Page 13 of Gods of Prey (Parallel Prey #3)

Revel

I watch Sienna as the plane descends toward New York, her ghostly form fluctuating slightly with the turbulence. Unlike the other passengers, she needs no seat belt, no safety protocols. Mortal death has already claimed her once in this lifetime. What more could a plane crash do?

I wish we could fly ourselves. The aching urge to flex my wings nags the back of my mind constantly, like a fly buzzing overhead.

I feel restless in this form. Useless. The inability to utilize the magic that's been ingrained into every second of my days is nearly paralyzing. I’ll never take flight for granted again.

Nor will I second guess the convenience of shadowstepping.

It’s all the more reason to expedite this process.

When I informed her that I bought last minute tickets to New York this morning, I was intentionally vague about my reasoning for the random adventure.

Things with Sebastian have been moving slower than I anticipated they would since the gala.

Sebastian and Jovie have made it increasingly hard to bump into them naturally.

All I’ve gotten are a few random interactions that have done nothing to lower his suspicions of me or build her trust. I can tell Sienna is still hiding secrets of her own.

I’m hitting nothing but brick walls and after my backward dream last night, I decided a little change of scenery is what we need.

She’s right about one thing: Using force with Sebastian won’t get us anywhere. Shoving his divinity down his throat while he’s in this state could shatter his mind. As much as I want to, we can’t just walk up to him and insist he come with us.

I won't tell her that, though.

I figured going back to the place it all happened would give me insights that they’re refusing to offer. At the very least, it might get her talking.

“You’re staring,” she states flatly without looking at me, her profile sharp against the window as Manhattan’s skyline comes into view.

“Force of habit,” I reply. When she jerks her chin toward me in question, I shrug. I’ve said too much, but I can’t let her see that it was anything but intentional. “In Aurelys, I’ve observed you for centuries,” I remind her.

Unfortunately, I’ve already admitted that embarrassing tidbit to her.

She narrows her eyes. Suspicious, as always. “I find that deeply unsettling, Revel.”

The name feels both foreign and familiar on her lips.

To her, I’ve always been nothing more than Sebastian’s loyal deputy, the interim god.

But something has shifted within her. Perhaps it’s from living in such close quarters these past couple weeks, or maybe just the acknowledgment that we’re more than our cosmic functions.

“Would you prefer I looked elsewhere?” I ask, genuinely curious.

In my countless years of existence, few beings have fascinated me like Sienna—the proud, fierce goddess who carries Death with both reverence and defiance. My best friend’s other half. I’ve hated the influence she has on him while simultaneously envying her carefree take on existence.

“I’d prefer you were honest about why we’re really going to New York,” she counters, changing the subject. “This detour delays bringing Sebastian back to Aurelys and we’ve got a new deadline hanging over our heads.”

I maintain eye contact, refusing to be the first to look away. Everything with her is a battle of wills and I’ve quickly realized I can’t stand losing.

“You need closure on your death before you can fully focus on retrieving your brother,” I explain with a casual shrug, even though this conversation is anything but casual. “I’m simply expediting the process. Who was it again?”

I play dumb, but I know exactly who executed her. While I’m aware they were playing the part that the Fates assigned to them, I fear that being in this realm—feeling mortal emotions—has severely skewed my judgment.

The truth is more complicated than I want to admit.

With each passing hour, the cosmic imbalance grows, reality fraying at the edges as Sebastian gallivants around, playing human.

But I’ve also witnessed Sienna’s restlessness.

Her need for justice regarding her murder.

And something in me—something dangerously close to human sentiment—wants to give her that peace.

“The Loyal Order of the Serpent,” she says, grimacing at the name of her killers. “They’ll certainly be paying once they arrive in Umbraeth.”

“You’d be surprised how many shadow organizations exist in the mortal realm,” I tell her. “I doubt they’re the worst. Humans with glimpses of divine knowledge are often the most dangerous.”

“No, but they’ve done the unimaginable to me.”

I don’t have a rebuttal for that. If I were in her position, I would likely have the same taste for vengeance.

