Page 8 of Loved By Aphrodite

“I see.” A cool mask slipped over her face. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

Not likely, he wanted to say, but instead gave her a nod before he transported himself to his workshop.

He took a deep breath, but the familiar surroundings and sounds did nothing to release the tightness in his chest. Instead, it only seemed to build, closing around his body like a giant fist.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he walked over to his work table and picked up a tool, determined to forget about the events of today.

Chapter 3

Aphrodite

Aphrodite lowered herself onto the edge of her couch, her gaze slipping past the sprawling New York skyline. The sky started to color the City in the break of day, but she barely noticed. An uneasy feeling crept into her chest, an unfamiliar gnawing that wouldn’t let go.

She sat back, crossing her arms as though to hold herself together. Something was off, something she couldn’t quite name.

Her mind was still swirling from seeing Hephaestus earlier that week.What happened to him?she thought, picturing his unkempt hair and scruffy beard. He’d always had that quiet strength, a presence that held steady like a mountain.

It wasn’t just the way he looked. It was the way being in his presence had unearthed parts of herself she thought she’d let go of ages ago. Memories of those early days, back when she’d convinced herself she could be happy, came creeping back with an ache she didn’t want to face.

“Get a grip, Aphrodite,” she muttered, running a hand through her hair. “This isn’t like you.”

She was the goddess of love and passion, of life and beauty. She was supposed to be stronger than this—untouchable, even. Yet here she was, pulled under by memories and regrets, questioning the choices she’d made over the centuries. She could still feel the sting of her own heartbreak, the ache of endings she’d thought she’d moved past.

The feeling haunted her, refusing to let go. Was it simply nostalgia? Regret? Or was something else—something darker—looming on the horizon?

Trying to shake off the feeling, she wandered into her jungle room. Usually, the greenery, the earthy scents, the stillness of the place calmed her down. But today, not even the lush foliage could quiet her mind.

She paced through the room, trailing her fingers over the leaves, and found herself thinking about Eros. He’d been restless lately, slipping in and out of trouble as naturally as breathing. She frowned, feeling a pang of worry. When he was acting out like this, it usually led to something bad.

How much trouble would he get into this time?she thought, rubbing her temples.

She sat quietly on a bench, her fingers lightly tracing a philodendron leaf’s delicate white and green veins. Her thoughts remained troubled, circling back to Eros and that last fight.

She could still see him lying there bruised and battered, his usual fire dulled by exhaustion. Then there was the damage the Drakkon fire had done to his beautiful wings. For a short time after her separation from Cyncus, they had only reminded her of the cruel man who had hurt her. One of the reasons she had fallen in love with him was his beautiful white wings. But over time, she had learned to separate her feelings for the father from his son, and as Eros grew into a man and became immortal, his wings became a symbol of how they had overcome their past and gained their freedom.

The very image of Eros’s broken and burned body brought a sharp ache to her chest, and she closed her eyes, remembering the other gods standing around, their expressions a mix of impatience and disdain.Reckless,they’d murmured, eyes sliding to her, silently placing the blame.

Eros was wild, yes, and often unruly. But he was also passionate and loyal. He’d done everything to protect the people he loved, no matter the cost. Didn’t they understand? Couldn’t they see how much he was like his mother?

But Hephaestus…Hephaestus’s look had stung most of all. He’d been different this time, distant. There was no worry in his gaze, only disappointment as if he’d long stopped hoping Eros would change. But, even with that look, Hephaestus had stepped forward, setting aside his own judgment to tend to Eros when her powers had been spent. She didn’t have to ask; he had simply done it.

Why does it have to be so weird between us?They’d been apart for millennia, each going their own way, but he always seemed to be there, a presence she couldn’t escape. There was no love between them, only the tangle of old loyalties and memories. A sigh escaped her, heavy and long, as she slumped back, her eyes drifting unfocused to the greenery in front of her.

Why do things have to be so complicated with you, Hephaestus?Maybe because some ties never truly break.

The familiar hum of mortal prayers, usually soft like a gentle breeze, suddenly swelled in Aphrodite’s mind, surging into an overwhelming wave. She staggered, clutching her temples as gratitude, devotion, and love poured in from countless souls all at once. The voices overlapped, blurring together, amplifying until it felt like a roar in her head.

“Ti symvaínei?…what is happening?” she whispered, her hand gripping the edge of the seat to steady herself. She felt her magic pulse, responding erratically to the flood of energy.Her love magic—a power as old as she was, normally calm and controlled—now throbbed in a wild, chaotic rhythm, filling the room with intense, palpable heat. The plants around her seemed to react, their leaves unfurling and twisting, stretching toward her in a strange, desperate way, like they, too, were affected by the surge of power.

She reached out, focusing her energy and trying to calm the storm raging within her.Deep breaths, steady your power,but the voices grew louder, carrying emotions so potent they seemed to burn her from the inside.

“Enough!” she cried out, channeling her power outward, willing it to stabilize. But instead, it rebounded, multiplying, as if her love magic were feeding on itself.

And then she felt it—something dark, creeping through the flood of prayers. Beneath the gratitude and joy, there was something else, something raw and heavy…an edge of desperation. Mortals pleading for love, for connection, for a cure to their loneliness.

“Not just gratitude…they’re desperate.” The realization struck her, chilling her even through the heat of her own magic. There was no balance here, no natural ebb and flow. It was as though the world was hungry, ravenous for love.

This wasn’t normal, even for her. The mortal world had always been needy, yes, but not like this. She shuddered, a tremor of dread pulsing down her spine as the thought hit her:Something must have happened to shift the balance.

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