Page 174 of A Touch of Chaos

Though a few maenads had managed to escape drowning in the tunnels, they found themselves at the mercy of demigods who had been ordered to slaughter them on sight. He had only ordered that three mortals be left alive—his son, his wife, and her sister.

He let his gaze fall to Hera, whose skin looked gray in the moonlight.

“Cut her into pieces,” Theseus ordered. “Tomorrow, we will feed her flesh to her followers.”

They each gave a curt nod, and he moved past them into the house. As soon as he entered the doors, he could hear his son wailing from somewhere in the house. The sound was grating and made his skin crawl.

“Someone do something about that child,” Theseus snapped.

“You could go to him,” said Helen. “You have yet to meet him.”

“I have other engagements,” he said.

“You mean Ariadne?” Helen asked.

“Do not get jealous, Helen. It is not becoming.”

“I am not jealous,” she said. “I am disgusted that you would choose a woman over your son.”

“Master,” said one of his servants, sweeping down the hall to meet them. “May I take your coat?”

He said nothing, but he slipped out of his jacket and handed it to the old woman. Helen did the same.

“Do you require anything? Dinner? Perhaps some tea?”

Helen started to speak, but Theseus cut her off. “No.”

The woman smiled. “Of course. Good night.” She whirled and disappeared down the hall.

Helen turned to him. He thought that she intended to berate him, but the words never left her mouth as his hand closed around her neck. He pushed her into the wall, lifting her off her feet. Her fingers clawed at his hands and chest. She even tried to gouge his eyes, but he felt none of it.

“You live and breathe by my command,” he said. “Remember that when you decide to have an opinion.”

He released her, and she fell to the floor. As she gasped for breath, he straightened his collar and the cuffs of his sleeves and left for his chambers.

For the briefest moment, while he had held Helen’s life in his hands, he had not been able to hear his son, but now, the sound of his wailing had returned. He thought that it was louder, or perhaps he was just nearing it. Either way, by the time he came to his chambers, every muscle in his body was on edge, wound tight with anger, and while he did not mind anger, it did nothing to encourage the swelling of his cock.

He took a few deep breaths and managed to ease the set of his jaw before he opened the doors to his room to find Ariadne.

She was seated in a chair, her arms and legs bound, her mouth gagged. Other than the restraints, she was in pristine condition. Not a single scratch or drop of blood marred her skin.

When her eyes lifted to his, they were full of hatred and fear, and he smiled, closing the door behind him.

“I have thought about this moment often,” he said. “It is exactly as I imagined.”

As he moved toward her, she slid her feet against the floor and her body into the back of the chair.

He chuckled at her attempted retreat.

When he was close, he withdrew a knife and cut the gag from her mouth, slicing her cheek, though to his disappointment, Ariadne did not react. Instead, she glared at him and spit in his face.

Still, he laughed—and he had every reason to. She had nowhere to go. She was his to control, his to punish.

He gripped her face, his fingers pressing into the bloody wound on her cheek. Her pained yelp sent a thrill straight to his cock.

He held her harder. “You know how I like a good fight.”

“Where is my sister, you bastard?”

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