Ares (Contemporary Mythos Book 3)
Ares: Chapter 11

Sunlight burst through the singular crack in the curtains, stinging my eyes. I buried my face in the pillow with a groan. Memories of last night poured through my mind like water let loose from a dam. Mars’s brother Dino. Whiskey. The song Shape of You, for some reason? Wait. Did I call Mars a Sparkly Snicker-doo? The familiar scent of leather and burnt wood plagued the sheets. I slowly lifted my head, peering at the empty spot beside me.

What a relief.

A rounded imprint in the shape of a shoulder embedded in the mattress stared back at me—a big shoulder.

Oh, dear God.

The door creaked open, and I grabbed a pillow, clutching it to my chest like I’d been caught naked. My heart thumped against my ribcage as I took one last glance at the bed.

“You’re up.” Mars walked in holding two coffees and a brown paper bag with grease-stained corners.

I winced, shoving my palm to my forehead. “Would you not talk so loud?”

“I practically whispered.” He walked to the bed, holding the bag out to one side.

I slid a finger over his lips. The feel of his beard brushing over my skin shot another memory of performing the same action last night, making my stomach clench.

These fractals of remembrance were going to happen at the most inopportune moments. I was sure of it.

I grabbed one of the coffees and rested my arms on my knees, removing the lid to let the steam moisten my nose. “Um. Thank you. For the coffee mostly, but uh—thanks for letting me not die in a gutter or something last night.”

“If you would’ve died in a gutter, gatáki, I wouldn’t get paid.” He half-smiled. “But you’re uh—you’re welcome.”

Glad that was over.

I sipped the warm liquid, relishing in the heat traveling down my throat, warming my belly.

He tossed the bag on the nightstand. “You should eat.”

“I’ll pass.” Even looking at the bag made my stomach turn.

He shook his head and uncrumpled the brown paper. “I know this isn’t your first hangover. Stop being stubborn.”

“You are so not one to lecture me on that particular subject.”

He removed a bagel—an “Everything” bagel, my favorite. When he took out a small container of strawberry cream cheese, I whimpered.

He watched me as he spread the cheese on one half with perfectly proportionate schmear. “Are you sure you don’t want some?”

I bit my lower lip. My stomach wanted to eat it as much as it wanted to vomit. I wish it’d make up its mind.

He tossed the plastic knife into the bag and held the bagel out to me. The smell of strawberries and grain made me pine for it even more. When I didn’t budge, his shoulders slumped with a sigh.

He sat on the edge of the bed and held the bagel to my lips. “Eat, gatáki.”

Our eyes fixed on each other as I took a bite. A tingle coursed down my neck, settling in my chest. His expression softened before the skin above his nose creased as if he were confused. I chewed on the bit of bagel in my mouth with the speed of a sloth, staring at him. His fingertip dragged over the corner of my mouth, ridding it of cream cheese. A glint flashed in his gaze as he brought the finger to his lips, licking it away.

“It. Good,” I managed to say, sounding like a cavewoman.

“What’s the last thing you remember from last night?”

I swallowed my bite of bagel, trying not to choke on it. After sipping coffee to wash it down, I pinched my eyes shut—a view of his ass from upside down. That was the last thing I remembered. “Were you…fireman carrying me?”

“You were dancing on the bar and about to start a striptease. It called for drastic measures.”

Groaning, I dragged a hand over my face.

He brought the bagel to my lips, urging me to take another bite. The act of him feeding me, not caring I refused to take the food in my own hand, enthralled me as much as it scared me. Still, I bit.

“You don’t remember walking back to the room? And—after?”  He pierced me with his stare.

My throat tightened. After? What happened after? I rubbed my lips together, concentrating on the sweet residue from the cream cheese, and shook my head.

His gaze dropped, and so did his hand with the bagel. He grunted as he stood and turned away. “Well, we better get a move on…Harmony.”

My neck went numb. “How the hell do you know that?”

He bent forward, pushing his palms against his knees with a wry grin. “You told me. Last night.” His finger flicked a crumb from the corner of my mouth.

“I was drunk. It didn’t count, so forget I ever said it.”

“Not a chance.”

Heat prickled my cheeks, and I clambered off the bed in a huff. As I whirled around the room like a sandstorm, he leaned on the wall, folding his arms and grinning.

“I told you my real name,” he said.

I froze mid-way to shoving underwear in a side pocket. “What?”

“You heard me.”

