Page 5 of Until the End of Ever (To the Cruel Gods #2)

KLEOS

I ’d been a bloody idiot this weekend.

To say that things were awkward was a hell of an understatement. Lucian barely even looked at me for most of the morning. And then, he touched me, and my entire body caught fire, as I remembered everything he could do with his hands, and his mouth, and his?—

I shook my head. Get a hold of yourself, Valesco!

This was why people didn’t have sex within their immediate circle of acquaintances. Though Silver and Gideon went there last Friday, and neither of them seemed all that bothered about it.

Meanwhile, I was most definitely bothered .

Every time I caught a glimpse of him, I remembered exactly what it was like to feel him everywhere.

Lucian fucked with the same amount of control, precision, and expertise he displayed in every other aspect of his life, which was deeply unfair.

If there were any justice in the world, he would have had a small cock, or not known what to do with it.

But no, the Adonis was a bloody sex god.

I was never going to forget what shagging him was like, was I? On my deathbed, I’d look back and think of it as the pinnacle of my existence.

“How do you feel about souvlaki?” Lucian asked. “There are restaurants, but it’d take more time, and we might miss the portal back?—”

I was already practically running towards the street vendors, the smell of grease beckoning me.

The old, smiling vendor, greeted me in rapid-fire Greek, losing me within two words.

“Α! Θεογ?ννητοι; Δεν μου κ?νει καμ?α εντ?πωση με την ?λη φασαρ?α που ακο?σαμε. Εφ?σον λοιπ?ν δεν καταστρ?ψατε τον κ?σμο πω? θα μπορο?σα να βοηθ?σω;” 1

Thanks to my studies, I might have understood a few words of ancient Greek, but I was far from fluent in the modern language.

It made sense. November was far from the tourist season. Flushing, I opened my mouth to apologize and ask if he knew any English, French, or German, but Lucian was already replying, words flying out of his mouth with ease.

Unfair .

I tried not to wail. But seriously, he had to also speak Greek, on top of everything else? And why did it sound sexy? The portly middle-aged man behind the counter certainly didn’t make it roll in his mouth in a way that made me want to throw my panties at him.

“Anything you don’t eat?” Lucian asked us. “And would you like fries?”

“Has anyone in the history of the world not wanted fries?” I retorted.

He grinned. “You need to meet a few proper ladies seeking suitors. Fries are usually not part of their diets.”

I rolled my eyes. “They might deny themselves, but they want fries. Everyone wants fries. In fact, I would like a double portion, thank you.”

I was positively starved after the events of the morning.

The vendor chuckled, leaning over his counter. “That is a good woman. Friend, if you take my advice, you put a ring on her finger immediately, yes? Souvlaki with double fries for the lady. And the rest of you?”

His English, while thickly accented, was perfect.

“Same,” Gideon said. “And I’d say, two more souvlaki, if you can pack them up for takeaway? Something tells me our friends will not take it kindly if we don’t bring them snacks. They don’t need double fries, though, lazy buggers.”

“Five souvlaki, eight fries,” Lucian summed up. “And is that ouzo I see? We’ll have three shots with lemonade, if you please.”

I had no clue what ouzo was, but a lemonade sounded divine. It was unseasonably warm, though we were high up in the mountain. Dressed for winter, I was starting to feel a little too hot, but I was reluctant to remove the soft shawl I’d taken to wearing at all times over my shoulders.

“Ah, you have good taste. But I can’t sell ouzo. Licenses, you know. It’s just in the back for me.” The man winked. “A lemonade, I can sell you, and as new friends, we’ll share a nice drink, yes?”

“Is that booze?” Gideon chuckled. “Are we going to get drunk on a Monday morning?”

“If there ever was a Monday morning worthy of booze, today is that day.”

Lucian’s clothes were always perfectly tailored, all lines smooth, but I’d seen him remove an entire picnic basket from his breast pocket earlier—reduced to the size of a nut, but still—so it was no surprise when he withdrew a large coin bag from his back pocket.

No doubt, extended, flattened tailoring were part of the options Witch Styles offered, blending practicality with fashion.

