Page 91 of The Cursed Chalice

I refuse to acknowledge Aric. Because I saw the unshed tear and the way she covered it up with a smile. It took all of me not to turn around and hold her in my arms.

When Elias said she was his, my blood boiled. She doesn’t belong to anyone but me.

“She’s not fucking property.”

I close my eyes and inhale. I have a god or goddess who wants me dead. Meanwhile, I have the power of a demigod. How can I protect her? I should feel happy about Elias’s death; instead, Ifeel like I am still fucking fighting. All because I have a faceless enemy that I can’t defeat.

I stare down at my hands. I have crushed kingdoms with little effort. Killed gods. Yet this woman has undone me.

I can’t let my enemy see that she is the one person I would burn Olympus for.

“And Talia?”

“And Talia, I have a duty to set her free.” I drag my hand down my face. Is it right for a god to feel like they are spiraling?

I stand in silence, accepting my new resolve to stay away from her.

“So, is this what you do in the office? Brood near the windows, looking out into the city like a Great Value Batman?” The voice sounds slurred.

My sword manifests in my hand as I take two long strides to Dionysus.

He raises his hand and smiles. “I come in peace.”

“I should kill you where you stand.”

“No, no, let’s hear what he has to say.”

Dionysus rolls his eyes. “You don’t ask me how I am doing? If my cult is still thriving, nothing.”

“How are you, Dion?”

Dionysus smiles. “I am cunt-stipated.”

Under different circumstances, the word cunt-stipated would be funny. “What is that?”

“I am experiencing a spiritual blockage caused by dealing with cunts all day, yourself included.”

My nose flares as I smell the scent of myrrh and sour wine.

“Talk.” I press the tip of the sword closer to his throat.

Dionysus presses his throat closer to the tip of the sword, just enough for it to prick his throat.

I watch a tear of gold blood slip down his throat. He laughs as if death is something funny to him. He moves away and goesto my drinks cart. He pours himself some whiskey and throws it back.

“This is good.”

I don’t respond. My sword is still pointed at him.

Only Dionysus would wear white bell-bottoms with a magenta silk shirt and a dark green belt.

Every time he moves, the little bands on his hands make noise.

“I came to clear my name. Whatever is happening, I am not a part of it.” He drops himself into a chair. “Why, by the fates, would I want you dead? Granted, I don’t like you, but sending you to Tartarus? Too much work.”

I don’t answer; I just watch him, waiting for him to fuck up so I can kill him.

“You have an aura cascading down your shoulders. Even with that limited power supply.” Dionysus crosses his legs. “Either way, whatever you think I did, I didn’t do it.”