Kat took another drink and set her glass on the counter. “He’s a prick, which is too bad because he’s super hot. Even with his face all cut up. In fact, that might have made him even hotter.”
Kiki giggled. “What did he do?”
She picked up her glass after all, moving to the sink to avoid Kiki’s eyes. “He just mouthed off, and it pissed me off.”
“Well,” Kiki said as she combed her fingers through her hair, “it doesn’t take a lot to piss you off.”
“True.”
“And you’ve kind of been on edge since we left Vegas.” She hastily added, “With good reason.”
“Also true.” Kat gave Kiki a pointed look.
Kiki didn’t see it. “I wish I’d gotten Owen’s number. His brother blew out of the bar with him before I got a chance.”
“Aw, did you get twat blocked?” Kat poked out her lip and pretended to wipe a tear away.
“You’re such a jerk.” She chuckled and rested her head in her hand. “Maybe they’ll come back.”
“I hope not.”
“I hope so,” Kiki said wistfully.
“I think you must be delirious from exhaustion. You should sleep.” Kat smoothed her sister’s hair when she walked by. “See you tomorrow, Kiki.”
“Night,” she called back.
But as Kat climbed the stairs, her thoughts were on the fighter and his brother, wondering if she’d see them again, hating the fact that a tiny part of her actually wanted to.
Dita stared at the wall, listening to her robot Pomeranian, Bisoux, snore like a teeny-tiny freight train.
Kat and Dillon’s first meeting hadn’t gone well.
She’d anticipated Dillon being prickly, but the level of venom between the two of them had been a surprise. Dita had played her hand and sent Kiki straight into Owen’s arms, and the move had backfired epically, forcing a wedge between Kat and Dillon, using their triggers against each other instead of in their favor.
This competition was going to be much harder than she’d thought.
Dillon was a classic Ares — angry, presumptuous, combative. Kat was his match, the controlled fire to manage his wild one, but Kat was just as suspicious as he was. The ace up her sleeve was Kiki and Owen; their love match had been the deciding factor in choosing Kat as her player. The two-for-one deal had been too good to pass by, and having the siblings together would force the players into each other’s proximity.
Dita could find at least one love match for anyone in their own city, provided that the city had more than a hundred thousand people. That statistic was part of the reason she didn’t have to work overly hard to win. The other part was that a real love match was nearly unstoppable. The attraction, the pull of their hearts to each other — it was one of the surest things in the universe.
So she played the game entirely on offense. Winning was just a matter of swatting away the other gods’ plays.
Dita flipped onto her back, careful not to disturb Bisoux, and stared up at the dark ceiling, her eyes straining to make out the lines of the patterned tiles. She wished for sleep and dreaded it. Night after night, she would find herself pacing the meadow in Elysium where she’d met Adonis for thousands of years. But he was gone. Not gone, she supposed, not in the permanent way. But he had refused her, rejected her with his silence.
Every night, she knew he wouldn’t come, yet every night, she would find herself hurt when he didn’t. Of course, she was angry too, not at all regretting the choice she’d made to free Daphne, the choice that had driven Adonis away. They’d never work things out if he wouldn’t speak to her, and part of her was so frustrated, she didn’t want to see him at all.
But she would go anyway, driven by the hope that they could somehow find their way back to each other, back to some semblance of normalcy.
Another unfortunate situation in which Dita found herself was that she’d been without sex since their fight.
One week. One stupid week, and she was pent-up and cagey. Before this, it had been years since she went more than a day or two without. No, decades. Her brows furrowed. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d endured a drought.
Dita rolled over again and punched her pillow to fluff it.
Abstinence was not going to help her stay away from Ares. Slipping into bed with him would be easy. Too easy. And everyone knew you couldn’t get something for nothing; there was always a price.
Before Adonis, she had been with Ares for centuries, even loved him despite his flaws. She’d found she understood him, believed he could be more than he was, given time and a guide, which she was happy to provide. But she’d been wrong. People didn’t change, and neither did gods. Ares was unwaveringly Ares, and that fact would always remain.
After Adonis had died, she’d been suspicious of Ares, certain he’d played a part in the murder alongside Apollo. So suspicious in fact that she’d even used a token she’d won from Ares, a favor that could not be refused. He’d looked her dead in the eye and told her the same story he’d told her a hundred times — he’d had nothing to do with Adonis’s death.
It had never sat right with her. Ares was smugger than ever, which was a feat in and of itself. But she had no proof, so she accepted Apollo’s confession. It was just easier, nice and tidy and neat, and she didn’t have to think about what it would mean if Ares had been involved. Because that betrayal would shake the heavens.
But she never put her full and total trust in him again. When they competed, she found it impossible to keep her distance. Their equal desire to win, to own, was nothing but fuel to their explosive relationship. Ares was determined; he knew exactly what he wanted, and would do anything to get it.
This trait was the one she found the most irresistible.
Dita didn’t know if she could withstand him. The truth was that, even though she’d stayed away from him, she always found herself missing him. They had been companions for so long. They had lived through war and peace, watched empires rise and fall. They had loved, they had fought, and they had lost.
