Page 94 of The Cursed Chalice
“No.”
“Sure, flower,” I reply, and she visibly relaxes when she realizes that it’s me and not Ares.
She walks in, her shorts molding to her soft thighs and ass. The camisole lace top is holding onto breasts that I long too?—
“Focus, Aric.”
“I, uh, I got back my job, and work starts back tomorrow.” She smiles brightly and rocks.
“Why does she want to work?”
I swallow, trying to keep Ares at bay. “Do as you wish.”
She nods and exhales. “Thanks. I want to leave here around 9:15 a.m.”
“Again, whatever you want to do, Soraya.” I look up at her, trying to look bored. “Is that all?”
She folds her lips like she wants to say something, but she changes her mind and nods and walks away.
The moment she leaves the office, frustration rages in my bones.
“She needs protection, Ares.”
“Keep it limited.” His voice is clipped.
“This makes no sense. I think you’re pushing her away for more than you say.” I pace the room.
Ares remains silent. I know I’m right. The chalice catches my eye; it’s still sitting on the side table. You would think he would put it downstairs in the vault, but then the thought hits me.
I close my eyes and inhale, searching for my other half in my mind. “You’re having a problem choosing between Talia and Soraya.”
I find Ares standing in the darkness of my mind with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Hecate said?—”
Ares turns, and his eyes are red with rage. “Fuck Hecate. There is no other way. No loophole.”
I walk up to Ares and place my hand on his shoulder.
“We don’t know that.”
Ares shrugs my hand away. “That’s the point. Let her go live her life. She won’t die by my hands.”
“Ares…”
Ares laughs bitterly. “Look at us, me. Swirling in insanity. My reality has fallen from me. I am looking at the humanity of myself manifested.”
“It will only get worse,” I reply.
Ares looks back at me with unshed tears. “Then we shall revel in our insanity.”
I bend my head, feeling his pain bleed through me.
“Indifference is the only shield that I can forge, Aric. It’s the only way.”
Ididn’t realize I missed the scent of sharp pine resin and old solvents until I sat over a painting. A church donated an old picture of the Virgin Mary and Jesus that was dated from the eighteenth century.
I am laser-focused, twirling the Q-tip against the yellowed aged varnish. Once it’s back to its glory, it will be sent to another museum for display.
