Текст книги "Bound to the battle god"

Автор книги: Ruby Dixon

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8

I have to admit, it’s a pretty good butt. I guess that’s to be expected when you’re a god, though. It’s pale as the rest of him, but the globes are perfectly shaped and muscular. Not that I care, because it’s attached to a holy pain in the ass. Literally. He puts his hands on his hips and surveys the room. “Who are those maidens in the back that are not allowed to celebrate?”

The prelate’s gaze flicks to me and I get a chill down my spine. He knows I’m to blame for this. I lift my chin, unwilling to back down to him. I get a seat on the dais now, after all, and he doesn’t. That makes me more important. He can suck it.

Granted, it’s a seat at Aron’s feet, but it’s still a seat above his.

The prelate clears his throat delicately. “Those are offerings to the gods.”

He makes it sound so benign that I can’t help but speak up. “A bunch of people brought slaves to the temple. He picks the cream of the crop and then the rest are sacrificed at dawn,” I pipe in.

Both men turn to glare at me. Sheesh.

Aron of the Cleaver turns back to the prelate, and the thunder overhead rolls ominously. “Why are they sacrificed to the gods?”

“As an offering of our devotion, of course. It has been that way for many, many centuries, my lord.”

Aron crosses his arms over his chest, all pale naked body and stormy anger. “Have the gods ever asked for such a thing?”

The prelate is silent.

“I asked you a question. Have you been commanded by me—or any other—to sacrifice innocents?”

“It is tradition,” the prelate says faintly. “Slaves are given as cleaver brides every Anticipation—”

“I do not recall it being written in the sacred scrolls. Is it?” His voice is so casual and imperious at once, and I admit I’m hunching my shoulders every time he speaks, just because he sounds so darn mad—and the thunder crackles overhead constantly.

After a moment, the prelate licks his lips. “It is not, my Lord of Storms.”

“Is any of this in the sacred scrolls?” Aron flicks his hand at the crowded, trashed temple full of drunk, stuffed partygoers. At that moment, a naked woman squeals and runs from a man in red temple robes. “This carousing?”

I can practically feel the cringe of the prelate. “It is not, my lord. But it is all tradition done in your honor—”

“Then stop,” Aron snarls. He whips about and moves back to his chair, and I catch a glimpse of pale, hairless body and he’s just as muscular in the chest as he is in the backside…and I notice that he’s got large balls and an even bigger cock. Like, huge.

Okay, well, that answers that.

God-cock is apparently very impressive.

Aron flings himself back onto his throne and clamps his hands down on the arms. “This is my temple, is it not? Perhaps you should spend your time obeying my wishes?” His voice is practically a snarl.

The prelate drops his forehead to the floor again. “Of course, Lord of Storms.”

The angry god flicks his gaze over to me. I notice one eye is brown and one is green, and I’m frozen underneath that unusual gaze. “What am I a god of, woman?”

Oh shit, is this a trick question? “Cleavers?”

Someone makes a terrified sound.

His eyes narrow.

Pin drop.

I smile brightly even though the air is so heavy and ominous it feels like I’m about to be throttled from afar. “I should probably point out that I’m not from here and so I don’t know that answer.”

“Battle,” the prelate offers in a thin voice. “Battle and thunder.”

“That was going to be my second guess,” I add. “Don’t see what that has to do with sacrificing maidens. You guys would probably be better off holding a duel or a fight or something.”

The room gets quiet. The prelate stares at me with hot eyes as if he can’t believe that I’m daring to speak. Well, tough luck. Speaking up got me a cushion on the dais, and if that’s the only advantage I get, I’m going to use it. I suspect I’ll be paying for my “privilege” soon enough.

I should have never brought up the butt stuff.

“My servant is correct,” Aron says after a long moment. “You do me no honor with your sacrifice. If you wish to honor me with blood, do so on the field of battle. Release those maidens to go back to their families.”

“They are slaves, my Lord—”

“Then keep them and feed them as you would any other temple slave.”

“Of course, my Lord.” He sounds like he’s chewing glass.

One of the women in the back begins to sob loudly, and I can see the irritation spreading over Aron’s face. He gestures at the woman, who’s weeping as if she’s just now realizing she’s going to die, except she isn’t. “Why does she cry?”

I have to admit I’m as mystified as he is.

The prelate straightens himself, as if finding his spine. “She is dishonoring her master if she is not sacrificed to honor the gods.”

