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Anger

The following night, they form a ring on Stargazer Hill, sitting beneath its central oak tree. Encircling them, the carnival arena park has shut down, its bulbs glowing for immortal eyes only.

Their group is a crescent of seven members. Some have known mortality, while the rest have known eternity. A crew of warriors diversified.

After Anger had introduced Love and Merry, the two struck up an instant kinship, born of their shared origins as love goddesses. The former had expressed humble gratitude for Merry’s gift of magic, which Love’s mate had echoed. It’s not often a deity is willing to give up a damn thing, much less the chance at power.

Speaking of mates, when Love had formally presented Andrew to him, Anger became the object of the man’s probing features. They’d seen each other once from a distance, at the onset of Love’s friendship with Andrew. Even back then, the male must have guessed Anger’s repressed feelings for Love. For the man had leveled Anger with a discerning gaze, able to filter through nuance like a force unto his own.

But they never exchanged words until the library vault. Andrew hadn’t shown one iota of jealousy. Rather, he studied Anger implicitly, those pewter irises penetrating him to the marrow of his bones. It’s akin to the first time Love had pinned Anger with the same look in their youth—a testament that she and Andrew are made for each other.

“I never got to say this before, since memory loss tends to do that to a person,” Andrew had told him during the introduction. “But thank you.”

Anger had blinked. “For what?”

“For growing up with Love and protecting her. Not least of all, breaking celestial laws for the troublemaker.”

Anger had swallowed, feeling unqualified for the gratitude yet wanting it, nevertheless. He had nodded, unable to respond in any other way. To which Andrew’s mouth had tilted in understanding.

Next, their group dressed their wounds, annexed Malice’s archery, and left him chained in his secluded crypt. After resting for a day in Merry’s home, they migrated to the arena the next evening, calling on Envy and Sorrow.

More reunions. More introductions.

A wry remark from Sorrow. “What the hell happened? You all look like shit.”

A sassy tease from Envy. “Fuckable, but still like shit.”

And here they are.

Each player takes part in recapping. Love and Andrew had indeed left clues in a journal, including fragments of her former existence to aid their memories after she became human. Albeit, the notes had been ambiguous, cognizant of the danger it posed to deities.

The journal had worked over time, with Andrew’s skill as a storyteller and Love’s knowledge of her world contributing to that success. Slowly, recollections came back to them in vignettes. Eventually, it led the pair to the Celestial City, to the research library known for its extensive collection on astronomy and mythology.

As for what happened when Anger approached Love like an apparition, she had told Andrew about the mysterious presence she’d felt. After that, Malice had apparently fucked with their attention, trailing them through the stacks for long enough to give off uncanny vibes.

By then, Love and Andrew had experienced enough flashbacks to take all of this seriously. Cautious not to alert Malice, they followed their intuition. Although unable to see him, they secretly turned the tables, shadowing the demon god’s essence when he retired to his lair. So when Malice abducted Love later, Andrew had known what to suspect and where to go.

The rest of the crew contributes their side of things. Merry’s story. Anger’s story. The legends in between. Everyone has something to say in their own words, from their own perspectives.

Now that Merry has bequeathed her newly earned power to Love, the goddess and her mate can be immortal without harming The Dark Gods. That is, if the pair chooses to keep this gift. Or if not, it’s likely they will lose their memories once again.

There’s an intermission, a lapse in time for the couple to decide. They don’t want to lose their beloved mortals back home. Andrew’s stepfather, Ulrik. A bookshop matriarch named Georgie. Their friends, Holly and Griffin.

However, they do not need long to make a choice. This is what they’ve been striving toward, and they won’t turn their backs on this fight. Love yearns to restore her calling. Andrew vows he can write stories regardless of which world he’s doing it from, and he’s more dedicated to this cause than living a human life. But above all, he’ll always choose Love over anything else.

Love’s gaze fastens with Andrew’s, both of them caught between elation and loss. Needing time alone, the pair abandons the hill and takes a private walk through the park.

Sorrow empathizes most of anyone. She predicts it will be a while before they return.

The goddess is right. When the couple finally rejoins the crew, red stains the rims of Love’s eyes, and Andrew’s expression is sober. They compensate for the sacrifice by vowing to write letters, vague details alongside genuine words of farewell to the ones who matter.

It’s the best they can manage. But at least they have the choice this time.

Andrew marvels at his hands, turning them over. His eyes taper, perhaps having expected a flashing light or special effect. “Shit,” he says, trying to inflict humor into the situation. “I don’t feel remotely like Adonis. Or I guess I’m supposed to be Psyche.”

