Bound to the Battle God Read online

  After a moment, the prelate licks his lips. “It is not, my Lord of Storms.”

  “Is any of this in the sacred scrolls?” Aron flicks his hand at the crowded, trashed temple full of drunk, stuffed partygoers. At that moment, a naked woman squeals and runs from a man in red temple robes. “This carousing?”

  I can practically feel the cringe of the prelate. “It is not, my lord. But it is all tradition done in your honor—”

  “Then stop,” Aron snarls. He whips about and moves back to his chair, and I catch a glimpse of pale, hairless body and he’s just as muscular in the chest as he is in the backside…and I notice that he’s got large balls and an even bigger cock. Like, huge.

  Okay, well, that answers that.

  God-cock is apparently very impressive.

  Aron flings himself back onto his throne and clamps his hands down on the arms. “This is my temple, is it not? Perhaps you should spend your time obeying my wishes?” His voice is practically a snarl.

  The prelate drops his forehead to the floor again. “Of course, Lord of Storms.”

  The angry god flicks his gaze over to me. I notice one eye is brown and one is green, and I’m frozen underneath that unusual gaze. “What am I a god of, woman?”

  Oh shit, is this a trick question? “Cleavers?”

  Someone makes a terrified sound.

  His eyes narrow.

  Pin drop.

  I smile brightly even though the air is so heavy and ominous it feels like I’m about to be throttled from afar. “I should probably point out that I’m not from here and so I don’t know that answer.”

  “Battle,” the prelate offers in a thin voice. “Battle and thunder.”

  “That was going to be my second guess,” I add. “Don’t see what that has to do with sacrificing maidens. You guys would probably be better off holding a duel or a fight or something.”

  The room gets quiet. The prelate stares at me with hot eyes as if he can’t believe that I’m daring to speak. Well, tough luck. Speaking up got me a cushion on the dais, and if that’s the only advantage I get, I’m going to use it. I suspect I’ll be paying for my “privilege” soon enough.

  I should have never brought up the butt stuff.

  “My servant is correct,” Aron says after a long moment. “You do me no honor with your sacrifice. If you wish to honor me with blood, do so on the field of battle. Release those maidens to go back to their families.”

  “They are slaves, my Lord—”

  “Then keep them and feed them as you would any other temple slave.”

  “Of course, my Lord.” He sounds like he’s chewing glass.

  One of the women in the back begins to sob loudly, and I can see the irritation spreading over Aron’s face. He gestures at the woman, who’s weeping as if she’s just now realizing she’s going to die, except she isn’t. “Why does she cry?”

  I have to admit I’m as mystified as he is.

  The prelate straightens himself, as if finding his spine. “She is dishonoring her master if she is not sacrificed to honor the gods.”

  As I watch, Aron pinches the bridge of his nose, as if beat down by all of this. “How is it dishonorable if she is serving my temple at my wishes?”

  The woman’s crying eases and her sniffles turn to surprise, and then she stumbles forward, dropping to her knees a short distance away from Aron’s throne. “I only wish to serve, Lord of Storms. However I can, I wish to be of service to the gods.”

  I actually feel sorry for Aron for a brief moment, because he looks so frustrated with the situation that his jaw clenches and I suspect he’s moments away from rolling his eyes. “Serve my temple. And quit crying. The gods do not like tears,” he snaps.

  All the gods or just this one, I wonder?

  The prelate bows and then the other women are dropping to their knees, weeping their thanks. Aron just looks even more annoyed and his hand curls into a fist against one of the arm rests.

  He looks like he’s about to change his mind, so I pipe up. “I bet all these new servants of the temple will start their work—their devotion,” I correct, glancing over at Aron, “to the gods early in the morning. Someone should probably show them where they’re sleeping so they can get some rest. It’s late.”

  As in, get them out of here so Aron doesn’t lose his shit.

  I give the prelate a pointed look but he only glares at me like I’m the jerk for daring to speak up. One of the red-robed priests in the back seems to be smarter, though. He gathers up some of the weeping, prostrating women and begins to usher them down a back hall. The prelate bows to the god and backs away, returning to his chair, and some of the tension in Aron’s jaw eases. The low hum of the room picks up again, conversations going once more.

