Page 45 of A Touch of Chaos

“I’ve decided to kill her in front of you,” he said.

“You think I would let you?”

Michail chuckled. “You may be a god, Dionysus, but what power do you possess beyond filling glasses with wine and a sharp pine cone?”

Dionysus was used to people questioning his divinity. He was the God of Wine and Revelry. His influence on the world was minimal compared to the Olympians, but these mortals had not been alive during the time of his madness. They did not know what he was capable of when pushed.

And this was testing his limits. The edges of his vision were already turning red.

“You forgot one,” Dionysus said. “I’m pretty skilled at breaking faces.”

“But not skilled enough to realize when you’ve been lured into a trap.”

Dionysus had to admit, that stung a little. The truth was he had not thought twice about coming tonight. He’d been to similar auctions many times; he’d taken this one for granted. Still, trapping a god was never a good idea.

Trapping Dionysus was worse.

“I am impressed,” said Dionysus. There was a tremor to his voice that some might have mistaken for nerves, but it was really anger.

Michail’s eyes gleamed with pride. “Thank you.”

“Not with you,” Dionysus said. “I’m impressed that you think you’ve trapped me when I have most certainly trapped you.”

Dionysus summoned his thyrsus. The men in the room laughed at what they called a pine cone–tipped staff, but the fennel was a symbol of his power over nature, over hedonism and pleasure.

It was also a weapon, and his vision was red.

He hurled the staff at Michail like a spear, and it went straight through his chest, striking the wall behind him with a loud crack.

There was a moment of stunned silence.

Michail was still on his feet though there was a hole in his chest. He staggered, and blood burst from his mouth, spattering the floor.

Then he fell to the ground, dead.

Dionysus’s gaze shifted to Ariadne and then to the men surrounding him.

They all looked horrified.

“I forgot to mention,” he said. “My pine cone is pretty sharp.”

Leander cocked his gun, and the men started to close in on Dionysus, only to freeze when a strange lurching sound escaped from somewhere deep in their throats.

They exchanged looks, both confused and fearful, before a dark liquid burst from every orifice of their bodies in a stream so powerful, they were thrown backward into the walls. When it was over, they fell to the floor like dead fish in a pool of red wine.

He’d turned their blood to wine and filled them full of it.

As he stood there, his vision started to clear, but he knew the madness was not over—this was just the start. He was about to spiral.

He had to get Ariadne out of here.

He crossed the room and plucked his thyrsus from the wall. When he faced Ariadne, he was surprised to find that she had not fled. They were both covered in blood and wine, and the smell of it thickened the air between them.

He reached for her, brushing a finger across her cheek.

“Are you afraid?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, but she did not push him away.

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