Page 74 of Flame and Fury

I didn’t expect suburbia.

Ares rolls his eyes. “Sit on the leather chairs. I don’t want you getting my couch all wet.” He settles into a spot on the corner of the couch, propping up his booted feet on a low table. I notice he still has his boots on.

Hades leaves the kitchen, still working on his popsicle but also holding a crystal goblet filled with an amber liquid. Those two things can’t taste good together. He sits on the opposite end of the couch. I pick the chair closest to the entrance. Atlas doesn’t sit. He stands next to my chair, arms crossed, his face closed off.

“What are you doing here?” I blurt out at Hades. I blame my bluntness on the fact that I just woke up and my familiarity with Hades. I’ve always felt comfortable with him, almost a kinship. Somehow, I keep forgetting that he’s the god of the Underworld. I should be bowing and shaking in my boots. Instead, I kind of want to give him a hug.

“Wren. I am so disappointed.”

My heart stinks in my chest. Oh shit, I just screwed us tonight. I’ve led Atlas right into the home of a god. They’re going to kill us.

“Perry was absolutely gutted when you were eliminated from the games. She won’t stop talking about it. I’m afraid she’s going to hunt down Jade in the middle of the night and strangle her in her sleep.” Hades sounds delighted by the thought.

A bark of surprised laughter flies out of my mouth. That’s not what I thought he would say. Hades finishes his popsicle and gets up off the couch to throw the stick in the kitchen garbage. It’s so domestic.

When he comes back into the living room, his eyes twinkle with good humor. As if he heard my thoughts from earlier, he crosses the room, leans down, and gives me a one-armed hug. He stands up straight and squeezes my shoulder before patting me on the head.

“Why does he get a hug?” Ares sounds put out. I swivel my head around and stare at the god of war.

“Do you want a hug?”

“I don’t want to beg for one,” Ares says with a huff. He slouches in his seat and throws his ankle up onto the knee of his other leg. He picks up a remote from the coffee table and turns on the gigantic TV. It’s coverage of the Olympus Games.

Really?

What is happening right now?

“As delightful as this reunion is, we should probably get to the point of our visit.” Atlas glowers from where he’s stationed himself beside me. I reach over and pinch his thigh, causing him to flinch. Ares cackles from his spot on the couch, and Hades looks suspiciously like he’s trying to hide a grin. Rude as Atlas’s snappish statement is, he’s not wrong.

“Atlas is right.” Here comes the hard part. I sit on my hands to keep from flapping them around wildly while I fumble my way through this minefield. “I would like to talk to you about something sensitive.”

That’s not the right word for the situation, but really, there’s no good term that encapsulates how fucked all of this is. Suddenly, the heat Atlas radiates is more comforting than stifling. I rub my palms down the sides of my pants and then cross my arms to stop from fidgeting. I look up at the TV and blink in surprise when I see Greer. They’re showing footage from all the challenges so far and ranking the remaining champions. It’s surreal.

“Just spit it out,” Ares says with a yawn. I guess I'm boring him, but he’s not some weak god who has a minor power. I’m about to tell my secret to the gods of the Underworld and War.The secret my father endlessly reminded me to never tell a soul.

I make a note of every possible exit in case we need to run. There’s a sliding glass door that leads out to a patio. I could launch the little metal statue of a dog that’s on a bookshelf at the glass. It would shatter, and Atlas and I could make a run for it.

Does Ares have a dog? Or does he just want one? There’s a lot of dog-themed shit in this house.

Atlas shifts, moving to sit on the arm of my chair. His arm drapes across the back, all but wrapping itself over my shoulders. I know he’s posturing, trying to send a message that he’s not afraid of the two gods in front of us. And I wouldn’t exactly say that I’m afraid of them either. Yes, they may beat me to a pulp, string me up, and torture me, but unless they have a blade of Hephaestus, they can’t kill me.

Except I’d wager between the two of them they have that weapon in their arsenal.

“I need help finding someone that I think you may know.” I direct my statement at Hades.

His eyes drop to the charm around my neck before dipping a little lower. The top of Nathaniel’s brand is peeking out of my shirt.

“What is that?” Hades nods at my chest. He’s already seen my necklace. And he knows what boobs are. I don’t want to get sidetracked talking about that prick, Nathaniel, so I tug up the collar of my tank top.

“Rogers thought he should mark her as his property,” Ares says lightly, but the death brewing in his gaze and the way his nostrils flare are anything but flippant.

When my gaze slides back to Hades, my blood runs cold. His eyes are always dark, but right now, they’re a swirling abyss of black. I can’t look away. I swear there are thousands of souls swimming in the dark depths, staring back at me with a burning vengeance.

My Fury sings. I hunch my shoulders, feeling the sting of my wings as they ache to burst free. I don’t know what this is, but I understand something about Hades intrinsically. There is a bond, a similarity between the two of us. Hades must see something on my face because the danger bleeds away from his gaze, and his mouth pulls up into a smile.

I’ve noticed it before, and I see it again now. I swear Hades has fangs.

“Who do you need help finding?”

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