Page 3 of Leashed

Chapter Two

Bo cursed Dio’s name as he knelt in the snow and reached deep into the thicket of bushes to retrieve his shirt, standing to shake it out before pulling it on. Getting back on his knees, he peered between the knots of branches, spotting his phone and wallet nestled against a dead stump. He flattened himself on the damp ground and inched forward until his fingers made contact with the cold glass of his phone. Easing it closer, he grasped it tight and used the extra reach to nudge his wallet until both were secure in his hand.

He stood and brushed the snow and dirt from his clothes, powering his phone on and groaning when the screen refused to light up. Slumping onto a wrought iron bench, he looked over at the library across the street and contemplated going back in, shirt on, to call Ryan for a pickup.

His head was pounding, the aftereffects of Dio’s wine more pronounced topside than it was in the underworld where healing waters and herbs were plentiful.

Of course, self-serving, vindictive deities were just as prominent back home, and a pounding headache under a cold sun was infinitely better than heeling to the wills of those further up the divinity hierarchy than he and his brothers were.

He shook his cell a few times before slipping the cold phone up his shirt in the hopes his body heat would warm the battery and give it enough power to touch base with Ryan.

Tugging his crushed cigarette pack from his back pocket, he pulled one out and lit it as he studied a tiny squirrel’s descent from the tree trunk beside him.

Even topside, he couldn’t escape the invisible leash of the Pantheon.

Dionysus was among the elite of Olympus, a second-tier god far above Bo’s own station as Hades’s guard dog. Being one-third of the three-headed beast guarding the Styx, Bo outranked many of the nymphs and semideities roaming the world, but his position of servitude to Hades ensured he remained at the mercy and the whims of those above him.

And it fucking chafed.

Dio had favored him early on, preferring Bo’s impetuousness to his twin brother Alex’s obstinance or Ryan’s perfect restraint.

And it was that impetuousness the God of Wine and Revelry fed off. Thrived on.

In a world no longer bowing to statues of the gods, Dionysus needed the fuel of drunken excess to maintain his strength in the underworld. His power was nourished and amplified only when he was paid homage by believers, and Bo was his last pure line of defense against irrelevance.

Pushing a strand of hair from his eyes, he continued to watch the squirrel scan for danger before bolting across the frost-tipped grass.

Even now, hours after Dio had returned to the underworld and left him passed out under a tree in the middle of a city park, he was almost drunk on the god’s influence over him. One touch of his hand was all it took to bring Bo to heel for weeks, to bring forth his cravings and amp them while dampening his control. Alcohol, sex, gambling…any vice was fair game to feed the god’s power, provided it didn’t interfere with his job as Hades’s hitman.

It had been fun during his first millennia, the intensity of sin and revelry mimicking a freedom of will and choice he couldn’t attain on the banks of the Styx. He’d seduced the Muses, charmed the Charities, and tempted the Fates, flirting with the most formidable of powers in the Pantheon without care of the consequences.

But now there was a different beast buried deep in him, scratching to escape. Its growing insistence was becoming almost tangible, longing for something other than the wine of the gods to appease the discontent in his bones.

The squirrel approached him from the right and he went motionless, the predator in him instinctively tracking the creature while his logical side acknowledged it was neither the time nor the place to hunt.

Besides, he preferred the thrill of the hunt when his prey was strong enough to destroy him with a well-timed hit.

Allowing the animal to get within reach, he wiggled his fingers enough to alert it to his presence and it took off into the shrubs, leaving a trail of tiny paw prints in the snow. Sliding his phone out from under his shirt, he attempted to power it up once more before giving up and getting to his feet. The pounding pressure in his head revved up with the motion, and he cursed Dio a final time under his breath as he trudged out of the park and across the street.

Bypassing the entrance to the library, he continued on down the block to the bright red lounge sign calling his name. A bifold chalkboard was nestled up beside the door, its swirled writing advertising a multitude of specialty coffees at exorbitant prices, and a single blocked line at the bottom listing the price of beer. Yanking the door open, he walked in, his eyes adjusting to the dim light quickly, the pounding in his skull easing almost immediately.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” a gentle voice called out to him from behind swinging double doors leading to the kitchen area.

Walking past a pile of textbooks and scattered papers, he pulled up a seat at the empty bar, scanning the liquor choices half-heartedly. The weight of Dio’s power surged through his veins and he zeroed in on the whiskey on the bottom shelf of the mirrored display.

“I’m so sorry for the wait,” the waitress said as she backed through the doors, two steaming plates in hand as she rushed past him to the only other people in the room, a couple holed up in a back booth. Jogging back over, she took her place behind the bar, her back to him while she washed and dried her hands. “What can I get for you, sir?”

“Sir,” he scoffed, tearing his gaze off of the whiskey bottle and frowning when he caught her reflection in the mirror and recognition set in. “Aren’t you—” He looked over at the exit and back to her. “Weren’t you at the library an hour ago?”

She nodded as she turned to face him. “I work there part—oh! You’re the shirtless guy who needed the phone.” Her eyes widened, her pale cheeks flushing. “Gentleman. Not shirtless. I mean, the gentleman who needed the phone.” Motioning toward the kitchen, she continued to stammer. “There’s one over here if you still need it.”

“I need a double shot of whiskey more,” he replied, opening his wallet and sliding a wad of bills across the counter.

Exhaling, she smoothed her sleek black ponytail down and nodded, bending down to grab a glass. He watched her as she poured his drink over a glass of ice, his fingers twitching in anticipation of the first sip until she passed it to him and her hand grazed his, sending a small buzz up his arm and stilling the beast clawing at his core.

He swirled the brown alcohol around, his craving for the liquor silenced. The skittish waitress disappeared and reappeared every few minutes, checking on the couple in the back periodically and leaving him alone to stare at the drink in his hand. The ice was beginning to melt, the whiskey diluting more with every minute it sat warming in his grip.

The heavy lounge door thumped shut as the other customers left, and he caught sight of the waitress in his peripheral, her approach hesitant.

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