Page 62 of Gods of Prey
Myelle rarely leaves the Divine Sanctum. She’s got to know something.
“What did you tell her?”
“That Sebastian was conducting a deep review of life force allocation in the mortal realm,” Erebus says. “That you were assisting him. I bought us time.”
I begin pacing, my mortal anxiety bleeding through despite my divine form. “How much time?”
“It’s impossible to guess, but not much.” Erebus moves closer, and I can see the genuine concern in his dark eyes. “Sienna, they’re going to discover what Sebastian has done. When they realize he’s been manipulating timelines for a mortal and we’ve been hiding it—” He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need to.
Timeline manipulation is forbidden for exactly this reason. It creates fractures that can destabilize the entire cosmic order. The punishment for such a transgression isn’t exile or additional mortal lifetimes. It’s complete erasure from existence.
“There has to be something we can do,” I say, though even as the words leave my lips, I know how futile they sound.
Erebus reaches out, his fingers ghosting along my arm in a gesture that’s meant to be comforting. “I’ll do what I can to protect you both. You know that.”
I do know that. Erebus has been my second-in-command for centuries, but more than that, he’s been my friend. One of the few beings in any realm who’s never judged me for the mistakes that led to my punishment. Who’s never looked at me with pity or disappointment, only empathy.
“Why?” I ask quietly. “You could have reported Sebastian’s absence immediately. Could have gained favor with the council by exposing us. Why are you helping?”
It’s the same question I’ve asked Revel so many times, because none of it makes sense when they stand to gain so much.
His smile is soft, tinged with something I can’t quite identify. “Because you matter to me. Because what you and Sebastian have endured...it’s enough. I’ve thought it for some time. You deserve happiness.”
The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard. In all our years working together, he’s maintained professional distance. Respectful, efficient, loyal—but never personal. Never intimate.
“Erebus . . . ”
“I know my place,” he says quickly, stepping back. “I’m not presuming anything. But I care about your wellbeing. Both of you.”
I want to say something, to acknowledge what I hear beneath his words, but the weight of our situation crushes any personal thoughts. “What happens when the Divine Council comes for us?”
“I’ll stand with you,” he says without hesitation. “My testimony might carry some weight with them. I’ve served faithfully, maintained the realm alongside Revel without issue. But Sienna...” His expression grows grave. “My power has limits. I’m an interim, not true-born to the role. If they decide to make an example of you and Sebastian?—”
He doesn’t need to finish. We both know what happened to the last divine who defied the council’s will so blatantly. Lux, the former god of chaos, was unmade so thoroughly that even speaking his name is forbidden.
“How much longer can you maintain the balance alone?” I ask.
“I’m already at my limit,” he admits, and I can see the exhaustion he’s been hiding. Shadows beneath his eyes, a slight tremor in his hands. “The realm needs both Life and Death to function properly. Without Sebastian’s active participation or Revel’s help, I’m essentially doing the work of three gods.”
Guilt crashes over me. While I’ve been in the mortal realm playing games with Revel, wrestling with my feelings about Sebastian’s happiness, Erebus has been holding our entire domain together through sheer force of will.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I should have?—”
“You should have brought your brother home by now,” Erebus says gently but firmly. “That was your mission. But I understand why you didn’t.”
I look at him sharply. “What do you mean?”
His smile is knowing. “I’ve watched you for centuries. I know when something changes you. And whatever happened in that mortal realm—whoever you encountered there—has changed you.”
Revel’s face flashes in my mind, followed immediately by Jovie’s. The two who’ve somehow worked their way under my divine skin, making me question everything I’ve believed about duty and sacrifice.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, more to convince myself than him. “Personal feelings can’t override cosmic necessity.”
“Can’t they?” Erebus tilts his head. “Your brother seems to think they can.”
“Sebastian is being selfish. There’s no room for the both of us to get what we want.”
“Is he? Or is he being human?” Erebus moves to the great window that shows the mortal realm below. “You’ve both been mortals for thirty-three lifetimes. You’ve felt human love, human loss, human hope. How can the Divine Council expect you to simply switch that off when you return to divine form?”
