Ares (Contemporary Mythos Book 3)
Ares: Chapter 13

His lips didn’t quiver into a smile. The corners of his jaw tightened, and one eyebrow ticked. He wasn’t kidding. A vague memory surfaced from the other night—him whispering the same words to me as I fell asleep.

“You’ve told me this before,” I squeaked.

His eyes searched my face almost frantically. “Yes. You said it made a lot of sense.”

“In a world where myths and legends exist, sure. But Mars—” I cocked my head, staring up at him, waiting for him to lose it and laugh so hard he bent forward. It didn’t happen. “You can’t be serious? You think you’re the God of War?”

His grip tightened on my shoulders before dropping his hands to ball into fists. “I don’t think—” he yelled, pausing and shutting his eyes. “I don’t think I’m the God of War. I am,” he finished in a more calm tone. “Do you remember the way you felt in your dream? The visions? How it all seemed real?”

I blinked so rapidly it blurred my vision as I backed up until my calves hit against the nearest surface to brace myself.

“Morpheus. The reason I tried to avoid him touching you? He’s the god of dreams. What he incites in you are your deepest desires or what could’ve come to pass in a different life path.”

I rubbed the skin between my eyes. “Are you trying to say what I dreamt, us on the battlefield together, and—” I gulped. “After, were mirages of what could’ve been if—” The words escaped me, the stale air in the room devouring them.

“If you would’ve been alive in those times, yes.” He kept his distance, even though his constant shifting stance and tense posture suggested he wanted to come closer.

There was no denying how real the visions felt—the smells, the feel of smoke tendrils curling around my fingers, his skin pulsing against mine as we—

I shot to my feet, my heart racing, remembering how alive I’d felt in that tent—with him—with…war.

That red glint in his eyes, the strength, my crazy dreams. It couldn’t be possible. It just couldn’t. “Why now? And if you are real, why are you, a Greek god, roaming earth?”

He sucked on his teeth. “You said it yourself, gatáki. It sounds crazy claiming yourself a god, especially in the modern age where we’re merely a footnote in history—reduced to myth. We still exist, and we’re anything but figments of stories created by mortals. We blend in and still use our powers. Only now, we do it without fear or worship. We do it because it’s what we were born to do.”

Focusing my gaze, I shifted between his eyes and lips as he spoke. He carried himself with a fierce and masculine grace that pulled at a primal part of me. A heathen side buried deep, yearning for remembrance. I wrapped my arms around myself as if the world were falling to pieces around me. With each step closer to him, the earth shattered a little bit more.

He stood still, his brow cinched, distorting his features. When I stood at arm’s length, I touched his cheek—a radiating heat vapored from him. He was every bit as real as I was—flesh and bone, anguish, and lust.

“I don’t know how to believe you.” My voice—small and fluttery—didn’t sound like me. It belonged to a woman seeking hope again—finding a calling. That hadn’t been me for as long as I could remember.

Lifting his chin, he sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “I can show you.” His hand slid over mine, the rough calluses on his palm scraping over my knuckles—hardened skin forged by war itself, by weapons built for destruction. “Right now. I can show you, Harm.”

The way he looked at me had every nerve sizzling under my skin. “Show me.”

I let him lead me out the door, down the hallway, and outside to the parking lot. The cold air whipped over my bare skin, reminding me we both still looked like we’d come from a Renaissance Faire. But I didn’t care. Right now, it was him and me, and the rest of the world could fuck right off.

Street lights flickered, buzzed, and popped as we neared an alleyway. Clouds covered most of the moon and stars, leaving a faulty light as the only sliver of illumination. It flashed on and off in spurts like an erratic strobe light.

His nostrils quivered, his grip tightening on my hand before he growled and turned, stalking toward the alley. He let go before we rounded the corner, squeezing my biceps.

“Stay here.” His voice was a general giving his soldier a command.