From behind, Love straps herself around him like a backpack. With her chest flush against his spine, she purrs an offer into his ear. “Want some help from Eros in fixing that?”

Andrew twists his head and speaks against her mouth. “Always, Little Myth.”

“Aww,” Merry gushes while ensconced in Anger’s arms, his limbs flanking hers.

Despite himself, Anger whispers a prompt against her temple. “Just wait. Any moment Sorrow is going to—”

Sorrow groans in abject misery. “Not aww . That’s called ugh .”

“Come now,” Envy coos, sprawling on his side across the ground and sliding a blade of grass over her hip. “Just because we don’t engage in public displays, it doesn’t mean they can’t. Besides, I’m entitled to this view.” He flaps his hands at the pair. “Keep going until the clothes are off.”

“Jesus, get over yourselves,” Andrew drawls. “Nobody’s entitled to a fucking thing. Ever heard of working for what you get?”

Envy frowns, his voice coated in disgruntled vanity. “As much as I find razor-sharp wit sexy, couldn’t you be a little intimidated in our presence? My ego is getting upset.”

Andrew smirks. “Not a chance. I write your type for a living.”

Chuckling, Love sets her chin on his shoulder. “Get used to my mate. He’s here to stay.”

“With pleasure, dearest.” Wonder turns to Andrew. “It appears you haven’t inherited our immortal arrogance.”

“Neither has this one,” Anger remarks, jerking his head toward Merry and gripping her tighter against him.

And because he cannot stop touching her, satisfaction warms his tattoos when she burrows deeper into him. “I wouldn’t call anyone here arrogant. Least of all, myself. I’m a lion-hearted heroine amid the brave and rebellious.”

The discussion segues. Their defiance has made an enemy of The Fate Court, to which the rulers will enjoy the satisfaction of payback. Bloodshed. Warfare. From rulers’ perspective, their crew will offer a provocative but futile fight. It will be another example to set before their people, to show what happens when their world is disrupted needlessly.

To thwart a reckoning, their crew must discover how to preserve the lifecycle while also finding a new equilibrium between deities and humans. If they succeed, and if the opposition nevertheless refuses to compromise… well, then they had better polish their arrows for combat.

They need time. They need to amass a legion.

Merry’s outcast allies amount to a vast number. Several millennia are long enough for scores of deities to get banished, and she’s done a masterful job of mobilizing supporters, rallied by a desire to have their exiled voices heard.

Unfortunately, the headcount is still not enough. As for those in The Dark Fates, they’re inaccessible. At least, without a means for this crew to return home. While the legend has granted Love and Anger the ability—and the immunity—to travel without repercussions, that doesn’t mean Dark Gods aren’t permitted to defend themselves during a skirmish. Something may happen, forcing Love and Anger to cross arrows with more opponents than they can manage. Ultimately, it’s too risky to venture into enemy territory without backup or contingency plans.

And although Wonder had once spoken of Asterra Flora—dark magic that breaches the veil between worlds—the ingredients necessary to produce this mixture are unattainable from here.

Yet recent events have taught their crew to expect the unexpected. If there’s a way around these obstacles, they’ll move constellations to find it. Until then, calling out through The Stars is the only option. On that front, it’s safer to communicate in small batches, using coded wording lest the messages get intercepted, if the recipient doesn’t outright betray this trust.

Whatever method they succeed in, certain deities from The Dark Fates may welcome the sound of revolution. Many of them ridicule Anger for what he did in defense of Love. Whereas others have been on his side since the onset, protesting his punishment, dismayed to see him go.

For instance, their crew will never be able to recruit Pride or Spite. But they might sway Confusion. Definitely, Guilt.

From there, it’s essential to strategize which deities from each realm will riot against this crusade. Plus, who will have the stamina to tackle whom.

Sorrow contemplates the opposition from their homeland. “I’ll face off with Grief, so long as Hope and Joy back me up.”

Envy adjusts the shirt collar peeking beneath his suit blazer. “I’ve got Pride and Spite.”

Concerning resident adversaries in this city next, Merry provides an overview of likely scenarios across the east and west sides. Pity and Kindness can deal with Cruelty. Confidence can be on Shame duty. Courage will have dibs on Fear. Trust will take down Suspicion. Surprise can handle Shock.

“As a precaution, I’ve got everyone covered,” Wonder finishes.

Andrew quirks an eyebrow. “I’m biased, but it seems the only one qualified to say that is Love.”

Love gives Wonder a conciliatory wink, because her mate is correct. As the most malleable and complex of emotions, Love is the only figure equipped to go head-to-head with everyone, regardless of whether they have felt those stirrings or not.