As I watch, Aron pinches the bridge of his nose, as if beat down by all of this. “How is it dishonorable if she is serving my temple at my wishes?”

The woman’s crying eases and her sniffles turn to surprise, and then she stumbles forward, dropping to her knees a short distance away from Aron’s throne. “I only wish to serve, Lord of Storms. However I can, I wish to be of service to the gods.”

I actually feel sorry for Aron for a brief moment, because he looks so frustrated with the situation that his jaw clenches and I suspect he’s moments away from rolling his eyes. “Serve my temple. And quit crying. The gods do not like tears,” he snaps.

All the gods or just this one, I wonder?

The prelate bows and then the other women are dropping to their knees, weeping their thanks. Aron just looks even more annoyed and his hand curls into a fist against one of the arm rests.

He looks like he’s about to change his mind, so I pipe up. “I bet all these new servants of the temple will start their work—their devotion,” I correct, glancing over at Aron, “to the gods early in the morning. Someone should probably show them where they’re sleeping so they can get some rest. It’s late.”

As in, get them out of here so Aron doesn’t lose his shit.

I give the prelate a pointed look but he only glares at me like I’m the jerk for daring to speak up. One of the red-robed priests in the back seems to be smarter, though. He gathers up some of the weeping, prostrating women and begins to usher them down a back hall. The prelate bows to the god and backs away, returning to his chair, and some of the tension in Aron’s jaw eases. The low hum of the room picks up again, conversations going once more.

I’m left alone, sitting at the feet of the crankiest, most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and he looks as if he’s sucking lemons. What he did has made the hard knot in my chest ease a little, though. I touch his leg to get his attention and ignore the spark of electricity that shudders through me. “Thank you—“

“Do not thank me,” he snaps, cutting me off. “If it did not suit my needs, I would not have spoken up. Do not mistake me for a kind, gentle god. I am not one.”

Yeesh. I pull my hand back.

I go back to watching the room, though it seems a lot of people are clearing out now that it’s getting closer to dawn. There’s a lot of yawning and the food laid out on the tables has long since been demolished, and the smell of it is starting to turn. There are puddles on the marble flooring that tell of spilled wine and I delicately kick aside a crust of bread with my foot and try to hold back my own yawn. What happens now, I wonder. Even though I’ve stress-eaten through the entire platter, I’m still hungry, and the long day is catching up to me. Now that the spine-clenching fear of death is gone, I’m exhausted. I’m going to live for another day, and even if I have to deal with Aron and his shit, I’ll take it.

Of course, it’s been one long, never-ending shit storm ever since I got to this place. No wonder I’m tired. I watch as people glance uneasily in Aron’s direction and sneak out however they can. No one knows what to do around the god. I can’t blame them. He’s not exactly shown himself to be a cuddly, kindhearted sort.

Bet they’re regretting this whole “Anticipation” thing now.

I glance up at Aron, but if he notices people are sliding away and leaving, he’s not showing it. He continues to stare stonily ahead, watching the dwindling crowd, and his expression is the same unpleasant one it always is.

It strikes me that maybe he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now. If this is his first time being among people, maybe he doesn’t know that at some point, people go to bed? They don’t sit and glare at the crowd like they’re insulting him with their presence? And if I’m his servant—his anchor—am I the one that has to break the news to him? Because for every person that slips away, there’s another robed one waiting at the fringes of the room, faces a mixture of anticipation and exhaustion. I know how that feels.

I look around for the prelate, because maybe it’s time to be mouthy and speak up about getting Aron a room for the night so everyone can get some sleep. Of course, that might mean I’ll have to “serve” Aron in ways I’d prefer not to, but I’m so tired that I’m willing to just get it over with at this point.

The prelate’s chair is empty, Avalla half-asleep and leaning against the side of it. Did he slip out, too? I scan the room, looking for the bald head in the red robes and find him in a shadowy corner. A chill skitters up my spine as I see that he’s talking to a familiar, pear-headed soldier. My old owner. Sinon.

Both are looking in this direction and talking, and they’re wearing unpleasant expressions. As I watch, Sinon fingers his sword pommel thoughtfully.

I have a bad feeling about that. The prelate looks just as unpleasant, and I suspect they’re not happy with the god they got. Maybe they should have worshipped a nature god instead of a war one.

Their intense conversation continues, and they keep looking over at Aron. I know no one’s a huge fan of the guy right now, but the way they’re talking makes my skin prickle. I think we need to break that up, just in case. I glance up at Aron on his throne and notice that his eyes are a little glassy, his lids heavy. He looks tired.

