He curled his fingers into fists. They itched with the hunger to strike bones and split flesh.
Maybe he could stay on here in the mortal realm. His family wouldn’t notice he wasn’t there in the Underworld, celebrating a job well done.
Fuck, they would probably prefer he wasn’t there anyway.
Electricity arced up his arms, warming his skin. The stilted golden threads burrowed into his flesh and raced through his veins, leaving hazy heat in their wake as he stared at Rome.
It was such a nice morning.
And that wouldn’t do at all.
His power rose, obeying his silent command, and wrapped itself around him, each bolt that chased across his skin increasing the sedated compliant feeling within him. He let it cross the border, moving from something under his command to something that threatened to control him and the strength of it increased, scorching his bones and igniting his blood, filling every inch of him until he was juiced to the max and ready to make the world tremble.
He loved to make the world quake at his feet.
He grinned and looked up at the perfect cerulean vault stretching into infinity above him.
A single tiny black spot appeared at the centre of his focus and spread, blotting out the blue. Grey cloud rolled across the sky, boiling and raging, swirling in places.
Valen half closed his eyes, willing his power to the surface, letting it flow towards his fingertips.
He raised his right hand and stared at the city. Pressed his thumb and middle finger together.
Clicked.
A blast of lightning slammed down, splitting like the roots of a tree and sending powerful spikes deep into the earth on a hillside close to him. The scent of mud and ozone filled the air and his grin widened as he clicked again, commanding another bolt to fork across the boiling black clouds and strike several lightning rods in the city.
They glowed fiercely, red hot from the power that had surged through them.
He sighed.
Car alarms blared in the distance.
He loved that sound.
The storm clouds hung lower, heavy with rain. One element beyond his control and sure to put a dampener on his fun, even if it was only a slight one. The first fat drops fell, splattering the shoulders of his black shirt and soaking into the material. They gathered speed, hammering at him where he stood out in the open, exposed to the elements. He focused on the city and sent another white-blue bolt of lightning shooting towards it and then another.
Keras had warned him countless times not to terrorise his city.
His oldest brother didn’t understand him, was too self-absorbed to understand anyone.
He wasn’t terrorising his city.
He had set up the lightning rods, building ones capable of withstanding the full force of his power. In all the years that he had come to this hillside to let his power out to play, he hadn’t once harmed a single citizen or building.
When he was fighting daemons in its environs was a completely different matter.
He brought his hand down in a graceful arc and a thick purple bolt of lightning branched downwards, striking the metal rods and filling the sky with an ear-splitting crack. His own personal symphony, and he loved the music he made.
He waved his hands, conducting his orchestra, giving in to the power flowing through him, savouring the pleasure it brought as it stole his conscience piece by piece, constructing an image of power in its shadow.
He grinned again, hazy from head to toe, lost in his own strength.
A god.
And he wanted the world to know it.
He curled his lip at the sky and sent lightning arcing across the clouds.
He wanted the gods to know it too.
Those lazy weak Olympians who still believed they held all the power when the world had long forgotten them.
Mortals feared only what they could touch or feel, or see with their own eyes.
Like a man with the power to command lightning.
Water rolled down the longer lengths of his blond hair and dripped from the ends. He focused on the city, pointed out the places he wanted the next bolt to strike and unleashed it. It shot downwards, splitting and splitting again, following his command, forming a shape above the city.
His smile faltered.
She had always liked it when he had made dragons for her.
The lightning connected with the rods and the sky rumbled with the force of each small strike, the ground shaking with it, but it gave him no pleasure.
He was bored of this game.
He let the storm rage, ravaging the city and the land around it.
Each strike made Rome flicker between the current world and the otherworld. It was getting worse. Whenever he killed a few daemons, it improved, but not as it used to. Before a few months ago, it would have gone back to somewhere near what he called normal, with the city aflame and some buildings damaged. Now, it only showed minimal improvement, like a few buildings would be damaged rather than lying in ruin, and that improvement only lasted a handful of hours.
If the otherworld kept deteriorating at the current rate, he would be looking at total fiery destruction soon.
Did New York look as bad to Ares as Rome did to him?
Ares was probably too busy mooning over Megan to notice.
Valen didn’t like her. He had been wary of her the moment he had met her and had noticed how his older brother looked at her. War was no place for a woman, and she was distracting Ares.
If New York fell because of her, Valen was going to kill her.
He raised his hand to direct another lightning bolt and paused.
Someone was watching him.
It wasn’t the first time he had felt it either.
That had been four days ago, when he had realised someone had been following him through the city.
He subtly scanned the misty hillside and sniffed. The smell of ozone and wet earth from the storm obliterated all other scents, making it impossible for him to tell whether he was alone now or not.
Had his stalker gone or were they still watching him from the tree line?
Whoever they were, they could either teleport or were skilled at concealing themselves.
If his brothers found out that he had a shadow, they would be angry that he hadn’t told them when he had first noticed it.