With the underwear still in my hand, I strode over. “Tell me again. You know mine.”

“One little problem.” He held up a finger. “A woman once said to me, if it’s said while drunk, it doesn’t count.” His lips took a villainous curl.

My eyes narrowed into slits. He pushed off the wall and stood next to me, pressing his hip against my ribs. The proximity made my head race.

“Cute undies.” He slid on his sunglasses.

The ball was completely and utterly in his court. The worst part was…he knew it.

“Let’s go, Amazon. We’ve got training to do.” He bumped his back into the door.

I forced the rest of my clothes into my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Training?”

“Uh-huh. You agreed to it last night.” He held the door open for me with his booted foot. “Not letting you waddle your way out this one, though, gatáki. You would’ve agreed to it eventually anyway.”

Good Lord. What else did I agree to last night? Selling my soul?

The sun burned my eyes. “Ugh. I’m never drinking again.”

“You people always say it, but never mean it.” He twirled the fob key in his palm.

“You people?”

He tensed. “People. Humans. Us.”

If it weren’t for the car’s pristine cleanliness catching my attention, I might have pried further into that remark.

“Did you wash the rental car? Who does that?”

He opened the door and peered at me over the rim of his Aviators. “I figured you’d appreciate not having dried vomit on your door.”

I blinked. And here I thought I remembered making it to the room successfully, not puking. “But how—the bar was across the parking lot.” My mouth formed a tiny “o” as I tried to piece it together.

“You somehow managed to stumble over it when we were walking. At least it was ours, and not someone else’s, right?” His bright smile shined in contrast to his dark beard.

It took a lot to embarrass me, but my cheeks burned nonetheless. I whipped open the door and flopped into the passenger seat, curling a hand over my eyes.

He crawled in with a chuckle. “Happens to the best of us.”

Something in my gut told me it never happened to him.

I focused out the window. “Just drive, Spartan.” My neck stiffened.

“Spartan?”

My mind became one big mess of flutters, and I pointed at the steering wheel. “It’s the right pedal. Drive.”

He didn’t move for a beat, and then the car pulled away.

Tapping my hands on my knees, I shifted my eyes, hesitant to ask the burning question. “So…last night.”

“Yes?” A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

This bastard was going to make me flat out ask.

“Did we—I mean, I woke up, and it looked like you had been—”

“We slept together.” He kept his focus in front of him and sniffed once.

My heart fell to my feet, and my stomach did several swirls.

“We did?”

He rubbed his chin. “Too bad you don’t remember, huh? Didn’t seem to have any complaints, though.”

On the one hand, mortification twisted my insides like a sponge. On the other, I really did hate I couldn’t remember it.

He pulled his sunglasses to the tip of his nose. “Calm down, gatáki. All we did was exactly that. Sleep.”

“You spooned with me?”

He used his forefinger to push the Aviators back up. “Mmhm.”

I think I preferred us to have had sex—far less intimate in the grand scheme of things. “Why?”

“You asked me.”

My mouth opened, but no words followed. A vibration went off in my back pocket, and I grabbed my phone.

“Good God. Ten missed calls and fourteen texts from Chelsea,” I mumbled, pressing on her face to dial her number.

“Harm! What the actual fuck?” Her voice screamed through the earpiece.

I held it away from my face, grimacing. “Didn’t realize I had a curfew, Chels.”

“You were supposed to get drunk, not fall off the face of the planet.”

“Usually, those two coincide for me.”

I peeked at Mars, who half grinned.

“Did you at least get back to the hotel alright?”

I leaned my head back. “You hired the bodyguard. What do you think? I even managed to keep my shirt on. You should be proud.”

Mars turned to look at me, and I shrugged.

“Are you in the car?” Chelsea asked.

“Yeah, we’re—” I lowered the phone and focused on Mars. “Where the hell are we going?”

“My gym.”

“Your gym? You own a gym? Who are you?” I scrunched my nose at him before getting back with Chelsea. “We’re going to Mars’s gym. To train.”

“Well, that’s development. I’ll meet you there in a few hours. Got some news.”

Her tone didn’t sound as chipper as I would’ve liked. “Bad news?”

“See ya in a bit, Harm.” She hung up.

I sighed. It was definitely bad news.

“You’re doing it again,” Mars said with extra gruff.

“What now?”

“Focusing on the negative.”

I pulled the seatbelt away from my chest and turned fully in my seat. “And you don’t? I can tell you’re always one wrong move or one misinterpreted sentence away from exploding.”

