Page 15 of Gods of Prey (Parallel Prey #3)

Revel

T he plane banks over Seattle, city lights glimmering through the window. I grip the armrest tighter than necessary, though not from fear of flying. My mind is still in New York. Still in that street where Sienna showed me how she died.

She sits beside me now, partially corporeal in the empty seat I purchased for “privacy reasons.”

The flight attendant glances over occasionally, confused by my one-sided conversation. I forgot to pop a headphone in before we took off to pretend I’m on the phone like I had on the first flight. I don’t care though.

“You’re still angry,” Sienna observes, her voice carrying that slight echo it gets when she’s not fully materialized.

“I’m not angry,” I lie, keeping my voice low. “I’m processing.”

“For three hours?” She arches an eyebrow, the gesture so familiar now that I can’t remember a time when it didn’t affect me. “That’s a long processing time, even for you.”

I turn to look at her fully. In the dim cabin lighting, she appears almost solid—a young woman with green eyes and blonde hair lying smoothly across her shoulders. Only the faint translucence at her edges reveals her spectral nature. That, and the absence of breathing.

“They disrespected you,” I say finally, my voice harder than intended.

I’ve been stewing in this for hours. “They held you down and forced themselves into you while you bled out.” The words are cruel and harsh, but I have to get used to saying them.

I have to let this anger fuel me, or I may lose my nerve.

“And that was just death number thirty-three.”

Sienna’s expression doesn’t change, but her form flickers slightly. It’s a tell I’ve learned means she’s uncomfortable. “It was one of the milder ones, actually.”

“Don’t.” The word comes out sharp. “Don’t minimize it.”

She sighs, a habit from her mortal life that carries no actual breath.

“What do you want me to say, Revel? That it was terrible? It was. That I’m traumatized?

I am. That the Divine Council’s punishment is cruel and unusual?

Obviously. This is why we’re fighting against the seventeen lifetimes we still have to go. ”

“Nothing is absolute.” I meet her gaze steadily, agreeing. “Especially not now, with the balance already disrupted. We have leverage.”

The flight attendant passes by, giving me a concerned look as she notices me apparently talking to an empty seat. I offer a tight, polite smile and wait for her to move on.

“Leverage?” Sienna leans forward, intrigued despite herself. “What are you suggesting?”

“Sebastian has already broken the rules by refusing to return. You’ve bent them by helping him. The Divine Council is going to be desperate to restore order.” I lower my voice further. “What if we make a deal? Sebastian returns to his duties, but only if the Divine Council ends your punishment.”

“They’ll never agree to that,” she says dismissively, but there’s a flicker of hope in her eyes that she can’t quite hide.

“They might, if the alternative is continued chaos.” I reach for her hand before remembering I can’t touch her in this form. I let my palm fall between us. “Sienna, what I saw in New York...no one deserves that. Not even gods who made mistakes.”

She turns away, her form slinking back to translucence. I’ve made her uncomfortable, but I don’t care. The first step to demanding change is convincing her she’s truly worthy of it. That it’s not just in her head.

“You never answered my question,” she says eventually.

“Which one?”

“Have you ever been in love? In all your existence as a god?”

I consider deflecting again but find myself answering truthfully. “Gods experience attachment differently than humans. What humans call ‘love’—that all-consuming focus on another being—is generally considered a flaw in divine perspective.”

Of course, she knows that. Probably better than anyone else.

She rolls her head toward me, offering a flattened look. “That’s not an answer, Revel.”

“No,” I lie. “I’ve never experienced love as mortals understand it.”

She turns to look out the window, clouds passing beneath us like a sea of cotton.

“I did once. A very long time ago. But thirty-three lifetimes here have taught me that love is simultaneously overrated and undervalued. Humans build it into an impossible ideal, then discard it when reality falls short.”

I snort. “Yet you defend Sebastian’s choice to remain with Jovie.”

“He’s my brother,” she says simply. “I understand his weaknesses because they mirror my own. They mirror the mistakes we’ve already made for love.”

The admission surprises me. “What weaknesses?”

A sad smile touches her lips. I think she's finally about to tell me what happened, but instead she explains, “Attachment. Sentiment. The foolish belief that individuals matter on the cosmic scale.”

“They do matter,” I say, perhaps too quickly. “Each soul has value. It’s the foundation of both our realms.”

She studies me with renewed interest. “For an interim god, you have strong convictions.”

“Just because my position is temporary doesn’t mean my principles should be.”

Something shifts in her expression. Respect, perhaps. Or reassessment. Whatever it is, it warms something in me that should remain cool and distant.

“Tell me about her,” Sienna says suddenly. “Jovie. In my mortal life, she was my friend, but I saw her through human eyes. What does the God of Life see in her that’s worth risking cosmic balance?”

