“As are you,” he whispers. Our eyes lock together, and time seems to stop. All I see is him. All I feel is him. All I smell and all I touch is him, and all I want to taste is him.
Maybe it’s loneliness. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me. Maybe it’s his laughter or smile or any number of things. But even though I love Ares, I lean into Cyrus and press my lips to his.
It’s a soft kiss without the burning passion I have with Ares, but it’s still tender. It’s still sweet and loving, but a different kind of love—the kind of love that tells me he’ll take care of me, and I’ll take care of him. The kind of love that wants to hear about my day. That sees me underneath the beauty and still loves me anyway.
I crave it. It’s a salve, soothing the wounds Ares has caused. He isn’t Ares, he’ll never be Ares, but in that moment, I’m grateful for it. I don’t want the kind of love Ares has given me the past few years. I want this love, the love in front of me, the love I can touch taste smell hear see. Cyrus may not realize it, but the way he feels for me radiates from him, wrapping itself around me. This kiss is an offer, and I want to take it.
“Ahem.”
I jump back, jostling Eros. In the doorway, silhouetted by the last vestiges of sunset, is the last person I expect.
Ares.
“I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy.” He spits the words out like venom, and part of me bristles, but another part can’t blame him. “Who is this?”
“I—” I swallow and force myself to sit up straight. Ares is the one who left me alone for years. What did he expect? “This is Cyrus. He had a wreck, and he landed on the island. I’ve been helping him recover.”
“And this is your idea of playing healer?” Ares narrows his eyes, and his fingers twitch toward the monstrous sword strapped to his hip. Brilliant.
Cyrus squeezes my hand. I should pull away, but I need the comfort his touch offers. Clearly I won’t be getting it from Ares. “Is this your uncle?” he says, and the idea is so absurd that I snort.
“Her uncle?” Ares steps closer, and the fire casts shadows on his face. “Is that what you’ve been telling him?”
“What? No,” I say quickly, and to Cyrus I add, “this is my— This is Eros’s father.”
His grip on my hand loosens, and now it’s my turn to squeeze. I don’t want him to let go. “Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry. I had no idea she was—”
“She is,” snaps Ares. “She’s mine. You have one chance to get the hell away from her before I slit you from nose to navel.”
Despite my grip, Cyrus pulls his hand from mine, and he slowly crawls back into the nest of pillows. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I would have never—”
“Not there,” growls Ares. “Not in our bed.”
“Ares, he’s injured,” I say. In my arms, Eros makes a soft, keening sound. “He can’t go anywhere.”
“I don’t care,” he snarls.
“Well, I do.” I stand, taking Eros with me. “You have no right to storm in here and start making demands, not after leaving us. Not after missing Eros’s entire life.”
“It doesn’t seem like you’ve been left wanting.” Ares moves closer until he’s only a few inches away from me. He’s taller now, stronger than he was before, and his armor is flecked with droplets of blood. They’re still wet. “Perhaps Mother was right. Perhaps all you are and all you’ll ever be is a whore.”
Cyrus’s fist comes out of nowhere. One moment Ares is in front of me, and the next he’s sprawled out beside the fire. I gasp and step back. Cyrus is on his feet, his legs trembling with the effort of standing upright, but I’ve never seen him look so impassioned.
“You will speak to her with the respect the mother of your child deserves,” he says. “Or you will leave.”
Ares scrambles to his feet again, looking both stunned and more enraged than I’ve ever seen him before. He pulls out his sword, holding it between them as if he’s begging Cyrus for an excuse to use it. “How dare you. Do you know who I am?”
Cyrus says nothing. His hands are clenched into fists, and he stares down Ares as if they’re equals. But they’re not—Ares is a god, and Cyrus is mortal. It’s a small miracle Ares hasn’t killed him yet, but I’m sure Cyrus will have a one-way ticket to Hades’s realm soon enough.
“Stop it, please,” I beg. “He’ll leave as soon as he’s healed, all right? Just don’t hurt him.”
My protests change nothing. They still stare at one another, as if caught in a silent battle, and I don’t know what to do. I clutch Eros closer, and he begins to cry. But there’s nothing I can do to comfort him, either. I’m helpless.
At last, Ares’s mask of rage slips, and he begins to laugh. It’s a mocking sound though, the kind of empty, haunting laugh that isn’t a laugh at all. “You,” he says. “You sick, twisted bastard. Aphrodite has no idea, does she?”
I frown. “No idea about what?”
Ares shakes his head, his focus still locked on Cyrus. “Would you like to tell her, or shall I?”
I expect Cyrus to deny knowing what he’s talking about—after all, I’ve been with him for sixteen days. Ares only arrived moments ago. But instead Cyrus’s expression crumbles, and he turns to me. “I’m so very sorry for my deception.”
“What deception?” I look from one to the other, my heart pounding. “What are you two talking about?”
Ares sheaths his sword. “He isn’t mortal,” he says. “He’s been lying to you all this time, haven’t you, brother?”
My mouth drops open. Cold horror washes through me, so icy and real that I shiver, and I stare at Cyrus. “Brother?”
Ares smirks. “I’ll be outside while the two of you sort things out. But when I return, I expect him to be gone.”
He slips out of the grotto, leaving Cyrus and me alone. No, not Cyrus. Never Cyrus.
“Hephaestus,” I whisper, and he stares at the floor. “You lied to me.”
Anyone else would deny it. He didn’t really lie, after all—he never told me his name. He never claimed to be someone he wasn’t. But he never told me the truth, either. He pretended not to know me, and his mortal form alone was an intentional deception.