He scratched his chin like a wolf. “You’re not wrong, but there’s a big difference between you and me.”

I raised my brow, waiting for an answer.

“I am negativity,” he growled, fishtailing the car into the gym parking lot.

The turn jolted my body backward, slamming it against the seat. Without missing a beat, he cut the engine, opened the door, shut it, and walked across the empty lot.

Ticking. Bomb.

The sign read in big, bold lettering: The Bulldog. A snarling black bulldog’s face glared down over the entrance.

“How’d you come up with the name?” I held back a gasp once he flipped the lights on.

It was a gym fit for The Karate Kid. Every inch had a mat except for the areas with bench presses or other weight machines.

“I like dogs.” He tore his jacket off, tossing it in a corner.

Back to four words or fewer sentences. Lovely.

He’d disappeared into the back and returned with a folded set of sweats, handing them to me.

“So, you live in Santa Fe?” I ran a finger over the bulldog logo on the front of the sweat pants.

“Vlákas, no. My manager does. I’m hardly ever here.” He pointed to the back. “You can change back there. Meet me on the center mat.”

He’d taken on a more commanding personality—one which demanded respect and knew its authority. I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or strangely turned on by it. After slipping into the sweats, I met him on the mat. He tossed me a padded sparring helmet.

I furrowed my brow. “Seriously?”

“No gloves. I’m actually going to clip you. What good will it do you to practice choreography? You need the real deal—a consequence for missing a block.”

There was no “try” in his statements. A tad unnerving.

“Alright. I’ll play it your way.” I slipped the helmet on, rolled my shoulders, and lifted my fists.

He circled me with the glazed stare of a predator with its prey. I remembered the same intensity in his eyes during the MMA fight, but I hadn’t been as close to experiencing it. He launched his right fist. I blocked it with my forearm and countered with a left jab.

He dodged it. “Good.”

The padded helmet pressed into my forehead, reminding me to avoid getting hit. He lunged, faking a right hook. I almost fell for it but pulled back, focusing on his left. He kicked me in the ass instead.

I grunted, ignoring the sting. Leaping forward, I gritted my teeth and threw a barrage of punches. One left hook. A right one. Jabs. Uppercuts. We looked like a Bruce Lee movie. Mars’s brow pinched, eyes not moving from mine. He grabbed my arm mid-swing, spun us around, and grazed the side of my head with his elbow.

Even with padding, it hurt like a motherfucker.

“Half of that was damn sloppy, Makos. You started solid and got desperate. Focus.” He pointed down, making his tattooed forearm bulge.

His words annoyed me, but I let it slide. Flashes of the battlefield pulsed in my mind. Unlike before, they didn’t make me stagger or fall to my knees—they propelled me. I threw swings I’d never thrown, moving across the mat with the grace of sliding over a frozen lake. He couldn’t hide the expression of shock with his slightly parted lips.

I jumped with my fist held back. His chin shot up, and as I came down, his arms enveloped my waist, and he pulled me to the ground. I waited for the harsh impact of the mat on my back, but instead, his hands gripped mine, holding me inches from falling. He stared at me with narrowed eyes before yanking me back to standing.

“New moves?” He cocked an eyebrow.

I wiped my clammy palms over my thighs. “Trying something new, yeah.”

“Do it again.” He backpedaled. “Only this time, I’m not going to go so easy on you.”

My stomach clenched. The flashes didn’t come this time. The same drive I’d felt moments ago flourished into an urge to win. I fought with the same intensity I always did, even managed to tag Mars’s ear, which incited a growl.

“Lucky shot. Be careful, though. You’re getting sloppy again,” he said, lifting his knee at my chest.

Throwing my forearms in a cross pattern, I deflected his knee down. He spun on his heel, sending a roundhouse kick. I blocked it, but it knocked me off balance. Kick. Punch. Kick. Kick.

“Get off the defense, Makos. Hit. Me,” he roared.

I cried out as I threw all I had at his chest. His hands caught my foot with lightning speed.

“Why are you taking this so seriously?” I yanked myself from his grasp.

He kept hold. “War is nothing but serious.”

“I’m not going to war, Mars. It’s a goddamned cage fight.”

“And that’s why you’re not the best.” He let go of my foot, lifting both hands.

I scoffed, letting my foot land on the mat with a thwack. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It takes passion fighting in a war—a passion for winning. You spend every day fighting an internal battle with yourself when the resolution is in that ring. That is your battle to win the war.”