Does he not know he doesn’t have to stay in his throne all night?

Hesitantly, I touch his leg again. This time, I’m prepared for the shock that ripples down my hand as I graze his skin. “Should I ask the prelate to prepare a chamber for you?”

The god’s gaze flicks down to me. “Why?”

“So you can sleep? Rest? Relax?

“Sleep,” he repeats, and I don’t know if he’s considering the suggestion or trying to figure out what it means. “Very well. Go and retrieve the prelate and tell him I wish for a chamber.”

I get to my feet and dust off the bottom of my too-short minidress-slash-skirt. I have to admit I want to hear what they’re saying. I cross the room and take my way winding through the crowd that remains.

I sidle up to the two men engaged in furious conversation in the corner of the room. They haven’t noticed I’m approaching, and so I move ever so silently closer, trying to stealth in on their chat.

“It should be obvious which one he is,” the prelate is murmuring. “The question is, what do we do about it?”

“What we have to,” the soldier—my old owner—says. “If she can’t be controlled, and he can’t be swayed, Aventine might be better off…”

I accidentally kick a half-eaten piece of fruit that squelches against my foot as I move forward, and both men look over at me. Shit. I smile brightly, putting on my most vapid expression so they won’t see the fear pounding in my heart. I don’t understand most of their conversation, but I’m pretty sure it’s not good news. “Hi. The god is ready to go to sleep for the night. Is there a room prepared for him?” And just because I can’t help but be a little catty toward these two jerks, I add, “Something appropriate for his amazing godhood, of course.”

Both men exchange a look. Neither one moves from their shadowy corner. “My rooms are the finest in this temple,” the prelate says after a moment. “I can have them readied for him. And you? What do you require?”

They stare at me so hard that I feel like I’m on the spot. I get the sense that this question is loaded. “Like…sleep-wise? I’m pretty sure he wants me to sleep with him. In his room,” I add because that might sound a little slutty. Truth be told, I thought I’d be getting into this gig and doing that sort of thing to save my hide, but so far Aron of the Cleaver has shown zero interest in my person. It’s kind of a relief…if only he wasn’t so insulting about it.

“Sleep-wise or anything else,” the prelate says. “Do you require money? Wealth? Jewelry? Do you like pretty things?” He smiles creepily.

At first, I’m insulted. Is he asking if I like shiny objects because I’m a fucking girl? Then I realize there’s a far more sinister aspect to this. I’m being bribed. At some point, because I’m now attached to that sparking, pale asshole of a god, I’ve become important. I can switch allegiances and go with these guys and whatever nefarious shit they have planned. I can help them take out Aron—because I have no doubt in my mind that this is the ultimate plan to take back control—and ask whatever I want in money or prizes. I can ask for all the slaves in the city to be freed. I can ask for anything and everything.

All I have to do is work with these two.

I consider it for a brief, shining moment. Aron hasn’t won any love from me. Guy’s an enormous dick and loves to make me feel small on a regular basis, and I’ve only known him for a few hours. I don’t have anything in this world and these two are offering me safety and security…sort of.

But then I think of how Aron saved the lives of all the blonde slaves. Maybe there’s something under that asshole exterior after all. I’ve been brought here for a reason, and Aron’s that reason—I think. I can’t betray him. Not when he saved me, too. He could have looked me up and down like the prelate did, sneered at me, and picked a different blonde. Instead, he tied himself to me and me to him.

I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a traitor. “I’m good, thanks.”

Their expressions grow cold. Shuttered. The prelate nods. “So be it. I will have my slaves prepare the chambers for the Lord of Storms.”

“Spiffy. I’ll tell him.” I keep the bright smile on my face though everything in me is screaming to run away. This feels…wrong. I can’t quite shake the feeling that these two are going to try something, and I need to be aware of it.

Aron does, too.

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9

A short time later, Aron and I are led down the winding stone halls of the temple. They descend into the earth and I’m reminded of the pyramids back home, but we only go down a few floors, where the stones are cooler and overall the humid heat from above is nonexistent. The temperature change makes the place pleasant for all that it’s endless carved stone and torchlit halls. At the end of one of the long hallways, double doors are opened and we’re led into a sumptuous, enormous chamber. There are more torches along the walls, so the room is a little smoky, and straw is scattered over the stone floors, which seems like a fire hazard to me.

