Page 15

Chapter 12

Eros

B ob’s eyes remained locked on the pyxis, his fingers curling slightly against the edge of the table, but he didn’t move to touch it.

Eros clenched his jaw, his patience already running thin. “Are you ready to free Psyche from the spell you put her under and let her wake up?”

Bob didn’t respond. He didn’t even flinch. He just kept staring at the pyxis, his face unreadable.

Eros slammed his fist down on the table, the sound echoing through the small cabin. The force rattled the pyxis, causing it to shift slightly. “Say something!” he growled. “You wanted this, right? Now do what you said you’d do!”

Bob didn’t so much as blink. Instead, his gaze flickered past Eros, landing on Aphrodite.

Eros noticed and turned to his mother. She sighed dramatically, examining her nails as if she were entirely unbothered by the drama unfolding in front of her.

“What?” Eros demanded, eyes narrowing.

Hephaestus let out a low chuckle from the corner, shaking his head. “You’re going to love this,” he muttered.

Eros’s stomach sank. He turned his full attention to Aphrodite, who still wasn’t looking at him. “Mama. What did you do?”

Aphrodite finally looked up and met his gaze, completely unrepentant. “Oh, relax,” she said breezily. “When I brought Bob here, I had to use a little magic to find out what he really wanted.”

“And?”

Aphrodite gave an elegant shrug. “And then I used a little more magic…to shut him up.”

Eros stared at her, his hands balling into fists. “Are you serious?”

Aphrodite smiled sweetly. “Very.”

Hephaestus snickered again.

Eros groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

Bob just kept staring, silent as ever.

Eros exhaled sharply. “Mama,” he said, exasperated, rubbing his temples. “Let him talk.”

“Fine,” she said, waving her fingers lazily in Bob’s direction. “There. He can talk. But only say what we need to know. None of that nonsense about screaming for help.” She sniffed again and glared at Bob.

Eros sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment, willing himself to be patient. When he opened them, he turned his full attention back to Bob.

Bob took a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the effects of Aphrodite’s spell. Then, finally, he spoke.

“You’ve held up your end and brought the pyxis. Of course, I can free Psyche from the spell and wake her.”

“What do you think will happen when the magic is unleashed from the pyxis?”

Bob exhaled sharply, glancing at the ornate box as if he could already feel the power within. “We get our powers back,” he said simply, but there was an edge of anticipation in his voice. “Everything that was sealed away returns to us. The bloodline is restored.”

“It’s been thousands of years since the magic was trapped. Is everyone in the bloodline still in Vale Crossing?”

Bob paused, thinking, then shrugged. “Probably.”

“Really?” Eros demanded. “You’ve kept track of everyone?”

“That seems unlikely,” Hephaestus snorted.

Bob looked annoyed but admitted, “I can’t guarantee it. Geryons have left Vale Crossing over the centuries. Not all of them kept in touch.”

Eros exhaled sharply. “If we release the magic, everyone in the bloodline will get it—whether they know they have geryon blood or not. That will be a problem for those in the Upperworld.”

Bob waved a hand dismissively. “Right, but who cares? They’ll have their power. It’s their birthright.”

Eros studied him, searching for any hesitation, any sign that Bob understood what he was saying, but there was none. The mortal spoke with the certainty of someone who had spent lifetimes waiting for this moment.

“You can’t be serious,” Aphrodite exclaimed, eyes flashing. “Bob, we can’t have that happen. We don’t even know how many of them are in the Upperworld. It will cause so many problems—not to mention the trauma the descendants who don’t know they have geryon blood will go through.”

“It would be impossible to get to them now,” Bob argued.

“Exactly,” Eros said. “We need to let everyone know what’s going to happen so the Upperworld won’t be plunged into chaos.”

He and Hephaestus exchanged a look, both grasping the magnitude of what was at stake.

Eros crossed his arms, watching Bob closely. “We can’t just unleash this magic without a plan. We need to track down everyone in the bloodline.”

“Good luck with that,” Bob scoffed. “I told you, not all of them stayed in Vale Crossing. Some left generations ago. No records, no way to track them.”

“Then we make a way,” Eros said firmly. He turned to Hephaestus. “Can you craft something? A locator, a beacon—anything that can help us find them once the magic is out?”