And now they would join once again, a thought that should bring her fear but sent another feeling through her, one far more dangerous.
Hope.
Ares couldn’t sleep.
He kicked off his sheets and rolled over again to stretch out onto his back. Moonlight streamed in through his windows, painting the room in shades of blue, and he sighed, staring at his ceiling.
He’d replayed Kat and Dillon’s meeting over and over, unsure of how to handle the game.
Dillon had been an easy choice, but Ares agonized over the decision all the same. It boiled down to the fact that Ares had deep roots in the human, who had easy triggers, triggers that would set him on fire with little to no effort. Dillon’s father, Jimmy, was the same way. Worse. Like father, like son. The drunken Irishman was a rageaholic who found joy in only two things in life: whiskey and beating the shit out of anyone who dared to get in his way.
Jimmy had been one of Ares’s favorite pets and was one of the reasons he was so attached to Dillon.
Dillon had been fighting since his mother died — fighting his father, the world, his true nature — but he’d never overcome. Instead, he pretended like he had his anger under control, isolating himself from the world, fighting in the ring as an outlet for the fury inside.
But the God of War knew better.
The most fortuitous bonus in Dita’s choice was Eric, Kiki’s ex-boyfriend. Eric was the move. But Ares would have to tread lightly. If he pulled the trigger on Eric, everything would go south. The players could be killed. Dita would go ballistic. Dita would be hurt.
And if he hurt her, really hurt her, it would jeopardize everything he’d built. And he had grand plans.
With Adonis out of the picture entirely, for the time being at least, Ares had a window of opportunity and he would take full advantage.
He’d waited long enough to win her back. And he would wait no longer.
Day 2
“Co
me on, Dillon. Please?”
Dillon didn’t look up from his hands as he chopped an onion on the wooden cutting board. “You’re whining.”
Owen sat across from him on a barstool with his elbows on the surface of the kitchen island and a determined edge to his voice. “Do I ever ask you to go out?”
He kept his eyes on the onion. “No.”
“Right. So you should do me a solid and come with me.”
“I don’t want to go to a bar, and I definitely don’t want to go to that bar.”
“Indulge me.”
Dillon set the knife down and looked squarely at his brother. “You really think my opinion has changed since last night? She’s not the settle-down type, and her sister hates me. Why would I walk back into that nightmare, and why do you think I’d be interested in watching you jump into a volcano?”
Owen’s eyes were deep and sincere. “I have a feeling about Kiki, and you don’t even know anything about her.”
“Neither do you.”
“So maybe she’s not the settle-down type. Maybe she hasn’t met the right guy yet.”
Dillon tossed the onions into a pan, and they hissed with a satisfying sizzle as they slid across the surface. “Famous last words.”
Owen frowned. “I can’t go by myself. I’ll look desperate.”
“You are desperate.” Dillon picked up a bell pepper, sliced the top off, and reached in to pull out the seeds, effectively gutting it.
“Am not. You saw her. How could I not go after after … that?”
“Easy. You just don’t.”
“Well, what about Kiki’s sister? I thought you were into her, but out of nowhere you were laying into her for no reason.”
Dillon sliced the pepper into long strips, exhaling loudly through his nose. “Talking to her was about as fun as licking a sheet of sandpaper.”
“I dunno. Seems she made an impression. You should have seen the look on your face when you saw her.” One corner of Owen’s mouth rose as Dillon’s brows dropped.
“Yeah, well, you should have seen the look on your face when Kiki stuck her tongue down your esophagus.” He cut the pepper with more force than was entirely necessary, and the blade clicked on the wooden cutting board with an annoyed pop, pop, pop.
“Don’t change the subject. Why’d you go off on her?”
Dillon huffed and eyeballed his brother again. “I know you better than anyone, and I know her type. Have you met Jessica? You can’t get attached to girls like that; they’ll bleed you dry.”
“You don’t know her. And what does that have to do with you picking a fight with Kat? I mean, you insulted Kiki, flat-out and unapologetically. What if it had been the other way around? What if she — or anybody for that matter — had insulted me?”
Dillon scowled. “I would have been pissed. And anyway, she did insult you.”
“Wait.” Owen leaned on the island, his tone colored with challenge. “Did you lose it on Kat because I was interested in Kiki?”
“No,” Dillon lied. “I was tired and flew off the handle, and so did she.” He tossed the vegetables into the pan, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. “Kiki’s bad for you. I don’t get why you can’t see it.”
“You are so full of shit.” Owen shook his head. “Jesus, Dillon. Why would you take that out on her?”
Because she was there. Because she pushed back. “I’m trying to help you. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Well, I never asked for your help. You know, I don’t need you to protect me anymore. I’m capable of handling failure on my own. So maybe, just maybe, you should give me a fucking inch to breathe.”
Silence fell over the brothers. Owen’s eyes were on Dillon, and Dillon’s were on the pan.
Owen was right. Not only had Dillon been unreasonably controlling, but he’d also insulted someone who had nothing to do with whatever the bullshit du jour was in Dillon’s head.
