Page 57 of Make Me Hunt
But I’m afraid that’s just wishful thinking. Just a way for my mind—and what’s left of my heart—to cling to one last scrap of happiness. Because I realize now, no matter how evil or twisted he might be, no matter the game he’s playing, he’s the only real shot I have at feeling something other than pain and hate.
Ares steps into the bedroom just as I’m opening the bathroom door. There’s a visible grunt on his face, probably because I didn’t wait for him. But I make sure his grunt turns into a smile as he sees me stealing one of his shirts from the closet, even though I wait for him to get into the shower before I change.
I’ve just finished finger-combing my hair when he steps out, totally unbothered, wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist, which he tosses aside quickly to pull on a pair of black joggers and a white shirt.
I really need to stop staring at his abs. But then I’d be staring at his cock, and at this point, I don’t even know which one of those is worse. Gawking is gawking, no matter how you spin it.
Before I manage to embarrass myself with some dumb excuse about how I’m not really looking at him, he takes my hand and leads me out of the room. “Come on. I have something to show you.”
I’ve already been through most of his rooms, so I’m not sure what he could possibly surprise me with. But from the way he’s heading, we’re not stopping on this level. Instead, he leads me to a door I suspect goes to the basement. It seems I’m right. There’s a set of stairs leading down as soon as he opens it.
He goes first, taking my hand to make sure I don’t trip. The lighting is dim, but just bright enough for me to see where I’m going. Still, I don’t let go of his hand.
There’s the independent part of me, asking me not to show I can be fragile. But there’s also the part that wants to feel everything—for the first time. The part that wants so badly to believe in the fairytale.
We walk down a long corridor with rooms on both sides, which leads me to believe he has another entire floor down here.
“Are you about to go Fifty Shades on me?” I ask half-smiling... maybe even half-daydreaming about it.
Though it doesn’t seem like that’s what he has in mind.
“Funny, you consider me to be so gentle,” he smirks, and a chill travels down my spine.
Now,I aminterested.
He doesn’t offer any other clues as we stop in front of a door. “You said you needed answers. Well... this is who I am,” he says, turning the doorknob and letting me into a different world.
Lit shelves are lining up the walls, filled with hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of ancient artifacts. Pieces I’ve never seen before, and by the look of them, they belong in a museum.
In the center, a massive white marble statue of a man resting on pillows, completely naked and with a hard-on big enough to raise a flag. Well, I bet it’s hard... since it’s marble.
But as I look at it, I realize the features of his face are way too familiar.
It’s him. It’s Ares. The statue is a representation of him, and as I come to look better at his naked marble body, I realize it’s aone-on-one representationof him.
“That was a gift from Alexander of Antioch. He did some work for my sister, too, a while ago. Hers is more familiar since she let the public discover it. You might’ve heard of it. It’s called The Venus of Milo,” he says it’s so casually like it’s completely normal for him that his sister is... the actual Goddess of Love.
“Okay, so your sister is Aphrodite… you’re telling me that you’re Ares… As inthe Ares? The God of War?”
“Yes, the chaotic, brutal, bloodthirsty God of War. Couldn’t you tell by now?” He lets on a smirk, clearly proud of this title. And I think I even catch him flexing a muscle as he tilts his head, locking eyes with me as his warrior braids swing to the side to point out the obvious. The obvious I’ve clearly missed until now.
“Not at this level,” I say, almost in shock, as I try to piece things together, even though none of it makes sense anymore.
But one thing I am certain of—he’s not lying. I saw it with my own eyes. “But weren’t you... like... romantically involved with Aphrodite?” I ask with a slight disgust, only now realizing that she’s the blonde he took to the club.
“No,” he mutters, as if he’s offended by the thought. “Some parts of the legends are true, but others are just pure myths, made up by people who didn’t have better things to do with their lives. They see us as gods, but we’re really just... entities.”
“I think you should start from the beginning,” I blink, confused and not entirely sure I’m ready for what he’s about to tell me.
He turns to face the eastern wall, where more than a couple of dozen weapons are carefully aligned—each one priceless, with jeweled handles, and ancient inscriptions along their blades. “This is who I am,” he says, lifting a curved blade from the wall, the edge shining under the chandelier. And I feel my breath fading. “Something born of violence and rage. An entity created for one purpose—destruction. I’m called a god because that’s the name humans gave us. But in truth, we are entities created by the same force. A power beyond comprehension.” He sets the weapon back into place, just to run his fingers along the edge of a double-headed ax.
“That’s why people call him the Devil—even though in some cultures, he bears different names like Zeus or Asura.”
He turns to face me fully now, his voice low, his eyes locked on mine. “He’s not entirely evil in every religion. It all depends on how people perceive us, his children. We also bear different names in different regions. From the Maori warrior king to the Slavic Chernobog. Over time, cultures shaped us into different forms—but we’re essentially the same being.” He takes me by the waist and guides me to a wall where ancient artifacts like gold urns, shattered relics, and even stone fragments tell grim stories of monsters invading the human world, leaving nothing behind but torture and war.
“My father created me, and my brothers and sisters, without giving us any special purposes at first. Messing with people’s lives was our main form of entertainment. We took whatever we wanted. Made everyone bow for our pleasure.” He says, trailing a finger down my spine, and just like that, those familiar tingles are building up again, making my body all so willing to bow for his pleasure too.
I expect him to go on with his story. Yet the fire in my eyes, the desire he ignited with nothing more than a touch of a finger. I wish I could hide it, to control myself, but I’m as lost as those poor bastards he just described. And from there on, things only go downhill for my resistance as he leads me to the far corner of the room, where a cloth covers what seems to be a chair.