I nodded, nerves scratching at the inside of my belly. He said he’d show me. I agreed to it before knowing what it meant. Was he going to kill someone? Invoke a horse and chariot from thin air? My nails dug into the brick wall beside me, two of them cracking.

A man’s voice muttered, “Here. Take it. Just let me go.”

It was enough to make me peer around the corner. Five men with dark hoodies, half their faces covered with cloth, surrounded a businessman in a suit holding his wallet. The speed and intensity of Mars’s steps increased with every inch he gained. Their heads whipped in his direction, two of them aiming pistols.

My eyes widened as I reached out. “Mars!”

A shot rang out. I sank to my knees, the asphalt bruising them as I covered my head. Peering over my forearm, I saw Mars’s hand launch out and curl into a fist. He threw the same hand at the ground and the subtle sound of metal clanking against stone pounded in my ears.

Did he…catch the bullet with his bare hand?

I shifted across the alleyway, securing myself behind a wall. The would-be victim in the suit clutched his briefcase and crouched behind a dumpster.

“What the hell?” An armed man said, raising the gun to shoot again. “Who are you, Freak Show?”

Mars shoved his palm against the barrel right as it fired. He grabbed the man’s forearm and launched the gun into his face. The man cried out, holding his bleeding nose. Another man charged, and Mars lifted his arm and splayed his hand. The man flew backward as if catapulted by a random gust of wind.

My neck went numb—the bathroom door that one night. I’d blamed a blast of air conditioning, but what if—no. No, Makos. I beat my palm against my forehead.

The man launched into the wall while another ran up to Mars. He spun around, shoved his hand into the man’s chest, and lifted him from the ground like a stuffed bear.

“Tell me, what sort of vlákas satisfaction does it give you to rob a single defenseless man, hm? There is no conquest here. Only petty means to temporarily fill your own pockets.” He roared his words, holding the man up with one hand. The man clawed at Mars’s arms, gasping for breath.

Conquest. It meant pillaging and looting a village as a means of intimidation—conquering lands, not stealing from a hard-working man at gunpoint.

And there I went again, as if the warrior life, the mentality of it, had always been a part of me. And now, as I caught sight of the menacing yet intoxicating form that was Mars—the tigress in me beckoned.

The man with the broken nose ran past me, holding the gun up, ready to fire at Mars’s back. The man shot, but I slammed my elbow into his shooting arm, breaking it. The man cried out in agony, and I caught the firearm as it fell to the ground, landing on my side with a grunt.

The man he’d thrown into the wall had regained consciousness, and he ran at Mars with a knife he pulled from his jacket. I lifted the gun, ready to shoot to kill. Mars opened his hand at me, and the gun flew from my hands, exploding into a hundred pieces once it landed on the ground. I stared wide-eyed, remaining on the ground, digging my nails into the hardened surface beneath me. Mars dropped the man he’d been holding and caught the other man’s knife-wielding arm as he struck.

He turned him around to face the other one as he got to his feet, touching both men on their shoulders. Mars’s eyes glowed blood red as they turned on each other, punching, kicking, and grabbing. Police sirens bounced off the walls of surrounding buildings. Mars’s gaze turned on me, the fiery intensity diminishing to a smolder. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe—forgot how to rationalize. Should I be scared of him?

Was all of this real, or was I just as insane as he was?

I jumped to my feet, sprinting away. The destination was unclear, but I needed to escape. To think, to process, to maybe even…cry. My sinuses stung, and I ran until my legs and lungs burned, begging me to stop. Passersby stared at the Amazon flailing through downtown Santa Fe, and I let them. I flopped onto a set of stairs in front of a closed bank, dropping my head between my knees. Tears threatened, but I forced them back with every bit of strength I had left.

“Have I completely screwed things up?”

