Page 34 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

Women go after Theos, and a few of the crazier, masochistic ones go for Kalix. They do not come for me. They had—long ago—when the three of us had first entered the Academy, but I’d shut that down quickly. Despite the herb we’re forced to take annually to mitigate Mortal Gods procreating, other than a few dalliances here and there with discreet women who knew where they stood with me, I don’t seek out females.

I don’t understand them, I don’t trust them, and I don’t wish to. The damage my mother suffered because of her relationship with my father will always remain in the back of my mind, reminding me just why it’s a damned bad idea. Females cause complications and this one is no exception. In fact, she’s likely worse than other females and far more dangerous to me and my brothers.

I don’t order her to stand up though. I catch the heavy wave of her silver hair in one fist. The strands slide between my fingers like the finest of spider webs. The material is stunning, not sticky like a web’s strand, but silky to the touch and devoid of any viscous sensation.

Slow, calm breaths, I tell myself. I force them out of my lungs even as they seize against the inside of my chest. I lift the mass of her hair and move it to drape over her shoulder. The corner of Kiera’s mouth is in near shadow to me, but just once, she turns her head in my direction and I spot the way it lifts.

She is teasing me. Devious little wench. My cock hardens impossibly further. I close my eyes and pray for patience. Though, I can’t say who I’m praying to. The skies are empty and the Gods have all descended.

The moment her hair is out of the way and I can see the thin raised line at the back of her neck that marks where the brimstone had been buried beneath her flesh, the flames of my desire dampen. My lips press together as I ignore the throb of my cock and lightly brush over the skin beneath her hairline. The silence in the room is heavy and thick. Light flashes outside of the window, illuminating everything again, but if there’s thunder, I’m too focused on the woman perched on my legs to hear it. What I do hear, however, is her voice as she speaks in a raspy, obviously uncomfortable tone.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she tells me.

No, I don’t imagine it does. I touch the pad of my thumb to the top of the mark. “It’s a scar now,” I tell her. “Even if it doesn’t hurt, you won’t heal from this.” Not like she had from the whip marks, I notice as the back of my tunic gapes away from her spine and I can see straight down her back through the wide-open neck. The flesh over her spine is as pristine as it had been before her punishment. Carefully, avoiding the heart shaped ass just beneath her back, I lift the tunic back up into place even as my cock throbs against the inside of my trousers, begging me to do something about its condition.

“Scars don’t bother me,” Kiera says. “I’m surprised you care though.”

I don’t. The lie freezes on my tongue, and I swallow it back.

The scar is a pretty pale pink and I know from experience that it’ll whiten over time, fade, and become barely perceptible unless she repeatedly opens it up and lets it form fresh scar tissue over and over again.

“…Ruen?” My name comes from Kiera tinged with a bit of confusion and frustration as if she’s already said it several times with no response.

My hand falls away from her neck and Kiera leans forward, her head turning back to peer over her shoulder at me. I clear my throat and reach for her waist. My hands grip her there for a moment and though I had intended to remove her from my lap, my fingers freeze against the warmth permeating my palms through the thin fabric of the borrowed tunic. My mouth goes dry. Even with the cloth of the shirt separating our skin, I can still feel the heat of her and it makes me realize—perhaps, for the first time—just how fucking cold I am. She is fire and life and I’ve never wanted to burn as much as I do in this moment.

Let her go, I urge myself. Release her waist. Stop touching her. The words are commands stabbing through my skull. I want to make myself listen to them, but my hands don’t seem to care. They act on their own volition, tightening against her and pulling her closer.

“Ruen, what are?—”

Kiera’s words dry up as my head sinks down. I can’t let her go, I realize, but I don’t need to perform the vile actions I’ve got spinning through my mind. I can distract myself with something else. Words. Talk. Yes, I’ll do that.

As images of Kiera on her back against the darkened sheets of my bed and my hands drawing the tunic up and off her to reveal her naked flesh dance through my mind, I squeeze my eyes shut and press my forehead to her shoulder blade.

“Tell me what the Council said,” I practically beg her, needing something to distract me from the insanity of my own thoughts and desires.

She’s stiff in my arms. I don’t blame her. I’ve caused her nothing but damage and pain. She doesn’t trust me and she shouldn’t. Even I don’t know what I’d be willing to do to save my brothers. Even knowing how deep we all are with her lies and secrets—with Caedmon playing puppet master alongside that fucking … mortal woman who has kept Kiera indebted to her for the last ten years—I cannot be trusted. We both know that, she and I.

At the end of the day, my brothers are all I have. I will protect them even if that means risking her, even if it’s not what I want.

A beat passes and I’m sure Kiera will deny me, but once again, she surprises me. Her body relaxes against mine and my cock takes notice, prodding against her lower back with decided interest. I bite down on my tongue and curse internally.

Vile. Disgusting. Pervert.

Kiera ignores it. “There were six Council members,” she says, her voice lowering to a whisper. Her head turns towards the window and I open my eyes to look up at her through my lashes. She doesn’t look at me as she continues. “They debated on how to determine my lineage—who my God parent is.”

Will they be able to? I wonder. According to what Caedmon had said, her father was also of Divine blood even if her mother was the Goddess that birthed her. I contemplate asking, but considering how new she is to much of the Academy’s inner machinations, it will likely simply distress her further. I keep my mouth shut.

“They decided on performing the ceremony around the Spring Equinox celebration.”

My muscles tighten at this news. Kiera glances over her shoulder at me as she feels that change. “I see,” I murmur against her body.

She arches one brow. “Is that a problem?” she inquires.

I shake my head. “Not a problem, exactly,” I say. “I’m simply surprised they would wait that long.”

Kiera frowns. “Could they do it sooner?”

I nod. “Yes. The ceremony can be performed whenever—they often do it, though usually with younger Mortal Gods who’ve simply been left by their mothers on the steps of the Academies.”

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