Page 39 of Gods of Prey (Parallel Prey #3)

Revel

T he corridors of the Divine hall stretch endlessly ahead of us, each step echoing with the weight of what just transpired.

The council’s judgment still rings in my ears—their voices layered with divine authority as they deliberated our fates.

I can feel the residual power thrumming through the walls, ancient magic older than mortal civilizations.

Sebastian walks beside me, his shoulders rigid with tension. Sienna drags her feet slightly ahead, her wings standing as two tense peaks at her back. Behind us, Jovie moves quietly, her mortal form seeming fragile against the otherworldly architecture of pearl and starlight.

We need distance from the council chamber before any of us can speak freely. The gods’ eyes and ears extend far in their own domain, but even they have limits. I guide us toward one of the outer terraces, a balcony that overlooks the swirling nebulae that separate the divine realms.

Only when we’re completely alone, the cosmic winds carrying away our words, do I finally turn to face my oldest friend.

“Pregnant.” The word comes out harder than I intend for it to. “She’s pregnant, Sebastian.”

He meets my gaze steadily, no surprise in those ethereal eyes. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this?” My voice rises despite my efforts to control it. I jab a finger in the direction we just came from. “Before I walked into that chamber blind? Before Caelum dropped it like a divine lightning bolt?”

Sienna drifts closer. “Revel?—”

“No.” I hold up a hand, not taking my eyes off Sebastian. “You knew too, didn’t you? You both knew, and neither of you told me.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. “It wasn’t your business.”

“Not my business?” I step closer, feeling heat radiate from my skin, the power of Aurelys responding to my anger.

“I’ve been covering for you with the Divine Council for months.

I’ve risked my own standing, lied to the gods I serve, all to buy you time.

And you think a surprise hybrid pregnancy isn’t my business? ”

“Watch how you speak about my child,” Sebastian warns, his own power flickering—our shared Life energy crackling in the air between us.

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Your child,” I scoff. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Divine-mortal hybrids are forbidden for a reason, Sebastian. The last one nearly tore reality apart.”

“This is different,” he insists.

“Is it?” I gesture toward Jovie, who stands silently watching our argument. “She’s mortal, Sebastian. Completely, utterly mortal. Her body was never meant to carry divine essence. The pregnancy could kill her.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t control everything!” The words explode out of me, carrying all the frustration and fear I’ve been holding back. “You can’t reset timelines to fix this. You can’t manipulate fate to ensure a happy ending. This isn’t some mortal fairy tale!”

Sebastian’s eyes flash dangerously. “Don’t lecture me about control, Revel. You’ve been trying to control me since the moment you arrived in Seattle.”

“Because someone has to!” I run my hands through my hair, feeling the weight of responsibility crushing down on me.

This feels like arguing with Sienna, not him.

“Do you know what Lyralei told me after the session? Plants are dying across three realms because you’ve been absent.

Animals are refusing to mate. The cycle of life itself is stuttering because you’ve abandoned your post for.

..love.” I’m so frustrated, my words stumble over themselves.

“So I should abandon my family instead?” Sebastian’s voice drops to a deadly whisper. “Is that what you’re suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting you should have told me!” The hurt bleeds through my anger now, raw and exposed. “I thought we were friends. I thought after everything we’ve been through—the wars, the punishments, the centuries of brotherhood—I thought I meant enough to you to be trusted with the truth.”

Something in his expression shifts. The defensive anger fades, replaced by something that looks almost like shame.

“Revel—”

“I had to learn about your child from Caelum,” I continue, my voice breaking slightly. “The God of Order knew before I did. Do you understand how that felt? Standing there, supposedly your closest friend and ally, looking like a fool who knows nothing about your life?”

Sienna moves between us, her essence shimmering with distress. “This isn’t helping anyone.”

“Isn’t it?” I turn to her. “Because maybe it’s time we all stopped keeping secrets. Maybe it’s time someone acknowledged that friendship and attachments mean something, even among gods.”

Sebastian is quiet for a long moment, staring out at the swirling cosmos beyond the terrace. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft.

“I was scared.”

The admission hangs in the air between us.

“I was scared,” he repeats, “that if I told you, you’d try to stop me. That you’d see the pregnancy as another reason to drag me back to Aurelys immediately.”

I feel some of my anger deflate. “Sebastian . . . ”

“And I was scared that you’d be right.” He turns to face me, and I see centuries of pain in his eyes. “That loving her, wanting this child, choosing them over my divine duties makes me selfish. Weak. Everything the council thinks I am.”