He retrieved a money clip and slid two fifty-euro bills across the counter—overpaying by a lot, in my estimation.

The vendor’s eyes were on the coin bag. “Ha. Highvalers, yes? I guessed as much. I felt a little tremor earlier. You wouldn’t happen to have disturbed forces no one ought to play with, would you?”

Instantly on high alert, I took a step back from the stand, lifting my hand to prepare myself in case I ought to throw a shield up.

Lucian, however, seemed completely unbothered. “Might have. What’s it to you?”

The man laughed, shrugging. “We’re all alive, are we not? So, I say, none of my business. Still, color me intrigued. It’s been some time since anyone’s heard the echo. Back in the day, it happened several times per day. The ground would rumble, and our pythia would speak the words.”

He sounded like he’d witnessed all that firsthand, but what he was talking about was ancient history. From thousands and thousands of years ago.

“Who are you?” I asked warily.

Green eyes twinkled with mischief while the vendor placed five wraps on his grill, adding the already-shredded meat after. “You tell me your name, and I might give you mine, pretty lady.”

Lucian shot me a glance that held a warning, but I said, “Kleos.”

Frankly, I was too afraid to deny him anything. The aroma coming from his grill smelled so good, if he decided to no longer sell us food, I’d cry.

But what were we dealing with here? Certainly no ordinary street vendor. He looked and felt nothing like Apollo or Python; if not for the thoroughly confusing conversation, I would have assumed I was in front of a middle-aged, portly old Greek man and nothing more.

That made him beam. “A good strong name. Glory,” he translated. “I am a son of Protesus—one of those history forgot, as I wasn’t stupid enough to challenge Hercules and let him murder me. They call me Mack, now.”

Protesus. That rang a bell. I searched through my memory, not immediately placing it.

“You’re a grandson of the sea god?” Lucian said before I’d remembered.

That was right; Protesus was the old man of the sea, the shape-shifting god one could hold on to to get answers about their fate.

How did Lucian always know everything?

“You’ve studied your history.” Mack grinned. “I never really had a special gift—not even seaworthy legs. So I sell souvlaki in Delphi. It’s nice. Quiet. Connected enough to the world tree to know if I should pack up and move away from this world.”

Done putting together the first souvlaki, the vendor handed it to me directly.

“The world tree?” I asked, distracted enough from the food to wonder what he meant.

“Curious girl, hm?” The vendor handed the second wrap to Gideon.

“There are various words for it. I like the northerners’ idea of seeing the link between the worlds as one tree with various branches, linking us all.

That cave up the road is a tiny twig. Your Highvale is a branch.

It’s useful, to live close enough to feel if something’s going on.

Now eat. Tell old Mack if he’s chosen a fitting profession. ”

Thus prompted, I tentatively bit into the souvlaki. I was starving but uneasy, not sure what to make of Mack.

The second bite wasn’t as polite. Never had I tasted anything so delicious. Not only did it dance on my tongue with a million impossible flavors, it also spread electrifying warmth and strength all through my body and mind.

“It’s the most delectable thing in the world.”

The entity disguised as a man smile. “This world, maybe. And now we drink.”

Instead of plastic cups or cheap, slightly dirty glasses, he placed four intricately carved goblets on his counter. I had very little doubt that they were made of solid gold. He was done posing as anything but what he was.

I watched him pour the fizzy drink, slice lemon, and place mint in each goblet before adding a little ouzo.

“To your health!” he toasted, lifting his own goblet.

Fuck it. He’d either poisoned us or he hadn’t. I grabbed my goblet and lifted it. “To the gods.”

That earned me a broad grin.

The drink tasted like springtime, happiness and laughter wrapped in music. I gulped it down greedily, only stopping to bite into more street food. I wasn’t even polite, gorging on the delights. I wasn’t alone there. Gideon was done in less than two minutes.

“Is it bad that I wanna eat the other two?” he grumbled, eyeing the paper bag.

I might be completely sated, but I was equally tempted all the same. It had been that good.

“We can’t,” Lucian stated. “I’m not even certain it’d be safe to have that much ambrosia for us—you, especially.”