Valen didn’t care. He didn’t care if they were mad at him for not mentioning it when they found out or that he should tell them in case it was important. He was going to deal with this alone.
He could handle whoever was following him and he craved a little excitement and danger. He was bored and itching for violence, hungry to let his power loose on a worthy foe.
Bring it on.
He smiled to himself and his power flowed through him, stronger than before, intoxicating him.
His smile cracked and became a grin that pulled at the scar on his left cheek and down his neck.
A tremendous white-purple bolt of lightning slammed down, striking a nearby tree. It exploded, spraying thick splinters of wood everywhere and filling the damp air with the acrid scent of smoke. Slivers of bark hit him, piercing his flesh.
He casually pulled each splinter out and discarded it, frowned at the tears in his wet black shirt and the spots of blood left behind, and then flexed his fingers and stared down at his city.
Rome.
Soon.
It flickered between this world and the otherworld.
Very soon.
Valen smiled again.
They had some balls if they thought they could kill him.
They had chosen the wrong brother to fight.
He was a god-slayer.
He grinned and lightning struck, shaking the earth and the sky.
Bring it on.
CHAPTER 16
Ares paced his apartment, wearing a trench in the oak floor. His heavy footsteps were the only sound in the living room, a beat as sombre as his thoughts. He no longer had a reason to keep M
egan around. If he had kept her, then it would have been because he wanted to have her while he could, and even if there were feelings behind that desire, it was cruel. In the end, he would have had to let her go, and if they had grown close and maybe even fallen in love when that time came, it would have destroyed them both.
He wasn’t a fool. The pain that had shone in her eyes and tightened her voice had been hurt that had lanced him too, ripping him apart from the inside. She had to understand what he was doing though. She had to know that if they continued down the path they were taking, then it would only end in hurt one thousand times worse than what they felt right now.
He scrubbed his right hand over his hair and heaved a sigh.
Since leaving her alone in that unsavoury apartment building barely twenty minutes ago, he had told himself close to one hundred times, or possibly more, that it had to be this way. She didn’t belong with him, and it didn’t matter if she thought he was wrong and they could be together. None of it mattered. None of it would make a difference in the end, not the strength of his feelings nor hers.
In the end, his power would come between them and tear them apart.
Gods, he still wanted her though.
His heart rallied whenever he tried to convince himself that this was for the best. It cried out and fought him, whispering insidious words about it being her choice, and how she had clearly wanted to be with him, and that somehow they could make this dysfunctional relationship work.
He could have Megan if he sacrificed one thing. His power. Wasn’t she what he wanted most, more than being whole again, more than doing his duty like a good son?
Ares closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He had no choice. He couldn’t forget his power or his duty. He had to get it back and do what was right for the Underworld and this world. Megan’s world. He finally had a reason to protect it, but to do that he had to give her up.
Darkness coursed through his veins, corrupting his thoughts and shrouding them in shadow.
He could take Megan to the Underworld.
He could get his power back and still be able to touch her. His power didn’t manifest itself in his world as it did in hers. They could be together.
His top lip curled back and he snarled at the thought of having her there. His forever. He wanted that.
His heart raced, beating hard and forcing the darkness from his blood and his thoughts.
The Underworld was no place for her and his father would never consent to her being there. Hades wouldn’t care about his need of her. He could beg his father, plead him until his voice was hoarse and gone, and his father would still deny him. His father was king in the Underworld and beyond particular about who was allowed to enter and leave his realm.
Megan was only a Carrier, not full Hellspawn. To his father, she was barely a step above a daemon.
He could ask his mother for help.
Ares cursed in the mortal tongue.
He couldn’t. Persephone would want to help and by doing so she could incur the wrath of her husband.
It was pointless.
He heaved a sigh. He had to do something though.
He couldn’t function without Megan.
The thought that she might be in danger constantly ran through his mind, disturbing his focus, sending it back to her, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until she was back in his arms.
He needed her with him.
His desire for her was fierce and consuming, his feelings so deep that plumbing their depths was impossible. It was more than lust. He knew it. When she had been around him, he had felt a soul-deep awareness of her, a need that had left him bereft and cold whenever she was out of his sight, let alone out of his life.
He ached for her, right down to his marrow. He had never longed for someone like this, never needed anyone with the intensity that he needed her. It overwhelmed him, commanding him to return to her and bring her back here with him. She was his.
He would never let her go.
Ares growled and stepped back to her apartment. He stalked through the tiny home and frowned when he couldn’t find her.
Where was she?
The coppery stench of daemon hit him, his gut swirling with the sickening feeling of one nearby, and the familiar undertone of it sent a shiver down his spine and awakened his warrior instincts. He braced his feet shoulder width apart and listened for a sign of his quarry.
A scream pierced the silence.
His heart pounded and this time it sent darkness pouring back through his veins. He snarled and stepped again, landing in the street outside Megan’s apartment building.
His blood froze and heart stopped.