The raw honesty in his voice cuts through my remaining anger like a blade.

This is my friend—not the God of Life, not the powerful divine being who can reshape reality, but Sebastian.

The same person who used to sit with me on the rolling hills of Aurelys, wondering if we’d ever find something worth living for beyond duty.

This must be why he preferred the mortal realm, where he was a predator among small prey.

“You’re not weak,” I say quietly. “Reckless, maybe. Infuriating, definitely. But not weak.”

He gives me a rueful smile. “I should have told you. You’re right. You deserved to know going in there. I just...” He glances at Jovie, and his expression softens. “I wanted to protect this. To keep it safe for as long as possible. That’s always been my default with her.”

“By lying to everyone who cares about you?”

“By not giving anyone the chance to tell me it was impossible,” he corrects.

I understand that impulse more than I want to admit. The desire to hold something precious close, to shield it from the harsh realities of divine politics and cosmic balance. But understanding doesn’t make the hurt disappear entirely.

“I covered for you with the Divine Council,” I say. “For months, I’ve been fielding their questions, making excuses, buying you time. And all of that was based on incomplete information.”

Sebastian nods, looking genuinely contrite. “I know. And I’m sorry. I should have trusted you.”

“You should have.” I pause, then add in a lower voice, “But I also should have asked why you were so determined to stay. I assumed it was just about love, about not wanting to leave Jovie. I didn’t consider that there might be more.”

Sienna drifts closer to both of us. “We’re all struggling with this. None of us expected the situation to become so complicated.”

I look at her, then back at Sebastian. “A baby changes everything. You know that, right? The council’s judgment, the timeline for returning to Aurelys, the balance between realms—everything becomes more complex with an unborn divine child in the equation.”

“I know,” Sebastian says. “But I won’t abandon them. Not for duty, not for balance, not for anything. They’re mine .”

The fierce determination in his voice reminds me why we’ve been friends for so long. Sebastian has always been willing to sacrifice everything for the people he loves. It’s what makes him a good friend and a dangerous god.

“I’m not asking you to abandon them,” I say carefully. “But I need you to trust me enough to help figure this out. No more secrets, no more withholding information. If we’re going to find a solution that satisfies the council and keeps your family safe, I need to know everything.”

Sebastian extends his hand toward me—a gesture as old as our friendship. “No more secrets.”

I clasp his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his Life energy mingling with mine. “No more secrets.”

Jovie speaks for the first time since we left the council chamber, her voice barely above a whisper. “What happens now?”

I look at her—really look at her. She’s pale, shaken by the council’s revelation that they knew about her pregnancy before any of us realized they did. But there’s steel in her spine, determination in the set of her jaw. She’s stronger than she appears, this mortal who captured a god’s heart.

“Now,” I say, “we follow their orders, but I don’t trust that they won’t make it difficult on us.

We humiliated them in there.” My mother won’t let that go by unpunished.

Not when we defied them in front of all of Nytheris.

“We figure out how to protect you and your child while satisfying seven very powerful, very ancient gods who don’t particularly care about mortal feelings. ”

“Is that possible?” she asks.

I glance at Sebastian, at Sienna, at the swirling cosmos that surrounds Nytheris. The divine realm pulses with power and possibility, but also with rigid laws and ancient consequences.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “But Sebastian is right about one thing—you’re family now. And I don’t abandon family.”

Sebastian’s face transforms with relief and gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” I warn. “Thank me when we’re all still alive and the realms haven’t collapsed into chaos.”

But as we stand together on the terrace, looking out at the infinite expanse of divine creation, I feel something I haven’t felt since this whole mess began: Hope. Not much, and certainly not certainty, but hope.

We have a pregnant mortal, an unborn divine child, seven disapproving gods, and a cosmic balance hanging by a thread.

But we also have each other. And sometimes, that’s enough to start with.

“Come on,” I say, turning back toward the corridors of Nytheris. “We have a lot of planning to do, and not much time to do it in.”

As we walk back into the heart of the divine realm, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change again. But for the first time in months, I’m not facing that change alone.

Sebastian walks beside me, his hand briefly clasping my shoulder in the old gesture of brotherhood. Sienna walks ahead, her form more determined than I’ve seen it in years. And Jovie, mortal and fragile and impossibly brave, keeps pace with gods and goddesses as if she belongs among us.

Maybe she does. Maybe that’s what we’ve all been missing—that sometimes the divine order needs disrupting. That sometimes love really is worth the risk.

I guess we’re about to find out.