“That was fucking ambrosia ?” Gideon asked Mack.

I should have known. No normal food was this magical.

The old man shrugged. “Maybe a smidge of seasoning on top. It’s not often I can share the good stuff. Human tourists would blow up. But you can handle a little fire, yes?”

I noticed then that the old man’s eyes were too blue—too bright, when they looked at Gideon, seeing beyond flesh. “Thank you, Mack. You honor us.”

The pupils fixed on me next, as he grinned again. “Yes well, never hurts to befriend good people on the road, does it? And when the time comes, you won’t forget your friend Mack. Give him a little warning before the world’s on fire, eh?”

“Should we expect the world to be on fire anytime soon?” Lucian asked.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Mack shrugged. “Funny signs, and I’m not the best at reading them. But I’d appreciate a word if it comes to that.”

“For the feast you offered us, I’ll certainly send word.” Lucian wrapped his arm around my shoulders and started to walk away, waving. “Good day to you.”

Everything in his demeanor seemed open and friendly, but his hand clutched my shoulder, tight, his strain apparent, and he walked so fast I had to half jog to keep up, until Mack was out of view.

Gideon, with his stupidly long legs, didn’t have any issue following.

“What exactly happened?” I whispered.

“We were tested,” he replied, voice low. “That much ambrosia and nectar would have killed mortals. He could have murdered us. And the fact we were fine…well, I doubt Mack has made friends with just us over the years. There will be talk about it.”

It was all I could do not to glance back behind my shoulders. “I’m not sure I want to see the temples. I don’t think I could handle a third visitor in as many hours.”

Lucian nodded his agreement. “Nor I. But let’s just say, we can’t afford to come all this way and not pay our respects. Spurning the gods is never wise.”

I didn’t argue. Besides, we were in a gorgeous city.

Quiet on a Monday morning, the town blended vestiges of the ancient world with beautiful Mediterranean architecture; roofs flatter than most mountain towns, showing that they hardly saw any snow though they were high in the mountains, light facades painted creams and yellows.

In the town itself, we stopped by the House of Angelos Sikialianos, now a festival museum.

I could have spent forever in there, comparing the celebrations we still held in Highvale to those that used to be held here, thousands of years ago.

I would have loved to see the Hosios Loukas monastery, the Museum of Amfissa, the Haunted Harmena, but Lucian was the voice of reason.

“Sunset in Highvale is in two hours,” he told me. “And we need to be back at the Corycian Cave. We have time for one thing, and it needs to be the Sanctuary of Athena Pronaia.”

“Spoilsport,” Gideon grumbled. “Taking Kleos to an ancient town and not letting her explore every inch is truly cruel.”

I bobbed my head emphatically. “Bringing us here for less than half a day was nothing short of criminal. Why does the sun set so early at the end of autumn?”

Lucian smiled. “We can come back, after we’ve dealt with the…situation.”

The situation being me.

And the fact that there was a god after my blood. That certainly was sobering.

Athena’s sanctuary was almost intact; it was easy to imagine what it would have looked like when it had just been built. One blink, and I could see it, freshly painted, with colorful murals, and golden arches.

In the place where the altar would normally have stood, we left one token each, before portalling back to the cave.

I pouted while Lucian offered Ronan and Silver their two portions. Surely a little more ambrosia couldn’t have hurt? Apollo himself called me a goddess. Wasn’t that supposed to be my exclusive diet?

Both Ronan and Silver devoured their food, moaning after each bite to rub it in, and shortly after, it was time to portal back to Highvale: a golden arch glowed at the cave entrance once again.

In a flash, we were back at the temple of Phoebus Apollo, greeted by its many keepers, and, to my distress, my mother.

“What in the name of all the gods are you doing here?” she demanded, lips pinched. “And in this company.”

Great. Just great.

1 Mack says: "God-spawns, hey? No wonder we heard a disturbance. Well, you didn't end the world, so what can I do for you?"

“God-spawns” doesn’t have a true translation. We chose Θεογ?ννητοι, “born from the gods” rather than Ημ?θεοι “demigods.”