Page 11 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor’s Destiny (Time for Monsters)

E very good battle commander knows you always have a plan before going into battle, and I did not have one. I wanted to blame it on the long sleep and having been out of practice for so long, but the truth was, I acted purely on instinct.

My Vaelora was getting soaked through her flimsy dress, but that couldn't be helped. I was on an unfamiliar street in an unfamiliar city, probably even on an unfamiliar continent, and I had no idea where to take her. I needed time to think, to process what had just happened.

Vaelora hadn't recognized me, that much was clear.

But I recognized her.

She looked just like she had the first day I ever saw her, when she stepped out of the mountain. A vision. Only her dress was different.

Her hair was still black as coal. Not as long as it had been, but it cascaded down her back in beautiful contrast to the ridiculous white dress she wore.

I tried to orient myself to get an idea of where I could take her. I needed time. Time alone with her to help her remember who she was.

Everything about this place was wrong.

It stank of wet stone and filth, of metal and smoke, but not of blood, sweat, or fire—the scent of warriors, of battles fought and won. No, this place was hollow, filled with men who hid from the elements beneath layers of cloth and cowardice.

The only thing that felt real was her beneath my hands.

She fought me, her small fists beat against my back, but she was no warrior. She had spirit, yes, but no strength. She was rain-soaked silk, fragile in my grip, twisting, thrashing, but not breaking.

"Where are you taking me?" she gasped, her voice half-lost in the storm.

I wished I had an answer to that question. This city was a labyrinth of streets and houses. Houses so tall and close I couldn't even make out the gray sky above us. How was I to orient myself if I couldn't see the stars?

All I knew was that I had to keep moving.

I wasn't worried about the men pursuing us. I would make it a fast battle if it came to that. But I was worried about her. I worried about Vaelora. She had become a mortal. She was too fragile in this form.

The mortal woman Vaelora used as a vessel fought me with everything she had—which was little. She was soft, weak, and not built for war, but she had the heart of a fighter, and I felt her fury in the way her fists hammered at my back, her nails clawed at my skin, and her voice rose in a wild, frantic scream.

"Put me down!" she shrieked, thrashing so violently that I tightened my grip around her waist, holding her firm over my shoulder.

"Somebody—help me!" she sobbed, twisting, her dress tangled around her legs as she kicked. Foolish woman.

I heard the pursuit behind me—the shouts of men, the clatter of boots against the cobblestone, the distant ring of steel leaving scabbards. My instincts screamed at me to keep moving, to find shelter, to get to higher ground—no.

Lower.

Something glinting caught my eye through the haze of rain and gaslight—a gate, half-open, rusted iron wrapped in thorned ivy. Beyond it, like it had been waiting for me, lay the mouth of a forgotten ruin. In the rain, it would be the perfect hiding spot.

I veered toward it, stepping through the gate as if drawn by something older than hunger, older than fate itself. The woman twisted in my grasp and kicked wildly, but her feeble attempts didn't slow me. The rain wasn't coming down as hard here. Large trees with a thick canopy held it at bay, and now I could make out the outline of an ancient temple.

Its door was rotting, useless, no match for my strength. It splintered as I shoved through, the wood groaning under the weight of time. The woman intensified her efforts to break free. Her screams turned more frantic as we entered the ruins. "No—no, please! Please, don't! Let me go!"

Her terror hit me like a spear to the chest. I didn't want her to fear me.

"I'm sorry," I rasped. My voice was hoarse from millennia of disuse.

The air inside was thick with dust and silence, a stillness that spoke of things long forgotten. Abandoned. The people of this time had abandoned their gods. No mortal was bending their knees here to the gods.

Underneath the rot and stench, I smelled something else. Stone and earth. Time and death. The hush of something buried.

A crypt.

I strode toward the gaping stairwell without hesitation, stepping over the crumbling threshold, the descent steep and dark beneath my feet.

She thrashed harder, her entire body a riot of desperate motion.

"Stop! STOP! Let me go, you—you barbarian!" she sobbed, kicking hard enough that her boot glanced off my ribs.

With every step, the shadows rose around us, swallowing the dim light from above. The air grew colder, moist and heavy. Her screams turned to sobs as if she knew nobody would hear her here.

The darkness didn't deter me. I was a god. I could see through the pitch-black of the underworld if necessary, just like I could understand and read any language. But the ground was turning slippery from water trickling down the walls. I felt algae growing underneath my feet, making the uneven rocks more treacherous.

Her hands fell down my back, her breathing evened. She must have fainted. It was strange seeing Vaelora in the form of a mortal, but that's who she had become. Did I dare hope she had done this for me?

I remembered what she said, This time you will have to wake me. The words hadn't made any sense to me before, but suddenly they did. In this mortal form, she would have no recollection of who she was. Couldn't. It would have driven the mortal side of her insane.

Old, forgotten steps, just as slippery as the rocks, led up, and I took them. I needed to find a place for us to hide. A place where nobody would find her until I could figure out our next steps. First off, I needed to return to the storage chamber, where I had hidden the jewelry Vaelora had gifted me in a bag. Then I needed to figure out a way to make this woman remember who she was. But not here. Not in this cold, forgotten place without gods. I needed to return her to our hidden temple, where it was warm and the sun shone. Where the water of the River Nile nipped at the fertile land. Where there were people who still believed in us, because if they didn't, neither she nor I would be here.

My memories of a human body were old and fuzzy, but I did remember how fragile mortals were. The woman I was carrying was soaked; she needed dry clothes, otherwise she would get sick.

Up ahead, I made out the flickering of lights and voices. I moved us forward. Two men and two women sat around a low-burning fire, a torch hung in one of the walls. All four of them were filthy from head to toe, their hair and beards matted. They shrieked when I approached.

"Get out," I snarled, and they scrambled to their feet. Fear and terror were written over their faces as they picked up small bundles and rushed away. I wasn't worried about them reporting us to the guards. I knew people like them. Had been one of them a long time ago. They had better things to do than prattle to the authorities. Like staying alive. I doubted the survival instinct had changed during the last ten thousand years. It might have suffered, but people still knew what was best for them, especially the ones without a home, without the means to be heard.

They’d left a couple of dirty blankets, not fitting for my goddess, but for the moment that couldn't be helped. Carefully, I sat the woman down on one of them. She moaned quietly, her long black eyelashes fluttering behind the ridiculous veil covering her face. What kind of custom was this? My hands reached for the ends of it just as her eyes opened. I pulled it back.

Her intense blue, nearly violet eyes found mine, and there was a moment, a short moment, where she almost seemed to recognize me. But it passed quickly, and her expression changed to fear. Her lips opened to scream, and I did what I had to do to keep her quiet. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to hers.

They were just as soft as I remembered, intoxicatingly so. My arms moved around her as I pulled her closer. She was wet like a cat, and cold, but my body heat would remedy that quickly.

I pressed my tongue against her closed mouth, willing her to open. I felt like the conqueror I was, battering against her gates. Slowly she opened, and my tongue dashed forward in search of hers. That's when she bit down.

"Wildcat," I chuckled as I drew back.

Her hand flew forward and slapped my face. I didn't feel any pain, a mortal could not inflict pain on me, and that was what she had become for whatever reason. It surprised me though, enough to loosen my grip on her.

She scrambled to her feet, grabbed the folds of her skirt, exposing some torturous-looking shoes, and began to run. Another chuckle escaped me as I rose from my seated position. She wanted a chase? That promised to be fun.