Page 5 of The Coven of Ruin
“I’m a healer,” she rasped out desperately.
“He’s gone.”
“But I’m a healer.” It came out as a whimper. She was back on her feet, staring at The God of War, who blocked her view of the body. His hands braced her arms, steadying her.
“There was nothing you could do for him, do you understand?” She tried to step around him, but he stopped her. “Look at me,” he commanded. “There was nothing you could do. Say it.”
“There was nothing I could do,” she repeated, a feeling of emptiness overtaking her.
Lifting his head, he assessed the fighting around them. Without looking at her again, he said, “You can’t save everyone.”
She fisted his tunic numbly and didn’t look back at Gavril.
Chapter II
Ares would have left with the witch the instant he grabbed her. The shock made her more difficult to look after than he had anticipated. He also hadn’t envisioned the fervor with which the champions would come for him.
Unfortunately, there was no way he could stalk out of The Arena with a prisoner. Zeus’ magic ensured that no one could escape, not even him. And, even if that wasn’t the case, he couldn’t transport her out. Fighting in The Arena required that he do so without his god powers. It was the cost of leaping into the fray. Even so, it was a unique opportunity to make the God King irrationally angry, which was always a victory of its own.
The battle was finally dying down around them. He had cut down countless men, some without realizing who he was before his blade ended their lives. One of the daemon wolves was injured and bleeding out, whimpering and limping on the far side of the perimeter. The other was surrounded by a small group of fighters. As it tore one of them in half, he knew their failure was imminent.
Several other groups of combatants remained, doing their best to avoid the rampaging beasts while simultaneously dwindling the numbers. Most likely, they were waiting for Hermes to announce the end, but Ares knew that the fight would continue. Zeus prided himself on offering the best entertainment. There was no way he would call it before the beast was finished.
Tartarus damn him.
The witch gasped at his back, and Ares looked for the source of her discomfort. A champion holding a large battle ax supported another whose head lolled with every step.
“Jaric and Roland,” the witch’s voice came from behind him. “Please don’t kill them.”
He narrowed his eyes on the two champions. The one with the ax finally registered them, coming to an abrupt stop. Ares waited and then inclined his head as if to say ‘move along.’ The champion did just that, shifting the other’s weight and changing course. He thought he heard her sigh in relief.
They approached a battling pair who were equally matched, probably former soldiers. Both fighters stopped as they saw him, their mouths dropping open. “The God of War,” one finally said, awe and wariness in his voice.
He debated whether to kill them or let them live. The crowd loved either, really. They loved when he seemingly picked someone worthy to fight alongside, and they loved when he killed anything that crossed his path. They were bloodthirsty and drunken fools.
Though it had been years since he participated in one of Zeus’ exhibitions, he knew that much hadn’t changed.
Both men dropped to a knee, placing their weapons down. They weren’t challenging him, nor would they fight against him if he chose to end their lives. Luckily for them, he didn’t kill kneeling men here, and having a couple more people alive might distract from the fact that he was carrying the witch out of the stadium.
“Stand up,” he ordered as he marked the daemon wolf still tearing through the group of fighters surrounding it. “We are going to kill that.” Ares pointed his sword toward the beast. They studied it, then nodded as they secured their blades.
At least they weren’t cowards.
There were only two men left around the beast, and they realized it at the same time the wolf did.
Ares and the two soldiers moved toward it, but their advancement was hindered by the witch pulling at his tunic. Her steps had become heavier and sluggish, causing him to slow down his own pace.
Ares did one last survey of the area before turning to the dazed witch behind him. “You’re going to stay here.” He pried her hand away from his tunic. Her eyes widened, and the soft forest color of them were at odds with the blood on her face.
“Stay here,” he repeated. “I will come back for you.” When he stepped away, her eyes were already half-lidded again. He had seen that expression often enough in battle.
Facing the two men, he gestured to the taller, younger-looking male. “You, what’s your name?”
“Farin, War God.” He bobbed his head respectfully.
“Farin. And you?” Ares asked, watching the wolf lunge for the two remaining men.
“Khier,” the second soldier beat a thick fist against his chest.
