Page 53 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

“Do not toy with me, boy.” His voice deepens with a low, thunderous rumble. “I want information on this new addition. What of her powers? Have they materialized yet?”

In this, I must be cautious. What I know of Kiera’s abilities are small, but I don’t yet know what information he's already been given—or if there is any.

“Caedmon discovered her heritage,” I say slowly. “Has he not given you any information regarding the girl?” I refuse to say her name before a piece of trash like him.

Azai is a tall God, towering over most others with a bulky frame that seems traditional for the God of Strength. When he turns from me and stomps away, the room appears to tremble at his harsh footsteps. The floor wavers and dust that once clung to the open beams above rains over my face. Azai stalks across the room and in yet another fit of anger, he grips the chair he’d been previously sitting in and hurls it into the wall. Upon impact, the chair breaks. Another loud crack rebounds through the room, echoing into the arched ceiling as wood splits through the otherwise pristine fabric, shredding through in sharp broken pieces. Little bits of stuffing fall to the floor as the chair collapses.

Chest heaving, he breathes harshly and stares at the mess he’s made before he scrubs a hand over the top of his dirty blond hair, most of which is separated into long braids with various trinkets attached. The baubles woven into his hair glimmer with the movement.

“As my son,” he starts, “it should be your honor to answer my summons and to give me the information I demand.”

Honor? How laughable. There is nothing honorable about being his son.

“Caedmon is hiding something.” His hand moves to the equally long beard at his chin, stroking through the glittering trinkets there as well. My eyes flash to him and narrow at his words, but he isn’t looking at me. Instead, he’s looking to the window.

“There are things you do not know, boy.” I narrow my eyes on the man standing in the remains of his anger as he moves closer to the window to gaze at the cliffside and ocean beyond.

Gods may be hard to kill, but they are not hard to hurt. Brimstone makes them vulnerable, and as I stare at the back of Azai’s head, braided in a plethora of valuables, I imagine myself smashing his face through the glass and throwing him to the jagged rocks below. If those rocks were brimstone, all the better.

“She has abilities like the rest of us,” I say instead of making that dream come true. Now is not the time, but the future is still unknown. I may get my opportunity if I play my cards right. “Coercion. Added healing and strength.”

Azai looks over his shoulder at me. “Nothing else? No hint as to who her God parent could be?” he demands.

I shake my head, a silent lie. To my knowledge, he doesn’t yet know of her familiars and control over shadows and spiders. That, more than anything, tells me that when Kiera does come into her true powers, it will be a magnificent sight to behold. She might even be more powerful than my brothers or me.

“Even if her powers were revealed that doesn’t necessarily mean it’ll reflect who her God parent is,” I remind Azai. “Some powers are more reflective of a Mortal God’s personality than their lineage.”

Azai frowns at my words but he bobs his head up and down in an almost absent movement. “Yes, yes of course.” He turns back to the window.

“Is there anything else?” I ask, hoping against hope that he’ll release me from the confines of this room and his presence.

Silence greets my question. Azai continues to stare through the glass, fixated on something in the distance. I wait, trepidation swirling within me. The anger and outbursts from him are normal. They are expected. This silence … is not.

Several more minutes pass and I remain where I am. I know better than to try and leave without permission. Each tick of the clock on the mantel above his hearth, however, stretches my flesh further, tightening everything within me. When he finally does speak, I fear my skin will shred itself with the relief.

“I know you do not understand the choices I have made, Ruen,” Azai speaks, his voice that continuous low rumble. He doesn’t turn to look back at me. “None of your brothers do, but what I decide must be done for the survival of God kind, and as my sons, you are part of that. Whatever happens, that is most important.”

God kind? I have to force my face to remain calm and expressionless when the muscles in my jaw begin to throb and my upper lip tries to curl back. I don’t speak. I hardly even breathe, locking the air inside of my chest as if doing so will save me from having to inhale anything this man exhales.

Azai is quiet again for a long moment and I have the strangest thought that there is more he wants to say. Instead, though, he merely shakes his head and flicks out a hand, dismissing me with the gesture.

I don’t wait to clarify. I’m out of his door and stalking down the corridor of the Gods Council’s quarters before he ever turns around. I head directly for the classrooms, peering at the sky as I exit the building and trying to ascertain the time of day with where the others will be.

If Azai wants information on Kiera, then I need to talk to the others. They need to know and we need to close ranks. Whatever he wants it for, I can only be sure it’s nothing good.

Chapter 22

Kiera

If there were a prize for the most aggravating and bothersome males in the entire world, the Darkhavens would win first place, hands down. This is a fact I didn’t quite realize until I was forced to spend weeks locked in close quarters with the three of them. We eat together, we attend classes together, we train together. They hover and I’ve never been hovered over before.

I dislike it. Immensely.

They’re even now aware that Regis is attempting to set up a meeting with me. I would have thought that my obvious snub—and the lack of reply would give him at least a hint to leave me the fuck alone. It seems, however, that my ex-friend is a stubborn asshole.

His crow has figured out that I no longer go to my old room and has been tapping outside the Darkhavens’ window every few days with a fresh note. I’ve stopped reading them altogether, but merely take them from the crow and toss them into the hearth before sending the creature off with a wave. Ruen, despite his sudden quietness since meeting with his father, has attempted to argue that I should at least give a response.

I find both him and the others overbearing.

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