I tore the helmet off.

How could such a brute be so poetic?

“Let’s try something else,” he said, walking away.

He came back with two wooden swords, swinging one around with a flick of his wrist. He tossed the other to me, and I caught it in one swift motion, throwing it from palm to palm.

“Swords? I’ve never fought with one. I think the only sword I’ve ever held was a fake replica of the Braveheart sword.”

“That’s a claymore, which is a tad larger. These are Greek. Xiphos, to be exact.”

The way he said the word “xiphos” made my stomach flip over itself.

“Normally, you’d use this as a secondary to your javelin, but since you fight in close-quarters at all times, these will work.”

I looked at the blade. “How is this going to translate to MMA?”

“The same rules apply. And you have a lot more to lose as much as to gain when fighting with a sword. A punch could equal a slash to a pertinent artery or cutting off a limb.” He slashed the blade back and forth, making a figure-eight pattern in the air between us.

My heart thudded against my ribs. It looked so natural to him—effortless.

“I don’t know the first thing about sword fighting.”

“Go with your gut instinct, gatáki. It’s why you’re training with me.” He didn’t let me stew on it any longer, stepping forward with a downward strike.

I flung my arms up like an orangutan and somehow managed to block his blade with mine. A new-found spring formed in my step, and I pushed his sword away. He cocked his head to the side and swung at my neck. I ducked, countering with a slash to his leg, hitting it.

He looked down and then lifted his eyes with a mix of anger and intrigue. Every slice of my sword, he’d duck, dodge, or parry. I went for his leg again, but he flicked his foot up, turning away on his opposite heel. He swung his blade to my left side. I dodged, and he quickly countered to the right. I grabbed his forearm, forcing it out of the way, and brought my sword down, stopping at his neck.

My chest heaved, gazing down at my wooden blade pressing into Mars’s skin.

“I thought you said you’ve never fought with swords before?” His gaze was like a lion circling his mate.

I expected him to be pissed I’d gotten the better of him. But the way his pupils dilated, his breathing matching the heaviness of my own, I ventured to say he wanted to kiss me or…more. “I haven’t.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Chelsea stood at the entrance.

The corner of Mars’s jaw bobbed, and he cracked his neck before turning away. I kept the sword in the air for a moment, still stunned over my performance.

“We were sparring,” I answered.

“I can see that. With swords, no less. Interesting choice.”

Mars rubbed his bicep. “I feel more at home with a blade in my hand. Apparently—” He looked at me over his shoulder. “So does she.”

“Maybe you’re in the wrong profession, Harm.” Chelsea whipped out her tablet, not bothering to take her purse off.

“Hit me with it already.” I twirled the sword in my hand.

Mars watched me, combing his fingers through his beard.

“There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes. I have bad news and good news. Bad news first?”

“Whatever.” I posed with the sword above my head before pointing the tip down and slicing the air with it.

Mars’s stare turned feral, and he widened his stance.

“Three people have pulled out of their matches with you. They only want to go for the title.” Her bright eyes stared at me, unblinking.

I made a tsk sound. “Saw that coming. What could possibly be good news?”

“The owner of the MMA league is holding a Halloween party tomorrow night.” She bounced.

I rested the blade of the sword on my shoulder, trying to ignore Mars’s sultry gaze. “Your point?”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “His mansion is in Santa Fe. And everyone will be there. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to rub elbows and get yourself back on top.”

 Looking up at the ceiling, I let out a heavy sigh. There’d be no arguing with her. “When’s the last time you’ve seen me do anything for Halloween?”

“Great time to start.” She yanked an orange bag from her purse, holding it out to me by the handles, and shaking it. “Your costume.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “My entire costume is in there? What is it, a bikini?”

Mars leaned to one side, scoping the bag.

“Nope, but guaranteed to turn some heads. I’ve gotta run.” She squished my cheeks together, making my lips look like a fish. “Make me proud tomorrow.”

I fake smiled. “Always.”

She turned away with a flick of fiery hair, pausing near Mars as she passed. Playing with her necklace, she chewed on her bottom lip. “Have a nice day, Mars.”

He half-waved. “Bye, Chelsea.”

As soon as the door shut, I tossed the bag on a table and spun my sword. “Ready for round two?”

Mars used his foot to hoist the blade back in his hand with a gleam in his eye. “I’ve created a monster.”

He had no idea.

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