Page 4 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER FOUR

ZAID

I t’s surreal for me to think about how much has changed since we were first put to sleep—nearly four centuries earlier.

Phones. Cars. Internet. Televisions.

Hell, even the clothing is significantly different. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to jeans.

It’s eerily silent when we step into the compound, though I’m not surprised.

At one point, there were hundreds and hundreds of supernatural teams training here.

That all changed, though, when the gods and goddesses got involved.

Everything is a competition between them, and our lives are no different.

As of now, there’s only one elite team awake at a time, and we’re in charge of policing the entire supernatural world.

Cold rage surges in my chest at the injustice of it all, though I force myself to breathe past it.

This is my purpose, after all. What I was born for.

But sometimes, I can’t help but wish for more.

“Ares!” Everett throws his duffel bag on the ground as he steps farther into the room. “We’re back.”

The compound itself is massive, but it doesn’t feel spacious.

The walls, made of dark stone, stretch up high, their rough surface jagged and uneven in places, making it feel like the room was carved straight out of the mountain itself.

The dim light from the overhead bulbs barely cuts through the gloom, leaving long shadows dancing across the floor.

The bunks are arranged in neat rows—over one hundred in total—though the majority are empty. Each bunk is just a simple iron frame with a thin mattress, the kind meant for functionality, not comfort. What’s the point when we’re barely ever here to begin with?

All of our beds are in opposite corners of the open room. We love each other like brothers, but being cooped up for days at a time… We need our space. Desperately.

“Ares!” Everett calls again.

“Hold your goddamn horses,” a familiar gruff voice calls, and a second later, the god himself enters through a side door.

At first glance, you would think Ares is in his late thirties, early forties.

His eyes burn like twin coals, dark and smoldering with the fire of an unquenchable fury.

He wears a pair of ripped jeans and a dark Henley, the outfit complete with a leather jacket that squeaks when he moves.

His hair is wild, as dark as the night sky before a battle begins, and moves with the same restless energy that he does, caught in an invisible wind.

I can’t help but both admire and fear Ares, our creator.

He’s terrifying, but he’s also the closest thing I have to a father.

I don’t remember my life before I joined my brothers on our tenth birthday. Ares warned us that the deep sleep would leave holes in our memories, but sometimes… Sometimes, I get flashes of faces.

My birth family, I think.

“How did the mission go?” Ares’s keen eyes travel over us, his lips twitching upwards when he notices Rafe covered in blood.

“Target neutralized,” Everett says formally, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and his chin notched in the air.

“I see the target resisted,” Ares says with a pointed look in Rafe’s direction.

The tentative smirk from before transforms into a full-fledged smile. The crazy psychopath lives for this shit. His domain is the blood-soaked soil of the battlefield, the sound of weapons meeting flesh, the cries of dying warriors.

“We took care of him,” Everett says, his voice and expression still carefully impassive.

“Good. Good.” Ares taps a finger against his chin before seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Get some rest. You’re being sent out in a few hours. Here’s the case file.”

“Yes, sir.” Everett grabs the manilla envelope while I grit my teeth together.

We’ve only just got back from this mission—and before that one, five more. We haven’t been able to sit still in fucking months.

This is your job, Zaid. What you were trained for.

As Ares exits the room, I move towards my bunk with a sigh. I’m too high-strung to sleep currently.

I hear the others moving around as well, and I can’t help but think of the compound years and years and years ago.

Apparently, before the elite teams came to fruition, there were hundreds of supernaturals who trained here.

Then, when the gods and goddesses decided to involve themselves, all of the select teams were chosen at once.

We trained alongside Athena’s warriors. Artemis’s.

Hades’s. Zeus’s. Aphrodite's. Hermes’s. We were all put into a deep, catatonic sleep at the same time, with one team at a time being called to action.

Most of them are dead now.

The first elite team came from Zeus himself. They lasted twenty-seven years. Then, Hephaestus took over, but his warriors only survived eight months. Then it was Artemis’s turn, then Apollo’s, then Athena’s, then Aphrodite’s.

Now, it’s our turn.

All we can do is fight supernaturals until we die.

And it’s not only normal supernaturals, either. Sometimes, demons escape from the Underworld, and we have no choice but to put them down.

At least Ares seems to give a shit about us. He provides us with the materials we need to succeed. Perhaps it’s merely because of his competitive nature—he’s desperate for us to last longer than his ex’s warriors—but it gives us an edge in combat.

Sitting upright in bed, I consider my bookshelf. It’s been way too fucking long since I had the chance to simply sit and read a book. Before I can select a title, however, I become aware of eyes on me, the feeling accompanied by a prickling sensation.

“Did you need something, Krystian?” I ask, not bothering to turn from the shelf.

Krystian takes my question as an invitation to enter my personal space. He practically throws himself onto the foot of my bed. “If we’re leaving in a few hours, it’s going to be dark.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll watch after him,” I tell Krystian, knowing exactly what he’s worried about.

Krystian dramatically wiggles, shaking my entire bed as he drags himself until his head is dangling over the side.

“I know. I know. I’m just… Ugh. I just don’t remember this being such a big deal before we were put to sleep.”

“I understand,” I tell Krystian seriously.

Honestly, I don’t know how the fuck I turned into the built-in therapist for all of my team members. Maybe it’s because I’m a naturally quiet person, preferring to watch and study from the shadows. Either way, they all come to me when they need advice or if they simply want to vent.

“I know it can’t be easy on you.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?” Krystian sits up and spears me with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Promise?”

“Of course.”

He asks me this almost every night, and I always have to reassure him. I understand why he’s nervous—what he goes through is unnerving as fuck—but he has no reason to be fearful.

“I wonder what we’re hunting down this time around.” Krystian blows out a breath, stirring a strand of white-gold hair in the process. “I hope it’s a demon.”

“Why a demon?” I absently bring a hand to my side, remembering the feel of claws raking across my skin.

Fucking demon.

“Because they’re mindless idiots and don’t beg for mercy when we kill them,” Krystian answers simply.

I frown, unable to disagree with him.

Sometimes, our victims’ cries make me feel a little bit like the monsters we hunt and kill.

“You can’t feel guilty for what we do,” I tell Krystian firmly. “We only hunt down the worst of the worst. They don’t deserve to live after what they did.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Krystian doesn’t speak right away, and I almost think he fell asleep. I’m seconds from kicking him off my bed and onto the ground when he sits upright with a sigh. “Just…keep an eye on Krys tonight, yeah? You know how he can be when he’s on a mission.”

“Everything will be fine,” I tell Krystian, wishing I could believe it myself.

When did “fine” start losing its meaning?

How can we be “fine” when we’re prisoners to a war we don’t even understand?

Sometimes, I feel like we’re nothing but pawns on a game board the gods designed themselves. They move us around like we’re stringless puppets and don’t hesitate to beat us down when it serves their purpose.

Krystian leaves, no doubt to bother Everett until nightfall, and I finally decide on a book.

Settling back against the pillows, I dive into a world where the good guys have a choice in whether or not they take down the bad guys.