Page 28 of The Coven of Ruin
He gave her a toothy grin. “Good! He said…” His face scrunched as he tried to remember the exact phrasing. “West Tower, fifth landing, the third chamber on the left, and to come immediately.”
The mageling ran off before she could even answer, shouting something she couldn’t understand. She sat back in her seat forcefully, shoving curls out of her face as she did.
Honestly, who exactly did he think he was,summoningher? She didn’t care what he was the god of—it was rude and presumptuous. Had no one ever told him ‘no’ in his godly existence? Probably not, now that she thought of it.
Of course she would go, if for no reason other than to finally get some answers. But The God of War was going to wait until she was good and ready.
Trista’s stubbornness lasted longer than she anticipated, taking her far past dinner and into the night. Arching her spine, she kneaded the muscles of her lower back with her fists. The sprites buzzed sleepily as she moved, first to stretch and then to place the books behind her chair again.
“I hope you have a better night than I’m about to,” she muttered to them before departing.
Stopping by her room, she dug out the dagger she had brought from the Akeso. She wasn’t about to go to his chamber unarmed. Not that she stood a chance against him—armed or otherwise.
The trek to the western towers allowed her to see parts of the castle she hadn’t yet. And usually, she would be happy to have ample time to marvel at the architecture, intricate carvings in the columns, and the artwork, but in the middle of the night and summoned by The God of War, she found herself unmoved by any of it.
Her annoyance and pure determination had her moving fairly quickly until she hit the steps. Peering up the winding flight of stairs of the tower, she took a deep inhale and started up them. Halfway up, she was winded and uncomfortably sweaty. When she finally reached the fifth landing, all was quiet besides her own labored breaths that she fought to control.
What if I stomped all the way up here just for everyone to be gone or asleep?
There were seven doors, two of which were cracked with firelight coming from them. One was the third door on the left like Theron had said. Taking a deep breath, both to regulate her breathing and to prepare herself to face him, she tiptoed toward the cracked door. She raised her hand to knock but dropped it a moment later once she looked through the open space.
Ares was sprawled out, asleep in an armchair. His head leaned slightly back, and his face was turned toward the crackling fire. Long, muscled legs stretched out in front of him. His sword lay against his upper thighs, his hand around its hilt.
Even in his sleep, he made her heartbeat quicken with uncertainty. Trista chewed on her bottom lip, deciding if she should knock to wake him up or flee the tower altogether.
Instead, she opened the door soundlessly.Courage,she told herself and stepped over the threshold. She should alert him to her presence. Still, she took another step forward on her tiptoes as if walking toward a slumbering beast in its den.
Even in sleep he was prepared for war. Tense. Powerful. She moved slowly, watching his face for any signs of alertness until she stood between his outstretched legs.
She studied his features. Though she could see where his usual harshness softened in his rest, his brows still knitted together, a line forming between them. His jaw wasn’t clenched, but the angles of his face still seemed so full of tension. It was as if he was prepared to have to spring up and fight at any moment.
Though fully clothed, his tunic was loosened. The ties and buttons were undone at the top, exposing his neck and part of his chest. She supposed that was about the most undone he became. The exposed skin she could see was covered in scars, some more faded than others. But what caught her eye was a smattering of black and blue web-like bruises peeking from beneath his blouse on his left side.
It almost looked like…
Inching closer still, careful to keep her hips from touching his thighs, she bent forward. Dark magic—black and creeping. Gods healed quicker than witches, she knew that. Though she wasn’t precisely sure how dark magic would affect a god, it seemed strange that he wasn’t healing. Scanning his face first to ensure he was asleep still, she reached out and carefully moved the fabric covering the left side of his chest.
They had missed his heart, hitting him beneath the collarbone instead. The puncture wound had knitted itself together but was raised and swollen. Infected. The spell was creeping through his veins like a slow poison. It wasn’t Noxa that had caused this—it was somethingother.
All at once, she realized that the wound was killing him. Her essence pooled in her fingertips, the healer in her wanting to know just what kind of weapon and magic could do this to a god.
A calloused, iron grip circled her wrists, pulling them down and apart. She made a surprised noise as her eyes snapped to his face. Ares was awake, and a simmering rage was etched into every tense muscle.
“What thefuckare you doing?“ His voice was low, dangerous. He had stolen her balance when he yanked her forward but simultaneously held her up with his imprisoning grip. Strong thighs tightening, he trapped her hips between them. His face was inches from hers.
“I— you... you’re dying,” she breathed, not knowing why she said that first.
A breath expanded his chest. They stared at each other for a heartbeat. Two.
She tried shifting out of his grasp. “Let me go,” she demanded, her voice steadier than she felt. “You’re hurting me.”
His molten gaze danced over her face, paused on her lips, and then traveled down her neck to land on the sheathed dagger that his thigh was pressing into her hip. A shiver went down her spine at his slow perusal of her person. He pushed her more upright, sitting up himself. His grip was still on her wrists which he had brought down and between them.
“Come to kill me in my sleep, witch?”
She glared at him, trying to pull her hands away, but failing. He eased back into his previous position, letting go of her wrists and opening his thighs to release her all at once.
“You’re going to die anyway,” Trista countered as easily as she could while stepping away from him. She kept a hold of her magic, prepared to run or attempt to defend herself at any moment.
