Page 23 of The Fifth Gate

Ares’s hand locks onto my wrist, and I let my knees go loose, throwing myself backwards towards the floor. Ares gives a little grunt of surprise, but he doesn’t move or shift. My weight isn’t a burden. I’m not sure it even registers to him. But when I yank back, he leans forward a bit, his brows furrowing, like he’s worried he’s about to rip the wings off a butterfly he’s trying to be gentle with.

A hysterical little laugh bubbles up in my throat at the idea.

My move puts him off balance, and I plant my now raised foot into his gut, hauling back with every ounce of strength, physical or magical, in my body.

I think it’s his shock that allows me to do it. But I manage to pitch the God of War over my head and onto the ground. His grip yanks painfully tight, and then he lets go, like he’s really trying not to cripple me. I’m pretty sure he could have yanked my arm off if he held on.

Ares hits the ground with a clatter of armor, and I twist around to get my feet under me again. Desperation gives me wings, and I lunge back up to my feet, ready to bolt. If I can get out of his line of sight, maybe it won’t be so easy for him to just twist the castle around me. It’s a small sliver of a chance, but I grab onto it with both hands.

At least, right up until an unforgiving grip snaps closed on my ankle, and drags my feet out from under me. And down I go. The fall knocks the air out of me with a small grunt. My palms sting when they slap against the stone, and all the while I fight to keep my face from slamming into the ground. The helm clatters away from me with a ring of metal, and I make a grab for it as it rolls away. My fingers just barely brush it, before Ares uses his grip on my leg to haul me backwards down the hallway.

I twist enough to see his dark, murderous expression as he drags me back towards him. Panicked, I lash out with my free foot, trying to kick him away. He catches my other foot, and if anything, just looks more pissed. He yanks, and I go sliding backwards underneath him.

I can’t hold back a shiver as I come to a stop, lying on the floor just a few inches beneath his chest. He’s not touching me, but the heat radiating off him is intense enough that he might as well be. It feels like a firm hand resting on my back, making my skin prickle. His arms press against the outside of my shoulders, solid, and immovable.

Desperation sets its claws into my throat.

I have to get away. I have to. If not for myself, then for Janie.

I throw an elbow back, hard, as I try to scramble forwards and away. Ares grunts, more in surprise than pain, I think. Even without metal armor, his chest is hard. It feels like I just bashed my arm into concrete, but I ignore the throb of pain that shoots down to my wrist.

I almost manage to slide free, when Ares grabs my shoulder. The power in his hands is unforgiving.

“Stop,” he growls.

He uses his hold to roll me over and onto my back, and then I find myself staring up into his dark, dark eyes. Each heaving breath brushes my chest against his, and while looking up into the face of the man who would be my murderer, something inside mesnaps.

I go wild; hitting, kicking, even biting when one of his hands gets too close to my face. I rake my nails over any bit of his exposed skin within my reach. I don’t think I’m even making words, just hissing my fear and fury at him like an enraged cat.

Hades looks unimpressed, right up until I manage to slam my knee into his ribs, hard enough that he actually rocks to the side a little. That makes him pause, and I reach for his eyes while he’s distracted. He jerks his head back, and his lips press into a hard line before peeling back to reveal strong, white teeth.

“Would. You. Hold. Still?” He snarls the words, his breath coming in sharp bursts. Finally, obviously pissed, he lets his body collapse on top of mine, and nearly crushes my ribs flat in the process.

It’s so much harder to fight with a wall of muscle and armor lying on top of me, but I still twist and kick, lungs screaming for air.

I can’t give up. I won’t.

Ares manages to grab my wrists, pulling them over my head and pinning them there with one huge hand. The other he uses to grab a handful of my hair at the back of my head when I lunge forward to try and sink my teeth into any part of him that’s within reach.

“Enough!” He wrenches my head back, stretching my neck out like he’s barring it for the blade.

My pulse slams in my throat, like a living thing desperate to escape.

I can’t get free. I can’t fight. My breasts are crushed flat against the leather of his breastplate and my ribs aren’t doing much better. I have my magic, for whatever good that will do me. Most things I can try will hurt me more than him, and I’d rather fling myself into a volcano than do what he accused me of earlier and use my power to manipulate him.

All I’ve got left is my mouth, and if he thinks I’m going to go out meek and quiet, he’s got another think coming.

“Fuck you,” I snarl at him as tears begin to bleed from my eyes. I tilt my face as much as I can, my scalp burning from the tug of my hair. “Shove it up your ass, you stupid, stubborn, murderingbastard. You oaf! You prick of a dickhead god! You think I’ll lie down and die quiet for you? Sit on a mother-fucking stalactite!”

Weirdly, Ares looks less and less angry the longer my rant goes on and possibly even amused. His only real response is the slow climb of his eyebrows up his forehead.

When I finally run out of what little air I have, and my words make way for desperate, heaving breaths, Ares blinks.

“Stalactites hang from above so it would be very difficult for me to sit on one,” is his response.

“I know what they fucking are,” I manage even though I clearly don’t which makes me even angrier. I wish I could bite him. I’m so furious I’m going to scream at the roof the second I actually manage to get some air into my flattened lungs.

For some reason, that makes him laugh. Just a quiet huff that I feel mostly through his chest, like the rumble of distant thunder.

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