His deep voice laced with that accent sent a delicious chill over my chest. I slowly lifted my head, looking up at him through strands falling over his eyes. I’d never seen a man so fierce yet surprisingly beautiful. His eyes fell to his feet, and he flicked the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Tell me. What am I supposed to say right now? What am I supposed to think? How am I supposed to react?”

He licked his bottom lip with a squint. “I don’t have those answers for you, gatáki.” He did a quick twist on his heel, turning to sit on the steps near me.

“You’re still going with this? The whole Greek god thing?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been over a thousand years since I presented myself to a mortal as what I am.” He hung his hands between his legs. “But back then, people believed in us.” His brow furrowed. “I knew convincing a modern mortal would be difficult, catastrophic even, but I didn’t predict the pang of guilt I’d feel seeing your anguished face.” He lifted his gaze to mine.

Tears rolled down my cheeks, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.

His face fell, and he turned to me, canting his head to one side. He lifted his hands, dropped them, and then lifted a single finger, brushing it across my cheek. “Why are you crying?”

I wanted to feel his skin against mine, wanted him to wrap his arms around me, but I knew it’d only make it worse. Pinching my eyes shut, I shrugged away from him. “This changes everything, Mars.”

He curled his hand and rested it on his knee like he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “It’s the price I pay, but what should I have done? Strung you along?”

My vision blurred. “You really are him,” I whispered, staring into those midnight eyes. The same eyes that beamed at me as we fought side by side against opposing forces. The same eyes that kept my gaze as he drove into me in the tent afterward.

“Yes.” He turned his back to me.

I clapped my hands over my mouth. Two bullet-sized holes were in his costume. No blood. No wounds. Not even welts that would’ve been there if they’d used fake rubber ammo.

“I’ll call Chelsea in the morning. Ask her to transfer in a new bodyguard,” he said in a low, solemn voice as he brushed a fingertip down my cheek—a touch so quick and fleeting. Defeated. He pushed to his feet.

I grabbed his forearm, the smell of leather and musk tantalizing my insides. He stared down at me with hooded eyes, his arm tensing under my touch. “Don’t. Let me think my way through this.”

He traced the tip of his thumb over my bottom lip. “Fair enough.”

“I need to talk to Chels. Alone.” I stared up at him. “Please.”

He leaned forward like he wanted to kiss me but rubbed the back of his neck instead. “I’ll be down the hall.”

“Because you can still hear if anything goes wrong. I thought you were talking out of your ass.” I stood up, dragging my hands over my face.

“Yes. I’ll know.”

I walked toward the hotel, Mars trailing behind me. Snapping my fingers, I turned on my heel.

“Are you going to be able to hear our entire conversation?”

Mars’s eyes shifted. “I’ll—tune it out as much as I can.”

I blinked once, waiting for him to smile, throw his hands out to his sides, and tell me I was being Punk’d. He didn’t.

Turning back around, I called Chelsea.

“What’s up?” She answered.

“Hey, could you meet me at my room? I need to talk to you.”

Silence. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

I pulled the phone away from my ear, checking to make sure I’d called Chelsea. “What? Hell no. Meet me. Okay?”

More silence. “Okay. Leaving right now.”

Mars appeared beside me. “I can assume what you wish to talk to her about, but you can’t tell her the whole truth, Harm.”

“Are you kidding? I can barely repeat the truth to myself.” I blew out a harsh breath. “She wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

Once we reached our hotel room door, I watched him sulk down the hallway as I hovered the room key over the lock. It clicked, and the light turned green, but my eyes stayed on Mars. He reached the bench nestled underneath a window at the end of the hall. When he turned, spotting me still standing in front of the door, he cocked his head to one side. His dark eyes called to me, making me remember how his lips felt against my neck when we danced.

He kept his gaze locked with mine as he slowly sat down. The ancient song we danced to trickled over my brain like dripping wax. With every drop, it hardened, making a permanent impression in my mind, the way his callused fingers touched my bare stomach. I dragged my hand over the skin there.

