heartbeat as it faded. But he could never rid himself of the mortal man whom Aphrodite had chosen over him. Ares. The God of War.
And he would never let it go. He would never let her go. Not for all eternity.
“You keep telling me nothing’s wrong, but you’re lying in the middle of my rug like a crazy person.” Perry took another bite of a gigantic brownie and chewed with a hint of worry on her brow.
Dita sighed, eyes on the ceiling, which was such a pristine shade of white, she couldn’t seem to distinguish the edge of the surface. “I’ve come to realize that my love life is so fucked up that even I don’t know how to fix it. And I’m the Goddess of Love.”
Perry snorted a laugh.
Dita’s eyes never left the ceiling. “It’s not funny.”
“Forest for the trees and all that. It’s always harder to figure out your own mess than it is to sort everyone else’s out.” She took another bite.
“Nothing’s what I thought it was.” Her voice was flat, empty.
“Ares?”
“Adonis. But probably Ares, too.”
“Did you see Adonis?” she asked gently.
“Not in the flesh, but I fear I’ve seen his soul. And there’s no place for me there. His heart only has room for himself.”
Perry said nothing for a moment. “What will you do?”
“I don’t believe there’s much I can do. And so I mourn. And then I will think on how to move forward.”
“And what of Ares? Have you decided if you want to know the truth?”
Dita’s eyes were still up, hair fanned around her. “It’s like flipping a coin. It might be that he’s telling the truth, and it could be that he’s lying. I won’t believe any denials that leave his lips because he is a snake, false and cunning, and I’ve been caught by him for so long that I don’t know I am being eaten alive.”
“It makes me think of the story in the news a while back about a woman who had a pet python that slept in bed with her.”
Dita almost smiled. “So this is a smart woman we’re talking about?”
Perry laughed, du
sting crumbs off the front of her muscle shirt featuring a giant sugar skull wearing hipster glasses. “So her snake started acting weird. He stopped eating and would stretch out really long next to her and flatten out while she slept. And when she took it to the vet, they told her they had to euthanize it.”
Dita looked over at Perry, her brow quirked.
Perry leaned forward. “It was stretching out to figure out how long she was so it could eat her.”
Dita groaned. “That’s horrifying. And I guess what she earned by going to bed with a snake. I could take a tip from her.”
Cerberus trotted up, tongues lolling. She scratched behind the ears of the hellhounds three heads one by one.
“Have you ever considered asking Apollo what happened?” Perry set the brownie in her lap, forgetting Bisoux was at her feet. He hopped into her lap, panting, but she moved it just in time.
“We haven’t exactly been on speaking terms over the last three thousand years or so.”
“Seems like you’re close enough now though, don’t you think?”
Dita frowned just a little at the burst of possibilities. “Yes, it’s just …”
“You don’t really want to know.”
“No, I don’t. But I need to know.”
“Well, I’ll say this only once, and then I’ll leave it alone. Not knowing is driving you crazy, and if you can find out the truth — either way — it’ll end. Maybe Ares is telling the truth. Maybe you could try to be with him again, if that’s what you want.”
Hope and dread spread in hot tendrils through her chest. It must have been on her face too, because Perry pressed the opening.
“Just ask Apollo. Maybe nothing will change. Maybe everything will. But don’t be afraid of the truth because you need answers. You just do. It’s your nature.”
“You’re right,” Dita conceded as she sat up.
Alarm colored Perry’s face. “Wait, you’re not going now, are you?”
“No time like the present, right?”
Perry eyed her.
“If I don’t go now, I might never.” She stood and reached for her dog, who barked in protest of being taken away from the brownie.
“All right. I’m here.”
And Dita smiled with fear in her heart. “I know.”
Apollo turned to the sound of his elevator dinging, surprised to find Dita walking in with a warm smile on her lips and her little dog in the crook of her arm.
“Dita, how are you?”
Her smile faltered for a millisecond. “I’m all right,” she said as she sat next to him on the couch, folding her legs under her.
She pet her dog, looking a little nervous, which was unusual and disconcerting.
“You okay?”
“I don’t really know. But I need to ask you something, and I’m not even sure you’ll be able to answer me.”
Apollo slowly sat back, alert and apprehensive. Because he had a feeling he knew her question, a question he really couldn’t answer. It was beyond his power.
“Okay. Shoot.”
Bisoux trotted to Apollo and licked his hand. But Apollo watched Dita twist the hem of her sweater, peering at him through thick lashes with worried eyes.
“We’ve never talked about Adonis. Argued a lot but never just talked.”
He nodded, his heart beating a warning.
“I was there as well as you were, and in the moment, I believed you. I believed you’d killed him. But as the years wore on, the more I thought about it, the less it made sense.”
Apollo sat very, very still and waited for her to continue.
“You told me you did it, and Ares said he didn’t. I held onto your admission because I had to; I needed someone to blame. Adonis needed someone to blame. But I never asked you. All these years and centuries, and I never asked you. So I want to know. Did you?”
He swallowed, though the hard knot in his throat remained. “You’ll have to be specific, Dita.”
