Page 24 of The Shadow Gods

That was the kicker. None of the stories I'd spent my entire life studying were allegories or myths shaped to help humans understand their experiences. They were history.

More specifically, they were Orestes's history.

“I was away for a long time. Sent by my mother to be raised by another family. I was a soldier, but only in the most basic sense of the word. I was more of a...” He trailed off as I slowed the car. “Looks like an accident.”

In front of us, the cars were almost at a standstill. Sure enough, I could make out the flashing blue lights of police and paramedics.

After staying quiet while we rolled to a stop, he went on, “I was more of a...” He couldn't seem to find the word to describe himself.

“You were the Greek equivalent of a trust fund baby,” Paris offered. “Like an American frat boy. Parties. Women. Gambling. Drinking—”

“I think she gets the idea,” he grumbled, and I laughed.

When I glanced at him, his cheeks were pink, and he was purposefully avoiding looking at me.

“I'm a college professor. Party boys don't phase me.”Not anymore.As a student, though, and a decidedly awkward bookworm, those types of people had intimidated the hell out of me. I'd gone to school with guys and girls who had an easy, carefree existence I could only dream of.

“Troy was an adventure, and with my father as general, I was the center of attention wherever I went.” Now he looked over at me, and it was then that I noticed how stark white the scar on his face had become. I didn't even notice it anymore, but with tension bleeding out of every pore, it stood out. “I waited for him to send for me. The great General Agamemnon. The first to volunteer. Best friend of Menelaus, who would avenge his honor.” He shifted in his seat. “They were both assholes.”

I thought he was talking to me, but Paris replied, “I know.”

“I waited and waited, and nothing. All of Greece knew our fleet was stuck in the harbor. We'd angered the gods.”

And his father had appeased them by sacrificing his youngest daughter—and Orestes's baby sister. There were so many tragic stories that came out of that time, but the sacrifice of Orestes's sister was especially awful.

“I started home as soon as the winds changed. I didn't know why. I didn't want to fight with my father. I didn't even know my sister, but this rage was building in me.” He put his hand on his chest, clenched his fist, and pushed it against himself. His skin was tight over his bones, making every plane and angle on his face seem cut from glass. “I was angry at being kept on the sidelines. And at the waste of life. There were a million sacrifices that could be made, so why my sister? Why my family?”

Someone honked. Startled, I whipped my head toward the traffic, but the horn wasn't meant for me. We were bumper to bumper.

“It doesn't make any sense.” Orestes faced me, turned completely in his seat so he could study my expression. “Why would I care about people I had barely any connection to?”

“I can't answer that.” Not giving myself time to think about it, I continued. “I stay as far away from my family as I can. They hate me, and I despise them.” It was the first time I'd ever been so blunt. And so honest.

“I knew I hated my father for what he'd done, but I think I hated him before that. For ignoring and dismissing me like I meant nothing,” Orestes said.

My stomach clenched. He could have been talking about me. The same thoughts had run through my head a million times.

“And I hated my mother for letting him. I loved and hated them both, I think,” he said quietly. “I didn't understand why they sent me away if they wanted me to take after my father. Couldn't I have learned best from the famous General Agamemnon?”

I never could have imagined how closely Orestes's feelings would mirror mine, and how—even though my parents' sins were at worst hurtful—they had impacted us in ways that went on and on.

Silence descended in the van as Orestes's words lingered and festered. “The House of Atreus,” I said, referring to the name of all the generations of Orestes's family, “was supposedly cursed by the gods. We know they like to play with us. If those stories are true, your choices were made for you.”

Orestes chuckled, then blew out a breath. “What a choice.” He pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Does that mean everything we do is pointless? All this? Us working together? Caring about each other? What's the point if it's their game?”

His words were like a knife to my heart. He had a point, except—

“The gods haven't been able to do that since you trapped them. They cursed your family, and you, but they never saw what you all would do. If it hadn't been for all of you trapping them, I'd say you could be right. But you're not. Right, I mean. They have no power over us anymore.” Each statement came out stronger than the last. I believed this. Down to my soul, I believed this. “My feelings are real. Not manufactured by a god. Or Athena or whoever. Maybe, once, they dictated the path of my life, but not now. And I won't let them do that ever again.”

There was movement next to me, and then Orestes was inches from my face. “You believe that?” His golden eyes traced my features, hope warring with potential disappointment.

I made sure every ounce of confidence I was capable of came through in my voice. “With all that I am, from each of my lifetimes.”

He stared at me a second longer, then grabbed me. His hand went to the back of my head, holding me in place as his lips touched mine. If I thought Orestes would move slowly in our first kiss, I was dead wrong.

Once he made up his mind, the man committed.

His lips crushed mine, and it would have hurt if I hadn't loved how much need he put into our kiss. He opened his mouth, tangled his tongue with mine, as he held the back of my head. He directed my movements, turning my head so he could taste me.

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