There’s a large circular bed in the center of the room, ornate draperies hanging above it like a headboard. Anchored on one wall is a massive ornate axe, the symbol of Aron himself. The bed looks big enough for four people. This is a nice room…but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not safe.

The prelate’s nowhere around, though. There are serving girls, all dressed in the short linen skirt and nothing else, and they bow and simper and wait for Aron to address them.

He stands in the room and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do next. Poor guy’s pretty lost. I suspect this is all very new to him. I also think he wouldn’t want them to see how he doesn’t have basic knowledge of things like sleep or clothing. So I step forward and gesture at the serving girls. “You can all leave now.”

They look surprised and hesitate. A few of them glance over at Aron, as if waiting to see if he contradicts me.

The god gives them his best imperious look. “Did you not hear my anchor?”

“Of course, my lord,” one murmurs breathlessly and then they’re all bent over, bowing and scuttling from the room like frightened crabs.

I wait patiently until they’re gone, and then I shut the heavy wooden doors to the room behind us. After that, I move around the room, pulling up wall hangings and looking for secret passages. I find one behind an ornate tapestry in front of a statue, and push the statue back against the door there so no one can get in. And then I shove one of the heavy wooden chests against it, barricading us in. That done, I look over at Aron.

He stands in the middle of the room, watching me with a curious look on his face. Still naked. I realize a moment later I’ve more or less locked myself into a room with a naked man who can do anything he wants to me. God, I’m dumb. I hope he’ll realize now is not the time to get freaky, though. “We need to talk.”

“I thought we came to this room to sleep. Is that not what humans do?” Incredibly, he manages to sound as imperious in private as he does in public.

“You and I need to get some basic groundwork established so we can work together as a team—”

“We are still not a team,” he snarls at me, and I can hear distant thunder rumble overhead.

“Fine, whatever,” I exclaim. God, he’s still pissypants even in private. What the hell? But that doesn’t mean I can’t work around this. I have to because I can’t shake the feeling that the prelate is up to something bad. But I need to know more about Aron for starters so I know what I’m working with. “Can I ask you a few questions? I just want to know a bit more about this you and me thing.” I gesture between the two of us. “I’m not used to being an anchor or whatever it is I’m called. I’m not entirely clear on what that means.”

“You had to clear everyone out of this room so you could ask me what an anchor is?” He crosses his arms over his chest, stance arrogant as if he’s not buck naked in front of me. It takes everything I have to maintain eye contact, because every time he moves, the jiggle of his hog is distracting.

“No, I cleared everyone out of the room to protect us. The less they know about you and me, the better. They’re probably spying for the prelate.”

He grunts. “I would be surprised if they are not.”

“So let’s pretend I’m new here. What does an anchor do? Something tells me it’s more than just fetching your slippers.”

The god’s eyes narrow at me. “How can you not know?”

“Do you not know either?”

His mouth thins into a firm line and he’s silent. “There are some things I seem to have forgotten.”

“Well, shit.” It’s the blind leading the blind around here. I can’t blame him, though. It sounds like there’s a lot that’s new to him and he wasn’t the one that came up with the whole “anchor” thing. It’s obvious that the prelate knows what’s going on, but I’m also pretty damn sure he’s the last person we want to admit a vulnerability to. “Okay, first things first, we need to find someone that will tell us what we need to know. Is there any place you can think of where they’d be loyal to you and open to telling the truth?”

His ice-pale eyes narrow and he looks furious. “Loyalty? This is my temple. Why would they not be loyal to me?”

I move closer to him because he’s getting loud. “Look, just between you and me, the prelate? That expression on his face was not loyalty. You embarrassed him in front of his people. He doesn’t know what to do with you, and I worry it’s going to be something bad. He doesn’t like you. I think he only obeyed you because it was in public.”

“I am a god.” His eyes blaze with anger.

“I thought you were mortal? Or an Aspect, right? That’s what it is.” I snap my fingers. “Do you have all your powers as an Aspect?”

His jaw clenches and he glares fire at me.

“Any of them?”

“Mortal,” he says in a warning tone.

I raise my hands in the air, determined not to get frustrated. “I’m asking because I need to know what we’re working with. You’re a storm god, can you call down thunderstorms and shoot lightning at people? If you can, then all my worrying is for nothing.” And really, I’d feel better knowing he’s got massive loads of power and is just choosing restraint and pissy attitude to keep people in line.