The question is genuine, not accusatory. I consider what I know of Jovie from observing Sebastian’s many iterations of their relationship. From the short bursts of interaction I’ve had with her myself.

“She’s resilient,” I begin, scratching my chin. “Principled to the point of self-destructiveness sometimes. She pursues truth above comfort, justice above safety. In many ways, she’s a mortal reflection of you.”

Sienna looks startled. “Me?”

“Your divine essence recognizes kindred spirits across lifetimes. It’s why you became friends in this mortal iteration. Sebastian is drawn to her because she embodies qualities he admires in you, but in a form he can love without cosmic taboo.”

The implication hangs between us—that Sebastian’s mortal love echoes a divine connection he cannot pursue. Siblings in every lifetime, bound by punishment and cosmic function.

“That’s . . . ” She hesitates. “A disturbing theory.”

“Gods are complicated,” I say with a hint of a smile. “Our relationships, more so.”

A flight attendant passes through again, offering beverages to passengers but walking straight through Sienna without noticing.

This one doesn’t look at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Instead, she offers me a private smile and a wink that I recognize for exactly what it is.

I suppose there are more similarities between mortals and divine beings than I thought.

Sienna wasn't wrong before, when she caught me in the shower and snidely suggested I chase after the leasing agent and barista.

I could take this woman up on her obvious offer. We’d both walk away happy—I’d make sure of it. But the small indignity of Sienna’s ghostly state bothers me more than it should, and I end up snubbing the poor woman without intending to.

And if I’m being brutally honest with myself, there’s only one female who can quench my thirst but she hardly tolerates me.

We sit in silence as the plane begins its descent into Seattle. The city sprawls below us, rain-slicked and gleaming. Somewhere down there, Sebastian and Jovie are waiting, unaware that our mission has just expanded beyond simply bringing them back.

“Even if the Divine Council agreed,” Sienna suddenly says, continuing our conversation from before as if we haven’t already moved on from it, “Sebastian would still have to return to Aurelys. He’d have to leave Jovie.”

“We’ll sort that part out later.”

The plane touches down with a jolt, tires squealing on wet tarmac. Around us, passengers begin gathering their belongings, but Sienna and I remain seated, locked in this moment of possibility.

“You’re serious about this,” she adds, not quite a question.

“Completely.” I unbuckle my seatbelt but make no move to stand. “I won’t be complicit in yours and Sebastian’s continued suffering. Not when I know the full extent of it now.”

“Even if it means defying the Divine Council? Risking your own position? Going against your mother?” she reminds me again.

I don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

Something shifts in her expression—surprise giving way to something warmer, more vulnerable. “Why?” she asks again, softer this time.

The truth hovers on my tongue, dangerous and undeniable.

Because I care about you more than I should.

Because seeing how you died broke something in me.

Because somewhere between hating you and working with you, I’ve started to-

“Because it’s right,” I say instead, swallowing the rest. “And because we’re in this together now.”

She studies me for a long moment, her green eyes seeing more than I’m comfortable revealing. Finally, she nods.

“Okay,” she says. “We’ll try it your way.”

“Really?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. I had expected more resistance.

Sienna’s form flickers again, this time deliberately as she prepares to become fully invisible for our departure from the plane. “Don’t look so shocked. Even the Goddess of Death grows tired of dying.”

As passengers file past my seat, my mind races with plans. The Divine Council won’t be easily persuaded, but with both of us presenting a united front, along with Sebastian when he remembers his true nature.

“What happens if we fail? If Sebastian refuses to return? If the Divine Council refuses to hear our side of the story?” It’s the first time she’s acknowledged the possibility.

“The Divine Council will intervene if Sebastian refuses. They’ll force his return, erase all memory of him from the mortal realm, including Jovie’s. Our best bet is to get him to go willingly, so we can stand as a united front against them and demand changes.”

Something crosses her features, but it passes too fast for me to identify. “And us? What happens to us if we fail?”

The question contains layers I’m not prepared to explore—what us means in this context, what exists between the Goddess of Death and the interim God of Life beyond their temporary alliance.

“Let’s not fail,” I say instead.

I turn back to find that she’s gone, at least to my eyes, though I know she follows as I make my way off the plane. The weight of her words sits heavily in my chest, along with all the things I didn’t say.

We have a new mission now. End the punishment. Bring Sebastian home. And somehow, find a way to make the Divine Council understand that sometimes, even immortal laws need to change.

As I exit the terminal into the cool Seattle night, I make a silent vow to myself: Whatever happens with Sebastian, I will find a way to give Sienna what she needs.

Whether it’s justice, closure, or simply the freedom to choose her own path forward.

The cosmic balance may be my responsibility as interim God of Life, but in this moment, her happiness feels equally important.

A dangerous sentiment for a god. A sentiment Sebastian would understand all too well.