“Did you kill Adonis?”
But he could say nothing. His mouth wouldn’t open, not with the admission of truth waiting just behind his lips. Because he wanted to tell her, felt compelled to. She had given him Daphne, overlooking a feud that had been centuries old.
But the oath forbade it. The magic was the most powerful bond two gods could make, its command beyond all of them.
It must have been his eyes, some look on his face that told her he was sorry, that he’d been part of a charade, a game, a lie he’d been trapped into by Ares. Because she knew. He could see it in her eyes and hear it in her trembling words.
“Is there something you’re not allowed to say?”
He took a breath, an aching breath, his lips locked together and eyes begging her to understand.
And she did. She understood all too well.
“I knew it.” The words were a curse and a promise. “It wasn’t you.”
He reached for her hand, covering it with his own, and she squeezed the tips of his fingers hooked in her palm.
“It’s all right. I’ll find out another way.”
Dita scooped up her dog, offering him comfort in a smile as small and sad as he’d seen on her lips, and then she turned to leave.
She would find a way; she always did.
And on that day, all Hades would pay.
Day 9
Owen ran his fingers through Kiki’s long, silky hair as she lay sprawled across his chest. There was so much of it, that hair, black and thick and soft, smelling of honeysuckle, fanning out on her bare shoulders and across his arm. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the feeling of her hair, such a strange thing to remember, but he found that he loved it just as much as he loved the sound of her laugh in a crowded room or her sigh when she nestled into his side in her sleep. Just as much as he loved her.
It was crazy; he knew that. He knew there was a chance that someday they’d part ways, that it wasn’t forever. But he’d known the minute that he saw her that he would love her, and he hadn’t been wrong.
He’d never admit it, not yet. Not until time had passed. Only after more afternoons like this, afternoons of Kiki’s smile and fingertips and lips and that glorious hair he couldn’t keep his hands out of.
“Can I stay here forever?” she asked, her voice sleepy and far away.
“As long as you want. Forever. Indefinitely.” He gathered her hair and swept it to the side and drew slow circles on her back.
She lifted her head and rested her chin on his chest, padded by her hand. “God, I wish I didn’t have to work tonight.”
“Me too. I’ll come with you, if you want.”
“I want,” she said with a smile.
“Then you’ll get.” He brushed a lock of hair from her face and propped himself up with a pillow so he could see her better. “How’s Kat?”
“She’s okay. I think she might have had a change of heart, but we’ll see. All I know is that the window’s cracked, and I’m climbing in. Hopefully I can persuade her. How’s Dillon?”
“It’s been rough. He’s been avoiding me, silent when he is around. I think he’s too caught up in his head to even know how to find his way back out. The fact that he won’t even take my councel is worrisome in itself.” Owen sighed, and Kiki rose and fell with his chest. “I’ve never seen him like this, and he’s been with a lot of women. You’ve seen him. Girls have been throwing themselves at him since as far back as I can remember.”
She shrugged. “I dunno. He’s not really my type. Not anymore at least.”
“Thank God for small miracles.”
Kiki chuckled and pressed a kiss to his bare chest.
God, she was lovely.
“I mean, I can see the appeal,” she joked. “He’s pretty manly.”
“Hey,” Owen said with a mock look of hurt on his face.
She giggled.
“Really, though, when women watch him fight, it’s all they can do to stay away from him. I guess being emotionally unavailable adds to the appeal.”
&nbs
p; “Even Kat couldn’t resist. I wonder if she’s ever had a reaction to a man like that before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve never seen her act like this over a guy. Not even just the last few days, but even before — at the fight or at the race. Something is different, deeper. Chemistry maybe. I don’t know. Kat is … she’s difficult, you know this. But it’s more than that. She’s been hurt, and she’s been backed into a corner. And she’s been defending that corner for a very long time. I think she’s just exhausted, and I think she and Dillon are very much alike. The beast in her recognizes the beast in him.”
“Namaste, motherfucker.”
Another little giggle. “I dunno. I can see them together, and I feel like I’m supposed to help figure it out.”
“That’s so weird. I feel the same way. Like I have to help, and if I don’t, the world is going to fly off its axis and careen into the sun.”
“It really does feel that serious,” she said on a laugh, skimming her fingers along his collarbone. “Kat takes responsibility for everything. Like everything. And it gets in the way of her happiness. Me. Mom. Races. Money. Gravity. Quantum physics. And she treats me like I’m helpless, like if she doesn’t take care of me, I’ll end up in a gutter somewhere.”
“Not really fair to you, is it?”
“She’s just like Dad though, and I get that. They’ve always been inseparable. He’s different with her, like he knew from the start they were made of the same mettle. With me, he’s always been affectionate and sweet. With her … it was just different. He taught her about cars and racing and how to use a gun. He even bets on her when she races.”
“No pressure, right?”
“I don’t think he realizes what that responsibility does to her. Kat never learned how to cut loose and enjoy herself. She’s always been the serious one. Even as kids, she was a control freak, and she was always right. And she cannot stand to lose.”
