Page 37 of Shadow Fall: Part Two

"Aphrodite," he snarled in my face, spittle flecking my cheeks as I dug the tip of my knife into his golden neck, "could wipe you out in a heartbeat, you pathetic little worm. Aphrodite—"

"Got what she deserved," a deep, roughened voice snapped, and a bulging brown arm muscled between Eros and me, dragging the snarling bastard away. "Your mother played with fire and got burned."

I thrust my dagger out in a warning, the back of my neck crawling. My magic howled inside me, throwing itself against the cage of my body over and over, suddenly frantic.

Behind me, Cronus tried to surge up from the ground, and I flinched away when magic saturated the air, squeezing the air from my lungs. They wouldn't hold him down for much longer. I needed to slice him open now.

"You fucking traitor," Eros snarled. He twisted, coming at me again with hatred and something deep, something personal in his eyes. Guessed he blamed me for Cronus eating his dear, old mum.

"Come a little closer," I taunted him, encouraging his temper. His baby blues flared, and he launched at me like a complete fool.

I twisted my hand, driving my knife deeper. Blood splashed, hot over my hand and wrist. "I've got more important things to be doing right now," I bit out, "than entertaining your useless fucking feud."

I wrenched my knife free, kicked Eros until he fell—and paled when I saw the fucking massive man hulking behind him. Shrewd brown eyes followed Eros's body as he crashed to the rain-slick ground, and I caught my breath when that calculating stare rose to me, pausing only briefly on my bloodied dagger.

"So, they really are god killers," he said, his voice loud and rumbling to match his huge, muscular body. The god was draped in rust-red armour, a mix of leather and metal like me. He wielded his own sword in one hand, ten times the size of my volcanic blade, and a shield on his other arm. Dark red hair fell over his powerful shoulders and down his back, drenched by the rain.

"Wow," I said, my ears ringing, breathing racing out of control. "You look just like your portraits. You should tip those artists, they did a great job."

"You have a job to do," he reminded me, his voice deep enough to make me shiver but lacking the violence of the god I just murdered.1

"Thanks," I snapped. "I'd forgotten."

"That's a good quality blade. It was hewn with intent and care. It will hold your magic; pour it through the knife and into Cronus. You'll succeed in gutting him."

My ears kept ringing. I kept staring at the man, from his red hair, rough-hewn brown face, to his leather armour skirt thing and his shield. Ares. My grandfather.

"You're not going to kill me to avenge this guy?" I asked, waving carelessly at Eros as his body cooled on the ground.

"My son," Ares corrected, and my blood turned to ice. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. "No. He fell in battle, an honourable death. It's his own fault he picked the wrong war to wage."

"You'd know all about that," I said, aware that power raged around us, as thick as the storm, but not quite able to tear my eyes from the god in front of me. My grandfather. My family. I had real, living family, and I was looking at him right now. "War."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I'm not going to kill you." And with those words echoing around my head, he turned, leaving me to carve my way across Cronus's stomach.

"Wait!" I blurted, my heart drumming so hard my ribs must be bruised. "Do you know she's inside him? My mum. Sofina."

Ares paused and pinned me with a stare so intense my heart skipped. "Sofina is dead."

I shook my head. Shook it again. "No. Phoebe told me." Well, hinted. And if she'd been hinting at something else, I was going to hunt down the prophet and send her to the same afterlife as Eros. "She's inside him."

Ares froze, staring at Cronus as he bucked and fought the magic pinning him down. It had only been two minutes since I landed, but it felt like a lifetime had passed. How much longer could they hold him?

Not much longer, I realised when more shadows flickered from Cronus's dark body, making me flinch with a zap of pain. He was going to overpower them.

Enough. The word rang through my head. I gritted my teeth, grabbed all the magic I'd been harvesting from my core of power all day, and let it bleed out of my palm and down my knife.

I turned from Ares, leaving him with that revelation, and drove my wings down, carrying me up onto Cronus's prone form. He was seething, furious—I could feel it from him, sense it in his magic, in every struggling movement he made.

What if he takes us to another fake reality? That thought made me want to cry, but I scaled his massive form, hand over hand, gritting my teeth, until I reached his stomach. Perilously balanced, I drove my knife down and let all my grief and rage fuel my magic. Shit. Resistance met my blade. My arms shook with the impact.

It wasn't a barrier around him, wasn't a shield of impenetrable power, it was—my own arms. They refused to move. Refused to even press the tip of my dagger against his skin.

I pressed my lips thin to trap a scream of panic. No. No! Not this. The bastard had ensnared me in his magic, slowing time. I was in the middle of a maelstrom, with everything happening at lightning speed around me. Gods, angels, and demons blurred like smears of light, moving so fast I couldn't keep track. I was aware of the magic keeping my arms sluggish, forcing even my chest into inertia. Air cut off, captive in my chest, but I needed to breathe, needed to move. I couldn't stop now. Not this close.

I screamed, the noise emerging low and drawn out like a fucking cow mooing. I threw all my weight onto my dagger, willing it to pierce him. My mum was inside there. Lucifer was in there. Our allies and friends and family were. Lucifer gave me a job when I was hopeless, when I had no funds or resources to search for my mates. Without him, they'd still probably be in Alphaven, Wane would be captive, Wyn would be Cronus's puppet, cruel and heartless because he was in so much pain every damn day.

You're not winning this, you fucking asshole, I snarled, and hoped he heard me. You're dead, however many attempts it takes.

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