She lay on the pavement a few metres ahead of him, pinned to the concrete slabs by the same damn daemon who had taken his power. Her legs flailed but the man leaned over her, his back to Ares.
Rage obliterated his calm, allowing the darkness to crash through him, unleashing it.
“It will only hurt for a second,” the daemon said and sat back, clutching a small blade in both hands.
He brought the blade down fast.
Megan lurched up at the same time as Ares stepped and appeared in front of the daemon. Her hand slammed into the daemon’s hand and knocked the blade flying.
“Funny, I was about to say the same thing.” Ares kicked the daemon in the head, sending him toppling backwards and tearing an agonised shriek from him.
Fresh blood crawled down from his nose and Ares frowned. Megan must have been fighting hard because the daemon was already injured. He stepped behind the daemon and grabbed him by his hair, hauling him onto his feet and away from Megan, and flicked a glance at her.
She was unharmed save a cut across her chest where the blade must have caught her before she knocked it aside. The sight of that tiny wound was enough to propel him firmly over the edge.
He growled, the darkness rising, eating away at his conscience, and threatening to obliterate all the good in him. His fingernails sharpened and canines ached. He had only lost it once in his lifetime and it had scared the hell out of him then. This time, he welcomed the increase in power that came from his father’s darkness in his veins.
He slammed his fist hard into the daemons gut, knocking him upwards with the force of the blow. The daemon exhaled a grunt and Ares struck him again in the same place, felt bone crack and bend beneath his fist. It wasn’t enough. He snarled and caught the daemon by his throat, closing his fingers around it and pressing his short claws in until blood spilled in satisfying threads down the bastard’s skin.
The daemon wheezed and kicked out, catching Ares in the left knee and then his thigh. Ares growled and threw him, sending him flying into a parked car. The alarm squealed.
His vision bled into red and black and he knew the change coming over him would scare Megan if she saw it but he could no longer control himself.
The daemon got to his feet and threw his left hand forwards, propelling a blast of air at Ares. Ares stepped and dodged it, came around behind the daemon and kicked him hard in the back of his knee, sending him down. The daemon growled and teleported.
Ares wasn’t in the mood for his games tonight.
He wanted to kill him but he couldn’t, and that was pissing him off. He couldn’t risk losing his power, not now that he knew he needed it to protect Megan from this man’s kind, but he could damn well make him pay for hurting her.
He dodged another blast of air and stepped closer to the daemon. The man didn’t have a chance to block his uppercut or the right hook that followed it.
“Hand,” Megan shouted and he didn’t spare her a glance as he fought the daemon, evading his wild swings and landing a few hard blows. He was glad she was conscious but he wished she would use her words. “He has a thingy.”
That wasn’t an improvement.
A thingy?
He ducked to avoid a punch that came out of nowhere and tracked the daemon’s hand as it passed him. Nothing fancy about it. Just a
regular hand.
The daemon threw himself past Ares, rolled onto his feet, and ran at Megan.
Ares pursued him and spotted what she was talking about. The daemon wore an amulet, a small gold disc surrounded by rubies, and the bastard wore it on the same damn hand he had pressed against his chest to steal his power.
Megan scurried backwards, flipped onto her front and launched to her feet.
The daemon closed in. Ares stepped between them, causing the daemon to hit him square in the chest. Before he could grab the scrawny little shit, the man had teleported again. He turned, knowing exactly where he would find the man. The daemon sprinted away from him, tracking Megan. She ducked between two parked cars and out into the empty road, gaining herself more room to manoeuvre.
He was damned if he was going to let the daemon get his hands on her. If he managed to lay a hand on her in any way, he would teleport. The thought of losing her wrenched at his heart and forced him to fight harder, move quicker, and not give up even when he was already tiring.
If the daemon took her, Ares wouldn’t find her in time.
The thought of her dying made him growl and step.
This time he landed behind the daemon, caught his arm, and spun on his heel, flinging the daemon back down the street. The man hit the road hard, bounced and tumbled, arms and legs flinging in all directions.
The daemon’s amulet glinted under the streetlights each time he rolled, and Ares’s focus honed in on it.
He needed that pretty piece of jewellery and he was going to get it.
With a dark snarl and murder on his mind, he stepped into the path of the daemon and stopped him with a heavy boot in his gut. The daemon doubled over, clutching at himself, and then threw his hand towards Ares.
Ares barely dodged the fireball that burst from the man’s palm.
The heat of it grazed his arm and back as he dove to one side, rolled onto his feet, spun and backtracked. The daemon unleashed another blast and he sprinted harder, trying to outrace it. The orb of fire whirled past him and struck a car, exploding on impact. Flames licked over the bonnet and windshield, spitting and hissing.
Ares stepped when the daemon fired again and came around behind him. He grabbed the daemon’s arm and yanked it down, almost tearing it clean out of its socket. The daemon twisted with it and slammed his free hand into Ares’s jaw, knocking his head backwards. Ares didn’t release him. He tightened his grip and twisted again, flipping the man over his head and sending him hard onto his back on the road.
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