Hephaestus stroked his beard, considering. “If we had a piece of the original magic before it was sealed, maybe. But right now, it’s all in the pyxis. Once it’s released, chaos will spread before we can contain it.”

“Honestly, what a mess,” Aphrodite sighed. “We should have just killed Bob when we had the chance.”

Bob paled.

“Not helpful,” Eros muttered before turning back to the mortal. “You said your little group knows what’s coming. Can they help us find the others?”

Bob hesitated. “Maybe some of them. But there are too many unknowns. Some probably don’t even know that they have geryon ancestors. When they get hit with all that power at once, they’re not going to take it well.”

Eros clenched his jaw. “Exactly why we need a plan before we open that pyxis. We have to warn them. We have to be ready.”

Hephaestus exhaled sharply. “We’ll need allies. People who can move fast, and cover ground. Gods, mortals—whoever we can trust.”

Bob fell silent, chewing his lip as he mulled over Eros’s words. Finally, he nodded.

“It’s been long enough that the family hasn’t had magic,” Eros continued. “But we need to do this the right way. You agree with that?”

Bob let out a slow breath. “Yes, of course.”

Eros studied him for a moment before speaking again. “Okay, so let’s plan everything out, gather people, and when the time is right, we release the magic and deal with the fallout in a coordinated way. No surprises, no unnecessary chaos.”

“Agreed,” Bob exhaled sharply but nodded. He reached for something inside his shirt—a rope necklace—and pulled it off. A small brown bottle dangled at the end. “When you’re ready, put this on her lips, and it will wake Psyche. She’ll be okay—it’ll be like she just went to sleep.”

“Okay,” Eros glanced toward the bed where Psyche lay, peaceful but unmoving. Turning back to Bob he said, “Talk to your group, let them know what’s happening. I’ll get a team together on my end, and we’ll start planning how to handle this.”

Bob stood, adjusting his jacket. “Alright. I’ll be in touch.” Without another word, he turned and left the cabin, the door creaking shut behind him.

Aphrodite walked up to Eros, her expression softer than usual. Eros stood, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“That was hard, but you did well,” she said, her voice gentle. She pulled back, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against his skin. “You’re handling this better than I expected.”

Eros huffed a quiet laugh. “Thanks, I think.”

“What are you going to do about Psyche? Will you tell her about the pyxis and what happened with Bob?”

“I don’t think so. It feels like it would be too much for her. I don’t know. I guess it depends on what happens when she wakes up.”

Aphrodite nodded before letting go. Hephaestus stepped forward next, his usual gruff demeanor momentarily replaced with something close to pride. Without a word, he pulled Eros into a firm hug.

“We’ll be at the birthday, so we’ll talk there, I guess,” Aphrodite said.

“Right, the twins,” Eros murmured.

Hephaestus gave a short nod. “We’ll see you later.”

“Wait, could you take the pyxis and keep it safe in Olympus?”

“Good thinking,” said Hephaestus, picking it up.

Aphrodite gave him one more quick hug, and then they teleported away, leaving Eros standing in the quiet cabin, his thoughts swirling.

Everything was crashing down on him—too much had happened in just a few hours. But the biggest thing, the thing he couldn’t ignore, was that he had finally admitted it—he loved Psyche. Yet before all of this, they had fought. She had ended things.

He sat beside her, looking at her peaceful face as she slept. His chest tightened. He opened the top of the brown bottle, reached out to place the liquid inside on her lips, and gently shook her shoulder.

“Psyche,” he murmured.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she let out a small, dazed sound before whispering, “Eros?”

He smiled, relieved to hear her voice.

She blinked a few times and frowned. “Why are you waking me?”

“You slept in,” he said lightly, trying for something normal.

“Oh,” she muttered, still groggy. But then something in her expression changed. Her posture stiffened as she sat up, leaning against the headboard and putting space between them. “We need to talk about what’s going to happen.”

“Right. Well, the twins’ birthday party is later,” he offered.

“Yeah,” she said, exhaling slowly, “and I want to come back here on my own, not with you.”

A sharp ache settled in his chest, and his thoughts swirled, unraveling faster than he could catch them. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep his frustration in check. “Maybe we should talk after you get ready.”