Aron’s jaw clenches, the scar on the left side of his face flexing. “I…” He shifts on his feet and then gives me his fiercest scowl. “I do not think I can.”

My spirits plummet. I suspect he’s just as wimpy as me in this form, with only a cool thunder soundtrack to make him seem impressive. “Can I ask why you were booted out of heaven?”

“The Aether,” he corrects.

Apparently he knows that much. “Okay, the Aether. How come you were kicked out of it?”

His mouth flattens. “The High Father was not pleased with how I handled my duties. I am being punished.” He says the words as if they taste bad.

“But there’s a way to get back, right? If there’s a way for you to get home, there’s a way for me to get home, too.” He doesn’t answer me, and I wonder if he knows any of this. “Okay,” I mutter to myself, twisting my hands as I think. “Okay, as long as we know our limits, we’ll work with it. I gather you don’t know much about sleeping, either. Or eating or drinking. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

He shakes his head.

Well, that makes one of us. Despite the fact that I pigged out in the main hall, I could still eat. Probably stress related, I suspect. I ignore it for now. “Have you ever been mortal before—”

The look in his eyes flares like I’ve given him a grave insult. “I am not mortal. I am an Aspect.”

“Okay.” I clasp my hands together, because I’m being patient, I really am. “Narrow down for me the difference between an Aspect and a mortal.”

Aron glares at me. “I owe you no explanation.”

Probably because he doesn’t know himself. “You’re right, you don’t. But it would really, really help me out if you told me, because I’m flying blind here.”

He narrows his eyes. “I am a god. That has not changed. I am just…a god who has been stripped of his powers and forced to walk the mortal plane with you at my side.” Again, he says it like he’s spitting nails.

So flattering. “Is this your first time being an Aspect? The way they talked about it in the temple, this holiday’s a recurring thing. The Anticipation. I assume it’s happened before.”

“It has happened before,” he says slowly, gazing around the room. “But not to me.”

Oh. “Think it’s happened to anyone else at the same time? Right now? Should we try praying to the other gods and asking to get you home?”

The look he gives me is withering. “You think I am the only disobedient god?” He snorts with amusement.

All right. So Aron’s a bad boy and all the other bad boys and girls have also been kicked from the heavens? Got it. “Can we find some other gods and have a chat with them?” He gives me a dirty look that’s so irritated I go silent. Jeez, what did I say? “All right then, meeting up with other gods is out.” Maybe they’re the gods that booted him out of the heavens and that’s why he doesn’t want to find anyone else. “It’s just us, then. We’ll figure things out as we go.”

Doesn’t seem like Aron’s going to get me home anytime soon if he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on. All right, then. This will just be a long haul. Fighting back disappointment, I consider our surroundings. The room’s opulent, but I don’t see anything we can use to defend ourselves if someone attacks, and that worries me. Even the food tray doesn’t have a knife on it. I rub my brows, tired. It has been the longest of days. “So is it okay if I turn in?”

“Turn in?”

“For sleeping?”

“Ah, sleeping.” Aron nods slowly. “This is where mortals lie in bed and close their eyes for long periods of time. I always wondered about that.”

I’m starting to wonder if the transfer to being mortal—excuse me, an Aspect—scrambled his brains. “Yes. They sleep. The brain goes quiet and your body refreshes itself. Everyone has to do it.”

“What if I do not want to?” The arrogance returns to his voice.

“It’s sort of a requirement for humans, like breathing and eating and drinking.” I pause, because he hasn’t done the eating and drinking thing. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

“I am certain.” He looks around and then nudges one of the thick rugs on the floor with a bare, pale toe. “Do I sleep here?”

Dear god, he is helpless. “How about the bed, champ?” I even point at it, because I’m a nice person.

Aron grunts and then moves toward it. He places a hand on one corner and pushes on it, testing. How did this man know to sit in a throne but doesn’t know how to use a bed? Maybe the gods have chairs but not beds, then. Wonder what else the gods don’t have.

A sense of humor, I mentally tell myself as I watch Aron scowl at nothing in particular. He gingerly sits down on the bed and then lies back, and then frowns up at the ceiling. “How long does it take to refresh yourself?”

“Longer than two seconds,” I say dryly. Impatient much? I consider the room and there are some nice rugs on the floor but not really any place for me to sleep. The bed that Aron’s in is big enough for me, too, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

Floor it is.

