Page 20 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

“I wondered, in taking the bloody path to revenge, was I reacting the way I thought I should upon seeing him again? Was I simply going through the motions of blood-soaked retribution to honour you, who snatched me from Mors’ grasp and made me immortal? As I gazed upon Aufidius, seeing his broken mortal body and those frightened eyes that held no godly spark, I believed it was true.

“This realization was—unnerving.I was so certain of my feelings just hours earlier, but the hatred was not there upon seeing my betrayer.

“And he was not alone, Olympius. My mother was there. As I wavered on killing him, she appeared in the antechamber, crying at the sight of her son, now removed from death. She had travelled to Antium to tell Aufidius that she beseeched a dark godof vengeance and wrathto save her child, and this god did indeed bring her son back from mortal death. It was abundantly clear that she was speaking about you.”

Olympius looked on in pure shock. However, before he could explain the situation, Coriolanus raised his hand, commanding his Maker to remain silent as he had more to say.

“My mother had finally left the safety of Rome to come put fear into the arrogant, mighty Aufidius for his betrayal of her son but found a broken man instead. She discovered an unexpected kinship with him, as they both felt deep regret, sorrow, and a desire to rewrite time to have never betrayed me.”

“Lies and deceit, all to save their worthless hides!”

“No, Olympius. I entered their minds and saw the truth of their words, their suffering, and the genuine affection in their hearts. I no longer feel anything remotely like love for either of them, not even a sliver of tenderness or empathy. But the intense hatred I once felt toward them is also absent. I despise their transgressions against me, but I am no longer interested in wasting my time on them. The fuel for my rage has vanished.

“With this new clarity, I see how truly beneath me they both are, how inconsequential, how—” Coriolanus abruptly stopped his oration. “Howmortal,” he snickered, finishing his statement. “I chose to let them live with their human misery.”

Olympius stood stunned, lost for words. All he had known for two hundred years was hatred and a desire for vengeance. The Fates had served Coriolanus the opportunity for his revenge on a gold platter, and to have dismissed it was unfathomable to the god.

“This makes no sense. To leave your enemies with even the slimmest chance for happiness, to forgive themselves and move on,is madness. They deserve a slow, painful death, not compassion. Madness.”

Turning away from Coriolanus, Olympius again focused his penetrating gaze upon the burning city. He wrapped his arms around himself and retreated to his troubled thoughts.

Coriolanus expected this reaction from his Maker toward his choice to spare Aufidius’ life. He wondered—did Olympius only return him to life and make him immortal so he could build the god an army and lead those soldiers against his enemies? Rome was still their joint adversary, and he would stand with Olympius against them, but was that his only purpose?

Was he a pawn and not a partner? Would he be discarded or, worse, destroyed once Rome fell? As mighty as he was, Coriolanus knew he was no match for Olympius.

There was one question the warrior-god had kept inside since first laying eyes on his Maker and truly understanding his godly transformation. It was the most personal and difficult to ask because he truly feared the answer. But there was no other choice; Coriolanus had to know the truth.

“Why me, Olympius? Why did you pick me?”

CORIOLANUS

The Present

THEgod waited patiently for the mortal to answer his simple question. Christian’s tongue was between his teeth, jutting out ever so slightly, his brow furrowed. Corey speculated that this was histhinking face, and though it was somewhat childlike considering the mortal’s age, he found it endearing.

When the wine arrived, Corey had the server wait while he sniffed the cork. The rarified senses of a god could tell everything about the vintage far better than any human sommelier could. It was more than simplyappreciating the rich bouquet.

An ancient warrior-god or a modern-day Corinthian, Corey loved to indulge in the pure enjoyment of being an immortal, including using his preternatural senses to experience the pleasures of heightened sensation and knowledge acquisition.

Christian found the wholesniffingproduction quite amusing.

After Corey approved the vintage, the server poured two full glasses and politely asked if they wanted to order anything from the kitchen. Corey told the man the wine was sufficient. Christian remained silent, feeling more than a bit intimidated by his companion’s forthrightness. His nerves had not allowed for much of an appetite, anyway.

The hot server, Corey noticed, was wearing remarkably tight black pants, almost as snug as his own. After politely telling them to flag him down if they needed anything else, the man hurried off to serve other tables. Corey could not help but sense that the man’s friendliness was forced and insincere, revealing his lack of enjoyment in his job.

After sipping his wine and smiling with delight at the beautifully balanced vintage, not that he knew that much about wine, Christian ended his intense countenance and began his awaited response without a stutter.

The god hoped that intimated the prey was letting down his defences and becoming more comfortable in his presence.

“Well, Corey, I guess to start, my full name is—”

“No—no full names!” Corey barked. “That’s the last thing I want to hear. People hide behind names, monikers, and titles, likereferring to someone as General or Lord. That tells you nothing aside from their occupation or propensity for arrogance. No, a name is a right of introduction, and I’ve already met you. A name never describes a person’s character—their soul.Christianis enough.

“Please be more intimate with me. Go deeper. I’m not interested in shallow communication, even in the face of me wanting to rip your clothes off and take you right here on the fucking table, using your voice to moan and grunt in ecstasy instead of forchit-chat.”

“Wow, you just said all that,” Christian blushed. “Ooookay, fine.” He sat stiffly in his chair, his hands folded in his lap, visibly intimidated, even slightly confused.

Corey figured the guy probably thought it immensely fucking odd to be so abruptly stopped from giving his last name. After all, who does that? And the wholeGeneralandLordslippage! He knew it was weird and aggressive, but he was who he was and acted accordingly. The god wanted the mortal’s authenticity, his true self—and his blood—not some manufactured human identity.

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