Which is a sobering thought, considering my role as interim God of Life. Suddenly, Sebastian’s craving for blood doesn’t feel so frivolous.

The plane touches down at JFK with a jolt that passes through Sienna without effect.

As other passengers gather their belongings, she stands in the aisle, a ghostly observer to mortal routines.

I feel a pang of something like sorrow for her, trapped between realms, neither fully divine nor human. Unable to serve her true role.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says sharply.

“Like what?”

Sneering, she jerks her chin, looking away from me. “Like I’m some tragic puppy.”

I follow the stream of departing passengers, my hands void of any luggage.

I don’t have a single belonging in this realm with enough attachment to carry around.

That thought alone is quite isolating. Even if I tried to manifest something, what would it be?

I have no idea what humans keep for personal effects.

“There’s nothing tragic about you, goddess. Fierce, stubborn, occasionally infuriating, but never tragic.”

The words are meant to be a poke at her, but they end up coming out as a compliment.

A flicker of surprise crosses her features before she masks it with her usual cool detachment. “Just remember why we’re here. Information gathering, not vengeance.”

“Of course,” I agree, though we both know her capacity for vengeance is precisely what concerns me.

“ T his is it,” she says, stopping in the middle of the street in an industrial complex. “Where it happened.”

I look around at the cemented area. Nothing remarkable about it—dumpsters, unmarked brick buildings, fire escapes overhead. The usual urban grime. Hard to believe this mundane spot is where a goddess met her thirty-third violent death.

“You don’t have to do this,” I remind her for the third time.

This self-doubt is not something I ever experienced as a god. Apathy, yes. Skepticism, sure. Restlessness? Always. But doubt is constant as a mortal. I’ve had a feeling of dread building in my stomach since we got into our taxi and drove here.

“We could just go back to Seattle,” I offer.

Sienna shakes her head, her ghostly white hair moving in a breeze I can’t feel.

She traded her usual ominous attire and crown for more casual clothing when we stepped through the veil.

I still don’t understand why she’s bothered, given that no one can see her anyway.

I think the dramatics of the gown and that gruesome bone corset suit her better.

“No. You wanted to understand. So I’m going to show you.”

She stops about halfway down the industrial street, hovering above a specific spot on the dirty pavement. Nothing marks it as special, but her eyes are focused on it with such intensity that I almost expect the concrete to crack.

“I was coming home after a brutal exam,” she begins, her voice distant. “I cared so much about passing my classes. About my future.” A bitter smile touches her lips. “Decades of building a life, gaining knowledge, forming connections—all to be wiped away in minutes.”

I lean against the wall, trying to appear casual despite the heaviness settling in my chest. “Did you know they were coming for you?”

“I suspected something,” she admits. “There were...incidents. Minor things my ‘friends’ did that pointed to them retaliating against Bash.” She uses her fingers as air quotes around the word friends.

So, she was familiar with the people who did it.

“A feeling of being watched. Bash wasn’t threatened, though.

He hated them just as much as they hated him. ”

She drifts in a slow circle around the spot, like a moth around a flame. “I cut through here as a shortcut. Stupid, really. Med school teaches you better than that. But I was tired. Thinking about my bed, about the research paper I needed to finish. Normal things. I should have called an Uber.”

I watch her, this spectral goddess recounting her mortal death with such detachment. But I can see through it now, after weeks of living with her. The slight tremor in her voice. The way her form becomes less distinct when emotion threatens to overwhelm her.

“How many were there?” I ask quietly, just to keep her talking so I don’t do something stupid, like try to comfort her.

“Three at first. Then, too many to count. I couldn’t recognize all of them, but they each had the serpent tattoos on their biceps.

Cocky trash.” She gestures to her own slender arm.

“One grabbed me from behind. I fought. Just like I always do when my mortal deaths come. Broke one’s nose. But the second had a knife.”

She touches her side absently. “First strike was here. Not fatal, but it hurt enough to make me drop my bag. The third man...” She pauses.

“He had a gun. Used it to threaten me at first. They wanted information about Sebastian. They were offended that he viewed himself as being so far above them.”

“If they only knew,” I mutter.