Page 81 of Scion of Chaos

My eyes widen and I reach for one of the other books I pored over earlier, one detailing the laws of the nymphaea. All the higher races have strict laws about the treatment of their blood, but the nymphaea are especially strict, and since Dionysus was the father of the entire race, his blood probably falls under the same laws.

“She was nymphaea, wasn’t she? Didn’t they outlaw blood melding because of her? Because if one of them has ill intentions, they can essentially mind control anyone who drinks their blood?”

“Indeed. She forgot this because she assumed as the newly created child of a god, that would no longer apply. But, with a few exceptions, only a god’s children who arebornfrom a mated union have complete autonomy. Her new body was not born, but created directly from the god’s blood. This was the loophole that allowed the higher races to finally beat her.

“But Dionysus did not stop with her. She had tainted generations of humanity going back thousands of years. To ensure her corruption was snuffed out for good, the god sacrificed all of his life’s blood to subsume any trace of hers throughout the world.”

My mouth drops open at the implication. “The Bloodline came fromher?”

He nods sagely. “She experimented for millennia trying to create her perfect vessel. In the process, she infused human after human with the blood of the higher races, along with her own blood to maintain control over them while she tested different combinations. Those humans procreated, and their bloodlines expanded. Some interbred, such as within specific ethnic communities, creating stronger, more saturated bloodlines. But when the Lamia was killed, all of them—down to the smallest child alive—were infused with the blood of Dionysus.”

I swallow harshly, realizing he’s suggesting the Makah likely have a stronger concentration of higher races blood due to how insular our tribes are.

“This is why I am the way I am, isn’t it?” I whisper. “Is my link to him the reason I basically want to fuckall the time?”

He lifts an eyebrow and smirks. “Perhaps. But such desires are also quite common when members of the higher races find their true and fated mates. We instinctively seek to bond.”

I glance down at his lap, but the book he was reading is covering his groin. I need to get my mind off sex if I can. Taking a deep breath, I shift my focus back to the book in front of me, working to focus on the words and forgetting the thread of our conversation entirely.

After a moment of silently staring at the same sentence, I ask, “When will the others be off duty?”

“Which others?”

“The ones I haven’t bonded with yet.”

“Erebus, Pan, and I will relieve them in a few hours. But if you’d like, we can take a walk now and visit them while they patrol.”

“I won’t be a distraction, will I?”

“Most of our tasks are tedious and monotonous, not dangerous. If you’re looking for a safe distraction, it might be the ideal time.”

“Then yes. I’d like the walk.”

He rises and reaches a hand out to me. I take it and let him lead me to the glass doors, bracing myself for the contrast of dissonant sounds of torment that echo through the corridors when they open.

It’s far less jarring this time than it was the day before. I recognize the sounds too, from the rhythmic whip cracks and singing slices coming from the chamber where the Furies do their work, to the keening calls of the eagle and the vultures pecking at the livers of Prometheus and Tityos, to the clank of empty jars being tipped over the well where the Danaids serve their sentence.

The first of the guards we find is Chrysaor, striding toward us when we round a bend in the labyrinth of corridors. His face lights up when he sees me and I wave, my heartrate picking up as the distance between us shrinks.

I take the opportunity to look at him, since I was somewhat distracted the last time we were in a room together for real, what with being tormented to distraction by Typhon’s many tongues. Chrysaor is as big as Asterius, with mostly human features aside from a pair of enormous dove gray wings that lay folded against his muscular shoulders, and a pair of ivory tusks that jut up from his lower jaw, ending just level with his nostrils. His head is shaved on both sides, the remaining luminous blond hair teased into spikes. He’s wearing an armored kilt of leather and heavy boots, though he’s otherwise bare-skinned, his toned muscles glistening with a sheen of sweat. When his smile widens, his tusks seem to lengthen.

“Well, well, have I finally earned a proper introduction, lovely Nemea?” He gives Asterius an accusatory look, and the minotaur huffs and crosses his arms.

“My commitment is to her comfort, Chrysaor. You know this.”

“I would have volunteered, given the chance,” Chrysaor says, then sighs. “But I get it. We’re stretched thin, and you’re better at hospitality than the rest of us by a longshot.”

“It isn’t that I didn’t want to meet you,” I say. “I’ve just been preoccupied. I’m hoping to remedy that now, though.”

I remember Vesh’s parting words suggesting I bond with the others, but this is obviously not the time or place. Still, with Chrysaor standing only a few feet away, resplendent with his golden skin and heated gaze, I can’t help but recall the filthy things he said my first night here and idly wonder if his tusks would get in the way if I sat on his face.

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes, a knowing smile spreading across his face. “You look a little preoccupied now, pretty girl.” He takes a step closer then leans in, heat radiating off him and my skin prickling as his breath drifts across my ear. “Perhaps thinking about my promise to you, huh? I meant every word.”

My breath hitches and my core heats and tingles. He takes a deep inhale before leaning back, his nostrils flaring. Then he lets out a low groan and turns a pleading gaze to Asterius.

“Have mercy, brother. It’s unfair that you get to spend so much time with her while the rest of us have to wait. You and the brothers, and that fuckingfaun.” His nose crinkles with irritation, but I don’t sense anything more acrid than indignation when he refers to Pan.

“To be fair, I needed him to help regain my memories,” I say.

---