“Fine,” Wonder concedes with a prim sigh. “Who’s left?”

Silence. Uncomfortable, murky silence.

Because they have covered all enemies but one, Wonder stiffens. Like a cane, her spine snaps into rigid, upright posture.

With Malice imprisoned in the library vault, he cannot do physical harm. Whether he stays confined is another matter, to say nothing of the psychological effect he has on his prey. But while Malice can use The Stars to summon his cult, then direct them to his whereabouts, he won’t. That would be too simple, for the demon does not like to be saved, and everything is a game to him.

In which case, one of their crew must prevent Malice from plotting his way out of their grasp. That will require keeping surveillance of him.

After a tense moment, Sorrow scrunches up her nose. “Anger’s an efficient warhorse against Malice. They’re both temperamental gods.”

“No,” Wonder stipulates, her features neutral. “Malice is mine.”

No one objects. But based on the communal looks, nor do they approve. And no one misses the shift in Wonder’s demeanor, the hollowness of her voice and how the petals of her corsage curl morosely.

In the meantime, siding with the banished means The Court won’t welcome her return to their realm. This includes Envy and Sorrow, who have likewise been exiled as penance for their crewmate’s rebellion.

Envy shrugs. “I’ve never liked the food in The Dark Fates.”

“I’ve never liked much,” Sorrow grunts.

“Except me.” The god waggles his brows, then addresses the circle. “First one to go down loses an article of clothing.”

Love hops from the grass. “Is that a challenge?”

“Rubbish. You’re too rusty to challenge—”

The head of a nocked arrow taps Envy’s groin before he finishes the sentence. “You were saying?” Love inquires sweetly.

“Archery kink. Now we’re talking.” The god flashes his pearl ivories. “How I’ve missed you.”

“How you’ll regret it.”

Truer words were never spoken about Love and her reclaimed skills. Although The Court confiscated her weapons before she forsook her old life, the rulers likely stashed the relics somewhere unfrequented. But while they might not notice the archery’s absence any time soon, they’re monitoring Love and Andrew.

Inevitably, they will learn what’s happened. Thus, Love’s restoration will incur more wrath, which is yet another risk their crew simply must take.

All the more reason to train. A whirlwind ensues. The five archers of their original crew brandish bows and surge into the fray. Love fends off a shot while in flight, her wings fanning the air. Anger backflips from a rock and shoots while inverted. Envy and Sorrow leap, cross paths, and aim sideways. Wonder windmills off the ground, evading their arrows.

It’s instinctive, as if they have never been apart. United, they’re a maelstrom. The kind that cannot be controlled.

Merry shoots through the quagmire and vaults past the projectiles. Although she’s swift on foot and will always have her motorcycle, Anger will find another bow and continue to train her. If that’s what she decides.

As a newfangled immortal, Andrew and his archery have gained its own potency. Armed with his own bow, he tests these kinetics by deflecting a shower of arrows.

At one point, Wonder removes herself and drifts to the edge of the hill. Tentatively, Anger joins her, along with Love.

“He’s right,” Wonder says quietly to them, staring past the carnival arena to the library’s distant silhouette. “We need him.”

Malice. He had warned as much, pointing out how their crew will inevitably require his assistance. The cognitive demon has curated a stockpile of Archive secrets and potential deceptions, the makings of which they’ll need an immortal SWAT team to breach. To that end, the outcast’s expertise might actually rival Wonder’s proficiency.

That is not the only dilemma crimping Wonder’s face. She hasn’t been herself since laying eyes on Malice. The mystery possesses a harsh texture and a rancid stench, like feelings that have been churning inside her for ages—because whenever Wonder looks at Malice, it’s with recognition.

In the observatory, Anger had broached the subject. And based on her torture when she became enamored with an anonymous mortal, Anger has sufficient information. “Is it him?”

After a long-suffering pause, Wonder replies, “I don’t know.” Her cheeks flush hotly with exertion. “But he has the same face as that mortal.”

Somehow, Love does not need context. She sucks in a breath, the memory of Wonder’s punishment resurfacing. Perhaps additional details of Wonder’s transgression had been confided to Love, since the goddesses have a closer bond.

But how the fuck can a human become a reincarnated deity?

Love issues a delicate query. “But wasn’t that man a good person?”

“Yes,” Wonder whispers. “Yes, he was.”

She gives a half-hearted smile to no one in particular, then walks away.

Anger and Love trade glances. The set of her chin suggests she’s about to do something imprudent. Something like rush after Wonder and propose to be Malice’s warden, thus alleviating her friend of that duty.

