Page 29 of Gods of Prey
“Force of habit,” I reply. When she jerks her chin toward me in question, I shrug. I’ve said too much, but I can’t let her see that it was anything but intentional. “In Aurelys, I’ve observed you for centuries,” I remind her.
Unfortunately, I’ve already admitted that embarrassing tidbit to her.
She narrows her eyes. Suspicious, as always. “I find that deeply unsettling, Revel.”
The name feels both foreign and familiar on her lips. To her, I’ve always been nothing more than Sebastian’s loyal deputy, the interim god. But something has shifted within her. Perhaps it’s from living in such close quarters these past couple weeks, or maybe just the acknowledgment that we’re more than our cosmic functions.
“Would you prefer I looked elsewhere?” I ask, genuinely curious.
In my countless years of existence, few beings have fascinated me like Sienna—the proud, fierce goddess who carriesDeath with both reverence and defiance. My best friend’s other half. I’ve hated the influence she has on him while simultaneously envying her carefree take on existence.
“I’d prefer you were honest about why we’re really going to New York,” she counters, changing the subject. “This detour delays bringing Sebastian back to Aurelys and we’ve got a new deadline hanging over our heads.”
I maintain eye contact, refusing to be the first to look away. Everything with her is a battle of wills and I’ve quickly realized I can’t stand losing.
“You need closure on your death before you can fully focus on retrieving your brother,” I explain with a casual shrug, even though this conversation is anything but casual. “I’m simply expediting the process. Who was it again?”
I play dumb, but I know exactly who executed her. While I’m aware they were playing the part that the Fates assigned to them, I fear that being in this realm—feeling mortal emotions—has severely skewed my judgment.
The truth is more complicated than I want to admit. With each passing hour, the cosmic imbalance grows, reality fraying at the edges as Sebastian gallivants around, playing human. But I’ve also witnessed Sienna’s restlessness. Her need for justice regarding her murder. And something in me—something dangerously close to human sentiment—wants to give her that peace.
“The Loyal Order of the Serpent,” she says, grimacing at the name of her killers. “They’ll certainly be paying once they arrive in Umbraeth.”
“You’d be surprised how many shadow organizations exist in the mortal realm,” I tell her. “I doubt they’re the worst. Humans with glimpses of divine knowledge are often the most dangerous.”
“No, but they’ve done the unimaginable to me.”
I don’t have a rebuttal for that. If I were in her position, I would likely have the same taste for vengeance.
Which is a sobering thought, considering my role as interim God of Life. Suddenly, Sebastian’s craving for blood doesn’t feel so frivolous.
The plane touches down at JFK with a jolt that passes through Sienna without effect. As other passengers gather their belongings, she stands in the aisle, a ghostly observer to mortal routines. I feel a pang of something like sorrow for her, trapped between realms, neither fully divine nor human. Unable to serve her true role.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says sharply.
“Like what?”
Sneering, she jerks her chin, looking away from me. “Like I’m some tragic puppy.”
I follow the stream of departing passengers, my hands void of any luggage. I don’t have a single belonging in this realm with enough attachment to carry around. That thought alone is quite isolating. Even if I tried to manifest something, what would it be? I have no idea what humans keep for personal effects.
“There’s nothing tragic about you, goddess. Fierce, stubborn, occasionally infuriating, but never tragic.”
The words are meant to be a poke at her, but they end up coming out as a compliment.
A flicker of surprise crosses her features before she masks it with her usual cool detachment. “Just remember why we’re here. Information gathering, not vengeance.”
“Of course,” I agree, though we both know her capacity for vengeance is precisely what concerns me.
“This is it,” she says, stopping in the middle of the street in an industrial complex. “Where it happened.”
I look around at the cemented area. Nothing remarkable about it—dumpsters, unmarked brick buildings, fire escapes overhead. The usual urban grime. Hard to believe this mundane spot is where a goddess met her thirty-third violent death.
“You don’t have to do this,” I remind her for the third time.
This self-doubt is not something I ever experienced as a god. Apathy, yes. Skepticism, sure. Restlessness? Always. But doubt is constant as a mortal. I’ve had a feeling of dread building in my stomach since we got into our taxi and drove here.
“We could just go back to Seattle,” I offer.