“When you said to meet at your room, I thought you meant inside.” Chelsea’s voice jarred me back to reality. “And why are you still in your costume?” She scanned me from head to toe.

I ran the card over the reader, grabbing the handle as soon as the light turned green.

“Long story.”

With her purse hanging from one forearm, she turned to look down the hallway with a squint.

“Shouldn’t he be in here? Why is he glowering in the hallway?”

I grabbed the crook of her elbow and pulled her. “He’s got it handled.”

As soon as I turned the light on, my heart dropped to my feet. I’d forgotten about the destruction Mars left in his wake.

“Jesus, Harmony. What the hell happened? He didn’t—” Her brow cinched, and her cheeks flushed.

“No. No, he didn’t. Mars has a lot of…pent up anger. Not sure if you knew that before hiring him.”

“I could’ve assumed given his type, but—” She hugged her purse to her chest. “I didn’t think it was at this level. Is this what you wanted to talk to me about? Do you want a new bodyguard?” She grabbed her phone.

I yanked it from her grasp and guided her over to the couch. “Sit down.”

“You’re scaring me,” she said, sinking to the green cushion.

I sat on the armrest, holding Chelsea’s phone hostage in my palms. “I need you to tell me how crazy I am. On a scale of one to ten, with one being, I’m worried for nothing and ten being, I find Charles Manson to have been misunderstood.”

“Eight.”

“You didn’t let me say anything yet.” I narrowed my eyes. “You think I’m a crazy level eight?”

She scratched the back of her ear. “Impulse. Please continue.”

“Mars doesn’t just have this…simmering anger. He’s—different.” I tossed her phone from one hand to the other.

“Different how?”

Did I imagine this conversation being easy?

“He’s got these special skills that he can’t put into full practice, or else someone could get hurt.”

Chelsea cocked an eyebrow at the broken lamp inches from her foot on the floor. “Skills, huh? Looks like a t-rex raged through here.”

My shoulders tensed. “He’s had…special training. Like, beyond Neo training.”

A Matrix reference? I really was grasping at straws.

“And you’re concerned about these skills because of what effect they could have on you?” She scooted forward, squinting one eye.

The effect they could have? Oh, we were much past that.

“Before I knew about these skills, I—” Standing up, I clutched the phone against my side and turned my back on her.

“Liked him? You can say the words.”

I whipped around, fear burning down my spine. “He—we—it’s like we were born from the same mold.”

“You two have things in common? I wouldn’t have ever guessed, given the stubborn loner mentalities you both exude. Not to mention, you know, the whole fighting thing.” She jabbed the air with her fist.

I sighed, slapping my hands against my thighs. “Chelsea, this is serious.”

“Sorry.” She stood, tossing her purse on the couch. “You’re right. I’m not used to having these conversations with you. Well, we’ve never had this conversation.”

“The craziest part is, those skills he has? They don’t bother me at all. And they should. They really, really should.” Biting my thumbnail. I stared at the swirling vine patterns in the carpet.

“Why? It sounds like these ‘skills’ you’re so mum about may take a particular type of person to understand them. To maybe even appreciate them?”

I let my lower lip roll past my teeth and managed to find the courage to look at her.

“Am I on the right track?”

“Basically.”

She half-smiled, plucking her phone from my death grip. “Sounds like you have your mind made up, Harm. You don’t need my approval.”

“Don’t I? You’re my publicist.”

“Since when did you think that meant I have any control over your sex life?”

I grimaced.

“We’re all adults here. And to be honest, if I step back and stop talking to you as a friend and only your publicist…it wouldn’t be a bad thing for your image. It shows you have actual feelings inside that steel shell.”

“Chelsea.”

She shrugged, flicking her thumb over her phone screen. “Just being honest. Are you good?”

There’s no way she could ever understand the depths of his differences, but her words still somehow settled in. It was enough.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Oh!” She slapped her hand on my shoulder. “Anderson got in touch with me. We got a fight set up for you with a fighter who calls herself The Trojan. It’s not a title fight, but it’s some gimmicky Greek deal. Okay with you?”