However, Wonder is not fragile. She won’t take kindly to having her task commandeered, especially out of pity.

As Love moves to follow, Anger sets a hand on her arm. Though, it’s not only to dissuade her.

Anger has been wincing with each movement, the scars mapping where his wings used to be crackling with heat. It’s a bizarre sensation, no longer carrying them. Though occasionally, a phantom motion grips him, an illusion that the plumes are flapping under his skin. It will take a while for that to abate.

During the recap, he had omitted this detail, saying only that he battled Malice alongside Merry and Wonder. On that front, the goddesses had kept quiet, aware of the reason. Anger had wanted to tell Love separately.

“I should have confessed this long ago,” he begins, guilt stinging the words.

The goddess’s wings compress against her back. She tapers her eyes, then widens them as he peels off his shirt and turns. A gasp precedes the motions. He senses Love’s shocked gaze processing the scars, struggling to make sense of what she sees.

She’s a volatile one as always. As he redresses and rounds on Love, outrage blazes across her pupils. However, the reaction extinguishes in one fell swoop as she glimpses the torment Anger wrestles to keep in check.

Her tone shakes with accusation. “You never said a fucking word.”

“I didn’t,” he answers. “And I’m sorry.”

He explains about his envy toward her wings, his frustration that Love never made use of her potential, as he would have done. Anger reveals his desperation to escape storms, the drive to elevate himself, and why he kept this secret. Although The Court would have implicated their crew, it doesn’t excuse this treachery, after all the judgement Love endured for her feathers.

Lastly, he tells her about his fall from the sun. On that score, Wonder has been giving him looks since that flight, silently demanding an explanation.

Anger will confess and atone to everyone later. For now, he weathers Love’s reaction.

The consternation and hurt. Then the empathy.

The goddess shakes her head. “I once felt the same desire to conceal my wings, though for other reasons.” She draws in a steady breath. “But I also know what it’s like to lose them.”

A weight soars from his chest. “I won’t presume to ask forgiveness.”

Sudden mischief gleams in her starlit pupils. “Good, because I’d rather you earn it. You owe me three thousand years of harassment.” Strutting back, she rubs her hands together and baits, “I can’t wait to annoy the shit out of you.”

Ah, fuck. But fair enough.

Despite himself, Anger scoffs with humor. “Bring it on.”

There’s a reconciled truce, followed by closure. Friendliness is reflected in Love’s gaze, which he returns with a rueful grin.

Veering around, Love retracts her wings and runs back to the ground, springing into Andrew’s waiting arms and seizing his lips with her own.

And finally, sincerely, Anger is happy for her.

Training ends. Five armed rebels scatter down the hill and into the arena, spreading out to explore. Unable to keep their mouths off each other, Love and Andrew vanish around a corner. Envy, Sorrow, and Wonder bait one another mirthfully while disappearing down another lane.

The Stars glint, having observed Anger’s story from the beginning. What they conclude of his arc, he cannot say. They haven’t intervened, told him what to do or how to interpret this journey, and that’s why he keeps faith in their enigmatic presence. The path ahead is his choice.

Beyond the arena, an observatory glows amid ancient buildings. That special rooftop points the way home.

Home. With her.

At last, Anger is whole.

Then there’s Merry. Standing under the oak tree, her smile brightens the world. Earrings that remind him of chandeliers sway from her lobes, the baubles flashing at him the same way his gold hoops are probably flashing at her. Eternal fates, not a fucking thing exists but this goddess.

What kind of light do you admire?

She had asked that once, when they met. Yet he does not answer. Instead, he would rather show her.

Anger narrows his eyes, eager to swab his tongue past those lips, between the gap in her teeth. Indeed, his beautiful target is savvy enough to perceive the tumult of his desire. Similarly, her breathing shifts, her bodice changing its rhythm, and a wet flux pools in her sweet cunt.

Fuck, the scent makes him delirious. His cock thickens within seconds.

Greedy things and loving things pile on his tongue, but actions rather than words are his strength. Unable to contain himself a moment longer, Anger stalks toward her. “Get over here so I can fuck you.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Merry backs away playfully. “Come and get me.”

Then she blows him a kiss, spins in that rippable dress, and sprints down the hill. And so the hunt begins.

Anger relishes the surge in his blood. He loves this part, the race and rush of being with this female, and craves the anticipation of catching her. She has always been fast, but in his current ravenous state, he’s an ambitious god with a new target. He’ll find his brilliant shooting star and won’t need wings to do so. For all the light he craves is within grabbing distance.

And now he knows what that feels like.