Page 89 of The Cursed Chalice

I watch as some of his organs still twitch, trying to fight for their lives. I stand over whatever is left of him, drenched in sweat and blood. My hands drip red, leaving trails on the ground.

Hecate watches me and then at the piece of the medallion in her hand. Her expression is dark and solemn.

“It’s finally over,” I whisper.

She meets my eyes. “No, Ares. It’s just begun.”

“What do you mean?”

Hecate opens her palm. “These are primordial fragments; this is chaos incarnate. But are you smelling that sea-salt smell?”

She pushes the broken medallion to my nose. “That fucking stinks.” I pull away.

“That scent is god bane. Think of it as kryptonite for gods. The only place you can get this is at Olympus.”

I look down at the bronze pieces in her hands. “So he was working with a god. I’m going to pay Dionysus a visit.”

Hecate shakes her head. “It’s not Dion. Elias said, ‘Shesaid that it will weaken the Olympian gods.”

“Who the hell could it be if it’s not Dionysus?”

“Let me check it out. But someone wants you dead.”

Dead?

“I will figure it out. Go to your wife. I have a concert to attend.”

As she is about to disappear, I stop her. “Hecate, thank you.”

Hecate smirks. “Aww, marriage is making you a pussy. Bye.”

She disappears, and I am left standing over Elias’s body. Forming a fireball in my hand, I throw it at his body.

I close my eyes, disappearing and allowing my body to settle in the library of my house. Sighing, I walk to my drinking cart. I uncork the crystal decanter and bring the bottle to my lips.

There was a god who wanted me dead. This is more than just the chalice and the curse. Does that mean they want Soraya dead too? Should I go all in and try to protect her? The last time I tried that, it didn’t turn out perfectly. This was chaos.

Maybe if I act like she doesn’t matter to me, they’ll leave her alone, think of her as my pet or mortal.

“That makes no sense, Ares.”

My body feels tense, and my back tightens. “If they see her as mine, she will be a target. If they perceive her as nothing, she lives.”

“She will hate us.”

I sigh. “I’d rather she hated us than die because of us.”

I press the bottle to my forehead and groan. “It has to work, or she may die, and it won’t be by my hands.”

The door behind me clicks. I can smell lime and coconut.

“Ares?”

SORAYA

I heard when he came in. I thought he would come straight to our room, but he didn’t. I track him to the library, where he’s holding a crystal decanter to his head.

“Ares?” He is covered in blood, not just the back of his hands but his white shirt, his neck.”