“It’s going to have to be.”

“That’s my girl.” She tapped her knuckle under my chin. “I have to catch my flight back to Denver. But if anything happens, that you don’t want to happen…” She gave a devious smile.

I rolled my eyes.

“Call me. Pronto. Got it?”

“Got it.”

She nodded once and backed out into the hallway. “Hey, Mars.” She grinned. A different type of smile than I’d ever seen on her.

His large arm pushed against the door, keeping it ajar. His exposed abs tightened, and my breathing went out of control. Once Chelsea walked away, he slipped inside and slowly let it shut.

Click.

“Show me what you look like,” I blurted.

His brow creased. “What?”

“You can’t tell me this is how the God of War normally looks.”

He interlaced his fingers behind his back. “What am I supposed to look like?”

I focused my gaze on his boots sliding against the carpet as he moved forward. “I don’t know. Half-bull, half-man, or something?”

“That would be the Minotauros. And the last I checked, he’s dead.” He half-smiled.

A breath caught in my throat. “Give me a break. I haven’t studied Greek mythology since middle school.”

“We’ll have to rectify that.” Another step forward. “That is…if you’ll still have me.”

Have me.

My stomach did somersaults. I scraped my fingernails over my throat.

“Are you going to show me?”

“Very well.”

He held his hands to the ground. Red smoke swirled around him, and when it cleared, he stood in the same armor I’d seen him in earlier—menacing, deadly, and intense. His red cape flapped as if there were a constant wind current in the room, and his skin glowed like bronze. The Spartan-styled helmet cast a dark shadow over his face with flickering flames for eyes. A shield clung to his back—javelin in one hand, a xiphos in the other.

As if he couldn’t get any more attractive.

I slid forward, hesitantly reaching for the shadow over his face. Grasping my wrist, he brought my hand to his face, his beard prickling my fingers.

“The shadow is just a mirage,” he said, his voice deeper and gravelly.

“And your eyes?”

“Those are mine. But the flames won’t hurt you, gatáki.”

I traced my fingers over the contours of his helmet. The same helmet he wore in my dream. How could it possibly be all coincidence? Unlikely. That’s how. “I need to see more, Mars. As much as you can show me.”

He slipped the helmet off, revealing his human face, and the tip of his tongue peeked from the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough. I have an idea. Would you mind if I skipped the car drive?” He closed the space between us and curled an arm around me.

“How else would we get—”

My words were cut short. We appeared outside in a flash of white light and red smoke beneath the moon and stars. The dew cast a sheen over the bricks of surrounding buildings.

“—there,” I finished with a shaky voice. Jeans, jacket, and shirt had replaced my Amazon costume.

His nose ever so slightly grazed my cheek as he turned away. It was unnerving how much I missed seeing him in his armor. So many feelings clicked into place with Mars. Everything felt answered, yet my mind whirled with neverending questions. Why me? How did I fit into all this? I worked up the courage to flat out ask him for a fraction of a second but swallowed it back down.

“After I retired, I fought a couple of matches here. I still can’t fight to my full potential, but it’s the best I’m going to get for the time being.”

We walked through a quiet alley to a rusted metal slab door. A slit peeled back, revealing a pair of sunken brown eyes.

“Burro,” Mars said.

The slit slammed shut, and the large door creaked open. Cheers, whistles, and yells reverberated off the walls. Overhead lights flickered on and off, with the main one centered on the make-shift cage comprised of nothing but a chain-link fence in the middle of the room.

“Underground fights?”

His brow pinched. “Are you still in?”

A familiar face beamed from the crowd, her beady eyes and resting bitch face too recognizable. The woman who threatened my life and tried to have me killed. My blood heated, making my neck clammy.

“I’m in,” I growled.

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