Page 83 of Scion of Chaos

His shoulders tighten as if bracing himself. In a measured tone he says, “What is written claims that Bellerophon tamed him with a magic bridle, rode him to Olympus, got knocked off, and Pegasus remained to carry Zeus’s thunderbolts. When he died he was honored by becoming a constellation in the heavens.”

“I take it that’s the lie.”

His eyes flash with anger and he nods. “Thetruthis that he was enslaved by the gods, forced into servitude like a beast. He was like me… he could transform into a man if he wished, but the bridle trapped him in his equine form. I tried to help him escape, but I failed him.”

Chrysaor’s voice goes ragged and tight, his eyes reddening. He clenches his teeth, and I can’t help but close the distance and plant myself in front of him, raising my hands to his cheeks.

He stares at the mural of Pegasus for a moment longer, then looks down at me, almost pleading. “I failed him. He was killed, and I was cast to Tartarus to serve out my sentence for daring to defy the gods. I see his constellation sometimes when Typhon lets me share his view of the sky, but it gives me no solace, not when I know how he died.”

“How long has it been?”

He shakes his head, staring at the mural again. “Time has little meaning in this place. At least three thousand years. Probably longer. I distract myself, either entertaining the others or training.” He gestures at the bar, then at the weapons and armor lined with museum precision along the wall.

Then he drops his gaze to his booted feet, and in a lower voice says, “I have gained perspective since, but while I was still hurting, I went through a body disfigurement phase. I wanted my wings and tusks gone, so I made Alcides cut my wings off and yank out my tusks, but they only grew back the next time I shifted.”

He wanders to a comfortable sitting area at the far end of the room that faces the bed standing as a centerpiece in this end of the room. The enormous, circular bed is neatly made with a cushioned headboard and huge, fluffy pillows in shades of gold and silver. Across the bed from where we sit are more shelves flanking half a dozen mirrors. On the shelves are an assortment of elaborate masks hewn from different materials, some with horns, some with feathers, some horrific and monstrous and others whimsical and fun. I want to ask him about everything here, when I can.

What I want most is to know him, though, so I move toward the empty chair, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me onto his lap instead.

“Is this okay?” he asks, slinging an arm around my waist as I steady myself with my hands against his broad shoulders. He’s warm and smells like earth and spice. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I trust you,” I say with an indulgent smile. “You saw how much I trusted Typhon and Asterius yesterday. I trust you just as much. We also don’t have to do anythingyoudon’t want to do. So what do youwantto do?”

“Just hold you right now, because I have a feeling I’ll have few opportunities to have you to myself.”

I slide my arms around his neck, knuckles brushing against the softest feathers at the base of his wings where they merge with his shoulder blades. His eyes are an unusual gold-green color that shimmers from within. I lean in as he places a palm against my cheek, guiding me into a tender kiss that turns deeper, though I pull away with a laugh, finding it tricky to navigate his tusks.

He grunts and his mouth tilts in an apologetic smile. “You see why I wanted them gone.”

“Nonsense. I’ll get used to them.” I rub my thumb along his full lower lip and up one tusk. He runs his tongue along the length of the other side of it, the agile muscle pointing when it reaches the tip. I can’t help but stare, because his tongue islong. Not only that, a small void glass barbell runs through it halfway down. When he pulls it back into his mouth and I return my gaze to his, my cheeks immediately heat at the amused look he’s giving me.

I clear my throat. “Tell me more about your bodymodificationphase. I think I can relate, since I went through one of my own. Not quite to the extreme of cutting off body parts, but I shaved my head and got a tattoo. I almost got my nipples and clit pierced, but chickened out.”

“That must have been some time ago,” he comments, coiling a strand of my hair around his index finger. It’s long now, nearly covering my breasts in an unruly mess of black waves.

“Maybe next time I’ll get a do like yours.” I reach up and touch one of the points of his hair. “And your wings are fucking gorgeous. Why in the world would you want to get rid of those?” I reach out and stroke the edge of one, which quivers, making all the tiny feathers glimmer as if made of silver.

“Because they reminded me of my brother. I wasn’t able to save him, so I felt like I didn’t deserve that kind of power. But demigods don’t have the luxury of removing an entire body part, so I make do with altering the ones I have.”

I lift one eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m a little scared of what exactly you wanted to show me.”

“No need to be afraid, pretty girl. Not if you’ve already sounded the big guy.”

I’m not sure what he means, but I don’t have time to ask. He nudges me off his lap, and I shift back to sit on the bed as he stands. He glances down his torso, then peers at me from beneath his lashes.

“Do you mind if I show you?”

“Are you fucking kidding? I’d be mad if you didn’t now!”

His mouth tilts up on one side, and he gives an endearingly nervous chuckle. “Here goes. I know you’re probably used to human-shaped dicks. Mine’s a little different, even without all the, um,extras. But it’s really nothing. I mean, Cerberus is the one you should be scared if, if any of us.”

“Because he has three dicks,” I deadpan, leaning back and preparing to enjoy the show.

Chrysaor unbuckles the enormous belt that holds his sword at his hip and carefully rests it on the chair behind him. His leather kilt has laced panels on the front of either hip, and he’s taking his sweet time loosening them.

He looks up at me, eyebrows raised.

“I haven’t seen them, but Asterius told me. You guys kind of talk about your dicks an awful lot, you know? I’m not a delicate flower, Chry. You won’t scare me off.”

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