Page 60 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

The same cannot be said for the Darkhavens. Watching them train, seeing them fight in the battles—it had given me a true understanding of what it means to be in the light. To not fear showing off one’s true abilities. Knowing that Ruen Darkhaven has a particularly dangerous set of powers that implicates the mind doesn’t detract from the intimidation of his physical form. He is as much a warrior of the flesh as he is an assassin of the mind.

Ruen’s hand lifts towards me, fingers trail up a lock of my hair and capture the pale, web-like strands. “I don’t know who you are,” he whispers. “I don’t know who I want you to be either.”

The truth of those words ring between us like the Academy’s bell. I lower my gaze to the gauze coverings on his forearms. Reaching up, I trail a single finger down the side of one arm.

“Can you tell me why you cut yourself?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet—almost a whisper.

Ruen releases my hair. The loss is a blade slicing through my chest, but I don’t let the invisible pain stop me from pushing harder though.

“Don’t,” I warn, grabbing ahold of his arm when he would step back. “If you will tell no one else, then tell me.”

“Why should I?” The question is a sharp taunt. “You are no one.”

Tilting my head, I answer. “Because you know that’s a lie. I’m not no one, Ruen. I never have been. Not even when you thought I was a mere Terra. I was always someone that intrigued you, and if anyone can understand wanting to hurt yourself—it’s the woman who survived the Hinterlands and then the Underworld.”

He scoffs but doesn’t pull away from my touch and that fact is more telling than any insult he could fling my way. He’s a wounded animal, pride the only thing keeping his tongue, and I know wounded animals. I’ve been one for years.

“What would you know of anything?” Ruen snaps back. “You had the freedom we so desire. You were raised outside of these walls and away from the prying eyes of the Gods. What truth could you so yield to me that would change anything?”

I arch a brow. “You want truth?” I release his arm and step away. Then, as if I need to be away from him lest I punch him in his stupid perfectly chiseled face, I stride towards the window on the other side of the room. My breaths come sharp and uneven as I consider what to say.

Moments pass before I feel calm enough to face him again without unleashing the riot of rage that dwells within me—it’s always there, ever present, just waiting to be liberated. To free it from its confines, however, would result in chaos so catastrophic that I almost wish Ophelia’s brimstone were still embedded within me. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so dangerous. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so dangerous.

“Fine, I’ll tell you the truth,” I say. I turn and face him. His eyes clash with mine, full of fury and a hint of fear. Of course, he fears—even if he’s powerful, even if he’s half God, he’s still mortal. He, too, can die.

Those wounds on his arms do more than hurt him, they reveal far more of what lies beyond the surface than any words ever could.

I take a step forward and another and another until the two of us are so close the heat of his breath touches my face. That’s when I graze my fingertips over his abdomen. The ridges of his abs are as hard as rock. At my touch, his muscles contract and his lips part. I repress a smirk. It feels good to know that I affect him in the same way that he so often affects me.

“You could avoid all of these scars,” I tell him, careful not to touch his forearms again. “You don’t. Instead, you acquire them purposefully. You want your scars to remain because they’re evidence.” My fingers trail further down, over the solid lines of each individual mass of muscle. His skin tightens. He grits his teeth as his eyes lower to watch the movement of my hand. “You hurt yourself…” My throat grows thick and heavy and the rest of what I want to say remains buried in my head for several moments.

I work through the deep ache this new knowledge assails me with. Ruen Darkhaven hurts himself. Not all of his scars were made by others and even though he hasn’t said as much, I know it for what it is. The truth. He asked for it and I found it.

Fuck me, but I don’t want to care. I hate what the Darkhavens represent. Power. Prestige. Dominance. Even if I didn’t already know it before … even if I hadn’t already seen the proof of it, this realization—more than anything—tells me that they are just as trapped as I am.

I close my eyes, not wanting to look at him as the last of the truth leaves my lips. “You scar your own body because you feel like you need to be punished for living.” But he’s not living and survival isn’t a sin. “Whatever devious deeds you may commit, whatever pain you endure—all of it is purely out of your own selfish desire to compensate.”

Through bared teeth, he speaks. “What the fuck do I need to compensate for?”

That’s easy enough, though I’m sure he doesn’t really want to know the answer. Perhaps giving it to him will show him to be careful of what he asks for, to stop and consider his words before he spits them out.

“The death of your mother,” I say. “The loss of control you have. The powerlessness you and your brothers suffer under.” They might be Mortal Gods, but they are just as much at the mercy of the God Council as humans are. They’re just slightly more useful—like beloved pets rather than the rats that slink about in the walls of homes that reject them.

His hand springs up and grabs ahold of my wrist, stopping any further movement right as my fingertips graze the skin above the laces of his low-slung pants. There are lines that carve out a delicious v with the end disappearing beneath the fabric. My lips twitch. My eyes lift and meet his.

“I am Ruen Darkhaven. Son of Azai, God of Strength and Virility.” The words are spat into my face. Knowing what I know about his feelings towards his God parent, I never expected him to use his father’s name in describing himself. That, too, I suspect, is another punishment.

“Yes,” I agree without trying to remove my wrist from his grasp, “and because of all of that … I pity you.”

His lips part and his brows draw down into a deep v. His features contort into abject shock. “You pity me?” He repeats the word as if he can’t believe that I’ve said it.

With my free hand, I reach up and touch the curl of dark hair hanging over his ear. I tuck it back and surprisingly enough, he doesn’t move away from the brush of my fingers over his skin. “You are alone in so many ways,” I say. It’s not as if I can’t relate. For as long as I’ve known what I am and had no one to protect me, I, too, have been alone. “You might be strong, but you, your brothers, and every other Mortal God in this place are all under the control of those who sired you.”

Us, I remind myself.

Ruen remains silent for a moment more. When he next speaks, it’s with a harsh breath. “I am not powerless.” Oh, how he wants to deny the truth in my words. I can’t blame him. If I weren’t forced to see the truth, I wouldn’t want to admit it either.

I smile and lean forward. He releases my wrist as I turn my cheek, pressing my chest against his, letting him feel the swell of my breasts against his pecs. I arch up onto my toes and lift my chin. My lips touch his jawline and then smooth upward, stopping at his ear.

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