I look for extra blankets and pillows. The only ones are on the bed and I think about asking Aron if he minds…then I realize he probably will. So I’m just not going to ask. I move to the opposite side of the bed and grab the least offensive pillow, but when I tug on a blanket, it nudges his shoulder and he opens his eyes and glares at me.

Fine then, no blanket. I grab my pillow and move to the floor, sinking onto the rug. It’s made from some sort of furry animal and I really hope I’m not going to get fleas. I’m exhausted, too. There are a million things I should probably ask Aron about, but maybe it can wait until the morning. I yawn and curl up, holding the pillow against my cheek. Despite the fact that I’m sleeping on the floor, this might be the best sleep I get since I’ve landed in this hellish place. That’d be nice.

Of course, I don’t have my eyes closed for longer than a moment before Aron speaks again. “Female. Female, wake up.”

I open my eyes and glare at him. He’s propped up on one elbow in the bed. “Two things,” I say, lifting two fingers into the air (instead of just the one I want to shoot in his direction). “One. My name is Faith. Not ‘female.’ Not ‘slave.’ Faith. If you don’t call me by it, I won’t answer. And two, it takes longer to sleep than thirty fucking seconds.”

Aron just arches one of those pale brows at me. “If you will not answer to ‘female,’ then why did you answer me just now?”

I grab my pillow, glare at him, and turn my back. “Goodnight.”

“Female—”

“We just talked about this!” I yell without turning around.

His chuckle sounds as dickish as he is. “Faith, then. I do not know how to sleep.”

I roll onto my back and look over at him. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Is there a trick to it? Because I close my eyes and nothing happens. Tell me how to sleep.” He regards me from his reclining position on the bed, amidst the luxury of dozens of pillows and all of the blankets.

“Dude, you seriously have to give this time. You close your eyes and wait—”

“I did that—“

“For longer than a few minutes. Your body will eventually get tired and you’ll go to sleep. I promise.”

He grunts again, the sound pissy and impatient. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d probably lecture him on the fact that he’s still not wearing any clothing and lying around with your junk hanging out makes your company uncomfortable. No matter how appealingly sexy (despite his paleness and douchey attitude) said junk might be.

But I’m too tired to keep talking to Aron, so I point at him, make a gesture for him to turn around, and then go back to my bed.

That lasts for about five minutes. I’m just about to drift off when Aron speaks again. “This is not like I expected.”

His voice is so quiet that it takes me a moment to struggle out of the clutches of sleep and back awake. “Mmm…what?” I rub at my eyes and sit up, because if I don’t, I’m going to fall right back asleep again.

Aron gestures at the room. “All of this. You. I knew this would be punishment, but I had no idea…”

“Punishment for what?”

He says nothing.

“You can’t just leave that out there,” I tell him, annoyed. “What are you being punished for?”

“I do not need to tell you anything, human.” His voice is as cold and dripping with arrogance as it ever was. His momentary vulnerability of a few moments ago is gone.

“We’re gonna add ‘human’ to the list of words Faith won’t answer to,” I tell him, rubbing my eyes again. “Slave,’ ‘servant,’ ‘tart,’ and ‘human.’ Oh, and ‘mortal.’ That one always sounds particularly insulting out of your lips.”

“It is meant to be insulting.”

Yeah, I figured. I press my hand to my forehead and look over at Aron. He’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and I realize I’ve still got all the torches lit. I’m too tired to blow them out—or whatever one does with torches. It’s clear Aron’s not going to let me sleep just yet, so I stifle my yawn and wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I decide I’ll do the asking for a bit. “Okay, so what’s your end game here, Aron?”

“End game?” He looks over at me, his cheek brushing against the blankets on his bed, and for a moment, he looks so beautiful and masculine that it makes my heart ache. Was there ever a guy made so perfect? Sure, he’s got the weird two-color eyes—one green and one brown—but I actually find it startlingly attractive. Then there’s the perfect body, covered in scars, sure, but still utterly perfect. Even the scar on his face just adds to his sexiness.

Zero flaws in his appearance…but his personality is pretty shit, I remind myself. “Yup. End game. Like, you’re a god and you’re here on Earth—uh, the mortal plane. What’s the plan? What do you need to do to get back home? Do you even want to get back home?” Maybe he chose to leave and I’ve got this all wrong.

He snorts. “I certainly do not wish to stay here.”

“Okay, so you want to go home.” I decide I’m going to ignore the insults or we won’t get anywhere. “How do we do that?”

“You are my servant. My ears on this earth. My link to this world. Are you not supposed to be the one that knows?”