Psyche crossed her arms. “I’m still going to say the same thing. I’m not changing my mind.”

He swallowed hard, nodding once. “Okay.” There was nothing else to say—not now, at least. He forced himself to step back even though every instinct told him to stay, to argue, to make her see what she meant to him. But he wasn’t going to do that. Not when she looked at him like this, like she had already made up her mind.

He got up to give her space. “I’ll be outside,” he said over his shoulder before stepping onto the deck.

Eros leaned against the wooden railing, exhaling sharply as he stared out into the trees. The wind was soft, rustling through the leaves, but it didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. What karma. He, the god of love and desire, who had spent millennia playing with hearts, never caring beyond a fleeting moment of pleasure, was now standing here, heart in his hands, and Psyche didn’t want anything to do with him.

He laughed, low and humorless, shaking his head. He had never been on this side of things before. Never been the one left aching, the one waiting, the one hoping for something he couldn’t control. He had been worshipped, chased, adored—never rejected. But Psyche looked ready to walk away.

And the worst part? He couldn’t blame her.

Their last fight played in his mind like a cruel replay, every word, every sharp edge of his own fear and pride cutting into him. She had trusted him, and he had let his own arrogance, his own cowardice, push her away. He hadn’t told her the truth about how he felt—because he hadn’t known then. Or maybe he had, but admitting it had felt like giving up some part of himself. And now? Now he had no choice but to face it. He loved her. He loved her, and he might have already lost her.

Maybe he deserved this. Maybe he had spent so long playing with love that when he finally felt it, the universe had decided to make him earn it. Even if he was the god of love and desire.

The memories surfaced, unbidden and relentless and he let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face. His past had shaped him into the man standing here now, and for the first time, he let himself really feel the weight of it.

Thoughts of Cyncus and how their lives unraveled under his cruelty, how Aphrodite had hidden the bruises behind radiant smiles, how they had spent years pretending everything was fine until it wasn’t. The night they escaped still burned in his mind—the cold rush of fear, the way his mother clutched his hand so tightly he thought she might break him. Hephaestus had been their salvation, the one steady force in their chaotic world. He had taught Eros what it meant to stand tall, to be more than just a name, more than just a god others used for their own gain.

And then there were the trials to get the pyxis. Fighting through the Fields of Punishment, diving into the Acheron, facing the siren—every step, every choice, leading him to that damned pyxis. He had done it to get his father’s magic back, to restore what had been taken. But now, standing here, staring out into the trees, he realized it wasn’t just about that. It had never been just about that.

It had been about Psyche.

Everything had led him here—to this moment, to this woman, to the unbearable ache in his chest as he waited for her to come outside and tell him whether he had a place in her life or not.

Eros watched as Psyche stepped outside, her soft steps barely making a sound on the porch. She was dressed in comfortable clothes, a simple outfit that somehow made her look even more beautiful. She had an effortless grace, but there was something about the way she moved now, distant and careful, that made his heart ache.

He wanted nothing more than to walk to her, to pull her into his arms and reassure her, to feel her warmth against him, to make everything feel okay again. But he didn’t. He knew that was the last thing she needed right now. He had to show her he understood, that her feelings mattered more than his desires.

Rhythmic tapping filled the air and he noticed her fingers tapping against the wooden railing, a repetitive motion, small but telling. His gaze lingered there, and then he asked, “Why do you do that?”

She stopped, a brief hesitation before her gaze flickered away from him. “It’s stimming,” she said, the words coming out softly, as though they were both a defense and an explanation. “It means I’m stressed.”

He watched her avoid his gaze, clearly trying to keep herself composed, but he could see the struggle in her body language. He could feel the tension in the air, the distance she was putting between them, and he knew that whatever he did next would either bridge that gap or make it wider.

He took a deep breath, realizing the truth of what he needed to do. He couldn’t be the one who caused her stress, not when she was already carrying so much inside her. He’d fought to be close to her, but he knew that he had to let her take the lead now.

“It’s okay, Psyche. I’ll do what you want. Let’s go to Anchorage.”

He hoped those words would be enough. He hoped that, somehow, they would help her feel seen, feel safe, even if it wasn’t exactly what he’d dreamed of.