Page 84 of Make Me Hunt
I challenged the God of War. And convinced myself it was his time to lose.
Still, I knew I could never live with myself, knowing I did nothing to avenge Elias.
Ares balances his weight on his left leg, his sword mercilessly as he sidesteps, moving out of my way. And I miss.
Now the silver metal of his blade gleams above my head... and I don’t feel fear. I only feel the disappointment of failing my mission.
For one last moment, my eyes meet his. The confusion is still there, but there’s something else, too. Something I don’t have time to decipher before a pain explodes inside of me, like it’s tearing me to pieces.
Then a deafening noise fills my ears, and all of my senses fade one by one.
Until there’s onlydarkness.
thirty-one
-Ares-
—A few moments earlier—
I look at Cynthia, still trying to figure out what’s so strange about her. It feels like I’ve seen her before, but I just can’t place where.
My eyes never stop studying her features as our weapons clash in the dark.
It’s weird how I don’t feel anything coming from her. Not a single drop of fear, something more like familiarity. Something I just can’t put my finger on.
Our swords collide, and I’m surprised—she’s the best opponent I’ve had in probably centuries. There’s something about this woman I don’t understand, and a lot of things don’t make sense. Her moves are too familiar, yet not entirely predictable.
But I don’t have time to figure that out. Our blades keep clashing, reminding me of the sound of war. And something clicks in me, maybe because I haven’t been in a fight for so long. At least a real one.
Two strikes and they’re gone. That’s how long my fights lasted for the last century. While this has been going on for minutes, the intensity making my body hum with the promise of a warrior's blood.
I’ve missed this. Even if there’s no match for the great battles I fought, it’s as close as it gets to being me again. Ares, God of War.
My lust to kill grows with every blow, especially knowing what crimes brought her here.
The warrior inside numbs the rest of me, and I let go of all thoughts about something being different about her.
I focus only on the fight. And it seems I need to because with a lucky shot, she gets my shoulder.
It’s just a scratch, but the blood running down my arm heightens my senses. I’ve been just playing with her until now.
I haven’t been struck in a game for ages, so that brings my urge to claim her blood to a whole new level.
I wait for my wound to close, my flesh stitching itself back together. It’s not because I can’t fight like this. It’s because I want to see the surprise in her eyes as she understands I’m not human.
But there’s none. Absolutely no reaction, like she’s the supernatural one and has the ability to completely fend off the notion of fear.
That gets me both pissed off and intrigued. I charge her, my sword hungrier than ever, metal biting metal, determined to touch flesh.
My assault is too brutal, the anger too potent for any mortal to withstand. Suddenly, she seems to have a change of heart. Maybe she realizes there’s no real chance of defeating me, because now it looks like she’s trying to escape me.
She springs for salvation, jumping onto a cradle, then onto a table right in front of me.
I expect her to cross its length, then leap down toward the door.
But yet again, she surprises me. Her body launches into the air as she lifts her sword, aiming for my neck. “Goodbye, Ares.”
The words strike me like lightning.
It’s not that she knows my name. It’s that I know her voice. But it’s too late. The shock doesn’t register in time. My body is trained to fight so hard that it moves on instinct.
Pivoting, I slip aside, my fingers still gripping the hilt of my sword as my hand arcs right for her neck, the hunger for blood and self-preservation, overwhelming everything.
For a second, our eyes meet, and I realize the person in front of me is wearing a disguise. Because I know exactly who that voice belongs to.
But it’s too late. My hand swings heavily, and my sword races mercilessly to take what I love most.
“Brynn.”
THE END... OR NOT THE END
