Page 46 of Prometheus' Priestess

Prometheus kept his eyes on Amara though. And he kept his eyes out for signs that the gods and goddesses were interfering again. But, as if they sensed him watching, they were nowhere to be found. Perhaps they now knew he was watching out for them. Perhaps they did not want to anger the one rule breaker who’d dared defy Zeus and lived to tell the tale. Even a Titan’s reputation could make him a larger-than-life legend in their eyes. He was vigilant, keeping Amara close enough to know that she was wanted but at arm’s length in case he got swept up in whatever sick game Aphrodite and Athena had decided to play next. It was clear to him that the two had, at some point, decided to use him. If they wanted to play a game of covert chess with human pawns, he would beat them at their own game. They would not be using Amara.

But as the weeks passed and the cool kiss of autumn pressed herself deeper into the streets of Edinburgh, Prometheus began to believe that Aphrodite had truly thought that true love would keep Amara safe. Still, something in the back of his mind nagged at him. How could they keep Amara safe and yet still do the Fates’ bidding?

That night, at Kiaria’s, a bottle of red wine lay breathing between them. All three glasses on the oak coffee table were full. Kiaria sat cross-legged, innocently, in purple and black splashed yoga pants and a matching loose-fitting black top, on the two-seater grey sofa. Prometheus was on a brown beanbag closer to the TV, which was currently off. Kiaria, despite her love for conversation, only liked one sound at a time and it was usually the sound of her own voice. Prometheus’ legs spread to accommodate Amara between them, both of them facing Kiaria. Between them was the coffee table. There were already three empty bottles of the same brand of wine sitting by the recycling bin.

From what he gathered, the pair had fallen out. But when Prometheus had appeared on the scene once again, Kiaria had smiled sharply and forgiven Amara. Amara naively called it a misunderstanding, but Prometheus was no fool. He hadn’t missed the glint of Kiaria’s canines that said she smelt fresh blood and bathed in it.

She reminded him of Eris, Ares’ sister, as she trailed her sword through eerily quiet battlefields stained with blood, her bare feet squelching on the torn-out organs of men and licking her tongue across the bloodied blade. A memory he would never forget. He found Kiaria’s fickleness was as distasteful as Eris’ bloodlust.

He would sooner prick Amara’s skin with a pin before he entrusted her to this woman, but Amara appeared to like her. Then again, Amara was too soft once someone was under her defences. As if she was responsible for them once they were under those tortoiseshell-like barriers she put up.

“You really think humans have no free will?”

Kiaria had decided to engage him in a heated debate since the first bottle had beenopened.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he countered. “I’m saying the way they are wired only allows for somuchfreewill.”

“So what ... we’re puppets?!” Kiaria wasn’t buying it.

“No … we’re just wired a certainway.”

They had been debating this one for the last hour and a half and were still coming back to the same point.

“Perhaps,” Amara interrupted, the most sober of them all, “we should move on to anothertopic.”

“I quite agree,” Prometheus said. There was a briefpause.

“SoTheo,” Kiaria smiled. Prometheus did not appreciate the tone. Perhaps a change of conversation had not been the smartest idea.

“We’ve known each other, what? Two months now? And I haven’t had the chance to ask ... whatareyour intentions withAmara?”

Prometheus grinned a boyish grin. One no one often saw on his face. The only other times he had smiled like this was when Amara had said something playful or when he didn’t think she was looking.

“To make sure she’s happy.”

“And Amara, are you happy?” Kiaria asked.

“Of course I am.” Amara stroked the jean-clad outer calf of Theo’s leg that was wrapped around her. Whether it was to soothe him or her, he couldn’t say. But it soothed something in him to have her touching him like this.

“For now, sure. But you can’t want to work your entire life in Aunt Alice’s café?” Kiaria pushed.

Amara shrugged. “I don’t see anything wrong with doing servicework.”

Prometheus’ legs clenched.

“There’s something quite humbling about it,” Amara continued. “You really get to know humanity, you know?”

“Well ... you couldn’t pay me enough to keep doing it,” Kiaria said, downing the rest of her glass before reaching for the wine bottle and pouring the dregs in. Sighing, she swung her legs over the sofa and rose. She had quit two weeks ago when John had left for a “real” job.

“That’s the last of the wine. Let me see what else we have.”

As Kiaria sashayed off into the kitchen, Amara squirmed and turned to face him. It was only when she began looking at him in concern that he realised his face had turned to granite, a large deep groove across his brow.

“Hey, is everything ok?”

“What did you mean when you said you get to knowhumanity?”

“Well …” Amara settled back into his chest, burrowing herself closer to him. “For one, you can tell who has worked in hospitality before. They don’t treat you like a servant but a person. They tend to be more patient, kinder, lessdemanding.”

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