Page 41 of Wildfire

“He was jealous and protective. And you rebuffed him—understandably so, but as a son of Zeus, we tend to be particularly sensitive to that sort of thing.” His lips tightened into a thin line, eyes hardening before he looked back up at Wilder. “Father taught us that we have to fight for every scrap of affection, and also that doing so is pointless, because Hermes, Hephaestus and I, most especially, are unlovable.”

Wilder’s own father was a jerk. He hadn’t dangled affection and then taken it away—he’d taught Wilder that affection was, in and of itself, a weakness for people on both ends of it. Affection led to complacency, and faith in people was never justified by their actions.

It seemed to be proven true every time Hermes started to act friendly or treat Wilder like he was something more than an assignment or a casual fuck, and then ran off at the first sign of inconvenience.

Melly stuck her head around the corner of the kitchen, looked at Wilder, then Ares, then accusingly back at Wilder. He threw up his hands. “I didn’t make him leave.”

She turned around and sauntered off, tail in the air, disinterested in Wilder’s excuses.

Ares chuckled, and it was a raspy noise that sounded almost painful. “Children and animals always love him.”

“Because he’s one of them?” Wilder asked, voice dry.

Ares pulled himself up onto a stool in front of the bar and nodded. “Yes. And I won’t say no to food, but I’d save the baking if I were you. It’s wasted on me, and no doubt Hermes wants to bake with you. He is like a child. The playing is as important as the result.”

Wilder couldn’t keep the smile off his face at that. “That does sound like him.”

So he stacked the brownie mixes in the cupboard, and he made dinner for the god of war. It wasn’t much—scrambled eggs and fried slices of ham—but he used a full dozen eggs and handed the man a heaping plate. He wasn’t sure gods needed it, but the man had to maintain that amount of muscle somehow.

They sat in amicable silence for a while, eating. That was something he never in a million years thought he’d be able to say about himself and any god, let alone one with the reputation of Ares.

When he was half done with his mound of food, Ares looked up at him. “You’re new to this.”

“I never wanted to join the military.” The words felt like an admission of weakness, probably because his father had always implied it to be so, but he wasn’t going to lie.

Ares, undeterred, nodded, staring off into the middle distance. He blinked, once, then went back to his food. “It’s not an easy life, but some of us are made to live it.” He leaned on the counter between them and met Wilder’s eye, really looked at him, for a long time. “Athena is a self-righteous priss, but she says you’ve got it in you, and she’s not wrong often.”

The vote of confidence was foreign and incomprehensible, but also... it was a little annoying. “So Zeus and she are off hunting down Cronus, and they’re going to leave the soft squishy humans to deal with the rest of it? None of you even seem surprised by that.”

The smile Ares gave him was painful to look at; not actually the least bit happy, and filled with self-loathing. “Not many of us are still surprised by Zeus. Even now, in this, he manages to miss the point. He’s finally facing his mortality, but instead of trying to do the best he can, helping the most people, he’s obsessed with hunting down and killing his father.”

“You’ll forgive me if this sounds ignorant, but you’re the god of war. Why does helping people matter?” Wilder half expected to have his ass kicked, or at least get glared at, but the sad smile never budged from Ares’s face.

“Contrary to myth, I’m good at what I do. And when well fought, wars end. They’re supposed to end. They’re meant to settle issues and finish conflicts. Eternal wars serve no one, not even me.” He leaned in, meeting Wilder’s eye steadily. “And have you ever known killing a single man to end a war?”

Wilder didn’t know that much about war, if he was being honest, but for the most part, it seemed that the deaths of men had been the inciting incidents of wars, not their endings.

Ares didn’t wait for Wilder to answer, though, he just shook his head. “It’s how he is. He sees what he wants, and he rushes headlong after it. Nothing else matters. The rest of us are left to hold the front lines and try to make sure the world still exists to inhabit when it’s all said and done.”

He could see it all so clearly, put like that. Ares wasn’t just some kind of jackass with a weapon who wanted eternal war. He was trying to hold the front lines while everyone else ran off and did their own thing. The man felt like he was holding the world together with his bare hands, and more, because of who his father was, just like Hermes, he felt invisible as he was doing it.

No one gave a damn about his struggle because they had decided who he was, and they didn’t like the image.

“Do you think Atlas is here, in Washington?” He almost hoped the answer was yes, because he suspected that Atlas was Ares’s biggest concern. He didn’t know a thing about the gods or titans, so he didn’t know which should be the first target.

Ares shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no.” He glanced over his shoulder like maybe he thought Atlas was right there. “And I do need to find him.”

Wilder thought of the half bottle of wine he had in the fridge and considered pulling it out and drinking straight from the container. They were at war, and the god of war was telling him he was on his own.

But then Ares turned back to him and, apropos of nothing, said, “Athena tells me you’re a fire mage.”

Wilder had no idea what to say to that, so he just nodded.

Ares nodded back, staring down at his last few bites of food. “Athena trusts you. Hermes, of all the most paranoid creatures in existence, trusts you. And these are desperate times.” Before Wilder could ask what the hell all that meant, he leaned in. “Fire. The effects of ambrosia can be burned away. But it’s like antibiotics. Don’t stop when you think you’ve won. Keep going until there’s no chance any infection remains.” He finished his food and set his fork on the empty plate, then nodded at it. “Thank you for the food. It was excellent. I suspect I’ll see you again, be it in this conflict, or the eternal conflict of our family.”

Wilder sat and stared at his food for a long time after Ares left.

He felt almost like the man had accepted him into his family, and he wasn’t sure if that was an insult or a threat.

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