Page 40 of Flame and Fury

Nathaniel is at Zeus’s side, practically kissing his feet. Demeter is speaking to Zeus in low tones, but the message is clear. She’s pissed. Her nostrils are flared, and her hand keeps gesturing toward the door. She’s still beautiful, her honied wheat colored hair braided in a crown across her head, her tan skin flush with color. Lark was her champion. Does she know that Nathaniel has made her part of his staff?

Atlas is next to them, his eyes lifeless and shuttered. For one second, they find me across the room and there’s a blaze of heat before he snaps his gaze away.

“There’s my favorite champion.” Ares’s voice startles me.

He’s right behind me, even though I just walked through the door. Ares hooks his arm through mine and leads me over to the corner of the room, where two women in sparkly dresses are sitting primly on the velvet settee.

“Leave us,” Ares commands, as though we’re not in a room with over a hundred people. The women hop up, giggling and batting their lashes at the god of war.

“Come now, champion, take a seat. Tell me how you’re doing?”

I sink into the corner of the couch and angle my body to look at Ares. The god is beautiful if dark, brooding, and slightly menacing men are your thing. There’s an energy that surrounds him, that’s unique to the god. As though tension ripples under his skin, and if too much gathers, he might snap and start a war.

I kind of like him. Which surprises me.

He’s wearing a suit tonight, but no tie. The shirt is casually unbuttoned, further playing into the charade of a devil-may-care god. It’s all a lie. Ares lounges on the couch, one arm thrown over the back and the other over the arm. He looks relaxed, but the sheer amount of space he takes up is meant to be intimidating.

I really didn’t get a chance to talk to Kat about the Underground’s plan. Atlas and I have discussed it a little bit, but do they want to put all the gods to sleep? Do I feel okay about that? Whenever I’m close to Zeus, my Fury simmers inside of me, ready to burst free and force him to recognize the injustices that he has perpetuated. I have no doubt that he deserves to be punished, but Ares or Jasper’s mom? What about Hades and Persephone?

It’s not as simple as I once thought. There are shades of good and bad, and sometimes it’s hard to see where that line should be drawn. What’s interesting is that my Fury doesn’t scream for vengeance when Ares is nearby.

Ares is examining the room, his gaze calculating as he takes note of all the partygoers. I wonder what he sees. Are they all disposable? Does he think they’re sheep? Ares turns his head to look at me, smiling his wicked smile when he finds me already studying him.

“Do you want to know the truth? Or a glossy version?” I raise a brow.

Ares sits up a little straighter. The eyebrow with the scar through it, the one that looks just like mine, arches up in intrigue. I got my scar when I was patrolling as the Dark Hand. I wonder how Ares got his.

“The truth, of course.”

I weigh my words, wondering if I should really speak my mind. Why the hell not. “I’m angry.”

Ares’s brows lift. He wasn’t expecting that answer.

“I was plucked off the street walking home from work and forced to participate in these games. Two of my competitors have died, and several others have been horribly injured. One of whom has now been forced into servitude because she had the audacity to be poisoned in a challenge that couldn’t be won.” My Fury shifts beneath my skin. I’m more frustrated than ever and sick of hiding in the shadows.

“Do you enjoy the Olympus Games, Ares?” I don’t look away from him.

Ares shifts, leaning forward and clasping his hands together. His forearms rest on his thighs, and his head is turned toward me.

“I am a being of conflict. I enjoy seeing people fight. It feeds me.” He taps his chest, his eyes sparking with an otherworldly light. My heart sinks at his words. I didn’t realize how much I wanted him to be different from Zeus. To be better.

“Here’s the thing, Wren, these games are not a real battle. We’ve thrown people into a competition they don’t feel passionate about. There is no heart in these games.”

My breath hitches in my chest but I don’t want to get excited.

“Do you know what my favorite battles of all time are, champion?”Ares’s dark eyes spark with a fire.

I shake my head. The party goes on around us, brittle laughter and the clink of glasses background noise that barely penetrates our corner.

A sly smile breaks out over Ares’s dangerous and beautiful face. “The uprisings. The revolutions. Never discount the little guy. The ones that have been oppressed for so long that they finally snap. Their battles are fueled by the need to rectify injustices.” Ares closes his eyes like he’s savoring a delicious taste. “And those fights are the ones that sustain me.”

My exhale is ragged, and my mind is spinning. Ares winks at me before his face grows serious.

He gestures toward a cluster of clerics in the corner of the room “These fools have been raiding every major city in this territory for the last few days. They’re killing people as an example, to prove a point. They think they have the upper hand, but I can feel something simmering.” Ares rubs his chest and inhales deeply.

“And you’re okay sitting back and watching the carnage?” I snap. Just when I’m starting to like the god, he says shit that makes it sound like all those deaths don’t matter.

Ares’s dark eyes drill into me, but I don’t look away.

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