Page 3 of Invoking Ruin

“Just a memory,” I gasp out.

It’s enough, and he moves again, driving us both towards our pleasure.

And when I hit that climax, shattering beneath him, harder, more ecstatic than I’ve ever felt before, I make a silent vow:

No matter the cost, he’ll be mine.

Chapter one

Atê

Present Day

I’ve been told I make bad choices.

Worse, they say I drag others into bad choices with me. I’m a one-goddess wrecking ball.

Even my mother—who started the Trojan War over the petty indignation of not being invited to a wedding—would look at me sometimes, shake her head, and ask how I could be so much trouble.

Of course, she was usually smiling when she said it. Eris isn’t exactly a strict parent, or even a present one.

I doubt she’s smiling now.

Lethe always thinks she’s the least favorite child, but it’s better to be neglected than despised. She’ll never be in the position of having all of Olympus hunting her.

What did I do to find myself in such a mess?

The list is long. Nearly got my sister killed, and then stole a knife that could end all of god kind. Technically, I’m still hiding one of their precious missing—afflicted gods whose memories have been subsumed by Oblivion, who believe they're mortal—so he can’t recover his memories and realize he hates me like all the rest of them. They don’t even know about all the artifacts I hid away when they were powerless.

I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Partially because they’re just so easy to outrun. I’m hiding in plain daylight outside an Italian cafe, my espresso cup long empty, careful to keep myself in the shadow of an umbrella. Helios would be happy to snitch me out to Apollo. Across the cobblestone street, the wine shop is already in full swing, customers lingering at tables as they catch up with friends and family. I watch, my eyes following the man with golden skin and honeyed curls as he fills orders, his brows creased in thoughtful concentration.

Even depleted and mortal-looking, Dionysus is still the most beautiful being I’ve ever laid eyes on. If his golden hair is now closer to wheat than sunshine, and his eyes the color of the wine he serves instead of deepest twilight, he still compels the gaze. Not just mine, either. Mortals of every type and persuasion will stop to gawk at him, or slide up to the bar and try their luck.

Some of them might have succeeded. I try not to think on the possibility. I would have to kill them, of course, and dead mortals would attract godly attention. I can’t afford them finding us.

Instead, I stake my own claim on him, even though I shouldn’t. Even though it’s riskier than ever. Closeness to Dionysus means exposure, because while they’re hunting me, they’re also trying twice as hard to find him. It’s only by some blessing of Tyche they haven’t managed to yet.

But I can’t stay away from him. I never could. Even when I tell myself, as I do now, that this is the last time. The last time I’ll see him and be seen. I know I’m only deceiving myself.

I live for the moments when his eyes lock on mine. Even if they might be the best lie ever told.

I step inside the wine shop, and the smile he sends me is dazzling, if a little cautious.

Months, we’ve been doing this dance, and I’m still not sure if he wants me or fears me.

Perhaps both.

“Sandro.” I greet him, taking a seat at the bar.

Without asking, he pours me a glass of my favorite chianti and slides it across the bar top.

“Vita.” His eyes spark. He snatches my hand before I can take the glass and brushes a kiss across the back of it. I blush, golden heat rising to my cheeks, the same as it always does.

Right, Vita is who I am to this god who thinks himself a man. Not Atê, the goddess who has, on more than one occasion, ruined his life. A mortal woman with no shared history. Just mutual interest and threads of a connection he can’t quite place.

I don’t want him to place them.

---