He was wrong, as much as he hated it. He shouldn’t have bulldogged Kat. He shouldn’t have said what he had about Kiki. He shouldn’t have presumed. He shouldn’t have reacted.
But the hang-up was this:
Dillon was a wild animal behind a porcelain mask of a man. It took almost nothing to shatter the facade, to expose the beast underneath with gnashing teeth and a roar that ripped from the pads of his feet and past razor-sharp teeth. He had been trained to suspect and taught to bite back.
He was built for solitude.
Every good thing he’d done in his life, he’d done for Owen. Sometimes, that meant sabotaging what Owen wanted, and Dillon would find ways to justify his actions. Sometimes it happened subconsciously. But that didn’t make it right.
Owen broke the silence. “Can you get over yourself and come with me tonight?”
“Take Brian,” Dillon answered, not ready to concede. Instead, he pushed the simmering vegetables around the skillet, still holding out hope that the whole subject would just disappear and they could get back to their routine.
“Brian’s busy. And I want you to understand something.” He paused until Dillon met his eyes. “I will be seeing her again. I will be pursuing her, with or without your blessing. I will go there tonight with or without your company, though I’d rather it be with you. Maybe she’ll turn me down. Maybe I’ll see her again tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. You say you’ve got my back. Well, I’m calling you on that. Have my back. Come with me tonight and help me by apologizing to Kat. You owe her that.”
Dillon considered it for a moment, the only sound between them the sizzling from the pan.
“Do I have to beg?” Owen asked.
“I thought that was what you were doing.” He nudged the vegetables again, feigning indifference.
Owen sighed, shoulders sloping, sad eyes on his hands, and in the end, that was Dillon’s breaking point.
“Fine. But we’re not staying out late.”
Owen shot up straight with a smile that threatened to split his face open. Dillon caught a flash of Owen as a child and found himself smiling back.
“Thanks, Dillon. I mean it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Dillon waved him off.
Discomfort niggled at him, but he waved that off too. He’d have to apologize. He’d have to watch Owen pursue someone he didn’t approve of. And he’d do it. Because the real truth was, sometimes taking care of Owen meant letting him make his own choices in pursuit of happiness, whether he agreed or not. Owen deserved happiness.
He only wished he did, too.
A cozy fire crackled in Dita’s library fireplace, and she readjusted herself again on the couch, flipping onto her stomach to prop her romance novel on the arm, wondering how long she had before she was uncomfortable again. She settled in, flipping the page. There had already been some sensual hand-brushing and one blatant waist-groping as the hero helped the heroine into her carriage, and an engagement was imminent.
The elevator dinged from the other room, and when she stretched to look over the back of the couch, she rolled her eyes. Ares sauntered in, tall and dark and magnetic, eyes set to dominate. Or annoy. Or annoyingly dominate.
“What do you want?” She turned back to her book, pretending to be bored while her heart betrayed her.
Ares walked around the couch, lifted her feet with his big hands, and sat where they had been so comfortably resting. “Good to see you, too.”
Dita huffed, snapping her book closed. “Did you need something, or did you just come in here to be an asshole?” She sat up, putting her back against the arm where her book had been and folding her arms across her chest.
“Kat’s a real piece of work.”
She rolled her eyes again and set her book on the end table. “So we’re gonna do this?”
He shrugged. “I’m just saying. I think it’s funny that you chose someone just as angry as he is.”
Dita let out a single laugh. “Please. She’s got issues, but she’s got a handle on her shit. Dillon barely has a grip.”
/> “Apples and oranges.”
“All the more reason for you to be more concerned than you seem to be.”
His head cocked, his eyes hot and hard and glinting. “You’re so sure you’re going to win. But you underestimate me. You always do.”
Her heart ticked faster. “You don’t exactly have the best track record.”
His lips — they were so full and wide, the slope of them so familiar. For a thousand years she’d stared at those lips, kissed them, lived for the shape they made when they whispered her name.
Now they lifted on one side in a smirk that seemed playful, but his eyes told a different story, as did his voice, a low rumble that sent the hairs on her arms trembling.
“Don’t count me out. Dillon’s rage is so deep, it’s genetic. And at the heart of his hatred is me.”
“Dillon wouldn’t be the first bag of dicks I’d cured of you.” Her gaze hardened — all part of the game. Inside she feared him, wanted him, loved him. But she’d hide it from him with everything she had.
If he knew the truth of her feelings, he’d exploit it. And if he did that, she wouldn’t stand a chance. She’d fall into him and never resurface.
He laughed. “Dillon can’t be cured.”
“Maybe not. But I might have found his antidote.”
“True love conquers all, does it?” he mocked.
“Why do you always do that?” She bristled, and his smile faded.
“What? Point out the flaw in your grand design? Because true love does not equate to happiness. You and I are living proof.”
A warm ache spread through her ribcage.
Her voice was still, low. “Ares, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Hurt flashed across his face, all pretense of levity gone. “Tell you I want you? That I need you? You throw me away so easily.”
“Please,” she whispered a warning that meant little.
“You were mine, and then you weren’t. It was you who decided. You left me, and now I have to wait for scraps, like a dog, when I should feast.”