  I’m left alone, sitting at the feet of the crankiest, most beautiful man I’ve ever seen and he looks as if he’s sucking lemons. What he did has made the hard knot in my chest ease a little, though. I touch his leg to get his attention and ignore the spark of electricity that shudders through me. “Thank you—“

  “Do not thank me,” he snaps, cutting me off. “If it did not suit my needs, I would not have spoken up. Do not mistake me for a kind, gentle god. I am not one.”

  Yeesh. I pull my hand back.

  I go back to watching the room, though it seems a lot of people are clearing out now that it’s getting closer to dawn. There’s a lot of yawning and the food laid out on the tables has long since been demolished, and the smell of it is starting to turn. There are puddles on the marble flooring that tell of spilled wine and I delicately kick aside a crust of bread with my foot and try to hold back my own yawn. What happens now, I wonder. Even though I’ve stress-eaten through the entire platter, I’m still hungry, and the long day is catching up to me. Now that the spine-clenching fear of death is gone, I’m exhausted. I’m going to live for another day, and even if I have to deal with Aron and his shit, I’ll take it.

  Of course, it’s been one long, never-ending shit storm ever since I got to this place. No wonder I’m tired. I watch as people glance uneasily in Aron’s direction and sneak out however they can. No one knows what to do around the god. I can’t blame them. He’s not exactly shown himself to be a cuddly, kindhearted sort.

  Bet they’re regretting this whole “Anticipation” thing now.

  I glance up at Aron, but if he notices people are sliding away and leaving, he’s not showing it. He continues to stare stonily ahead, watching the dwindling crowd, and his expression is the same unpleasant one it always is.

  It strikes me that maybe he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now. If this is his first time being among people, maybe he doesn’t know that at some point, people go to bed? They don’t sit and glare at the crowd like they’re insulting him with their presence? And if I’m his servant—his anchor—am I the one that has to break the news to him? Because for every person that slips away, there’s another robed one waiting at the fringes of the room, faces a mixture of anticipation and exhaustion. I know how that feels.

  I look around for the prelate, because maybe it’s time to be mouthy and speak up about getting Aron a room for the night so everyone can get some sleep. Of course, that might mean I’ll have to “serve” Aron in ways I’d prefer not to, but I’m so tired that I’m willing to just get it over with at this point.

  The prelate’s chair is empty, Avalla half-asleep and leaning against the side of it. Did he slip out, too? I scan the room, looking for the bald head in the red robes and find him in a shadowy corner. A chill skitters up my spine as I see that he’s talking to a familiar, pear-headed soldier. My old owner. Sinon.

  Both are looking in this direction and talking, and they’re wearing unpleasant expressions. As I watch, Sinon fingers his sword pommel thoughtfully.

  I have a bad feeling about that. The prelate looks just as unpleasant, and I suspect they’re not happy with the god they got. Maybe they should have worshipped a nature god instead of a war one.

  Their
intense conversation continues, and they keep looking over at Aron. I know no one’s a huge fan of the guy right now, but the way they’re talking makes my skin prickle. I think we need to break that up, just in case. I glance up at Aron on his throne and notice that his eyes are a little glassy, his lids heavy. He looks tired.

  Does he not know he doesn’t have to stay in his throne all night?

  Hesitantly, I touch his leg again. This time, I’m prepared for the shock that ripples down my hand as I graze his skin. “Should I ask the prelate to prepare a chamber for you?”

  The god’s gaze flicks down to me. “Why?”

  “So you can sleep? Rest? Relax?

  “Sleep,” he repeats, and I don’t know if he’s considering the suggestion or trying to figure out what it means. “Very well. Go and retrieve the prelate and tell him I wish for a chamber.”

  I get to my feet and dust off the bottom of my too-short minidress-slash-skirt. I have to admit I want to hear what they’re saying. I cross the room and take my way winding through the crowd that remains.

  I sidle up to the two men engaged in furious conversation in the corner of the room. They haven’t noticed I’m approaching, and so I move ever so silently closer, trying to stealth in on their chat.

  “It should be obvious which one he is,” the prelate is murmuring. “The question is, what do we do about it?”

  “What we have to,” the soldier—my old owner—says. “If she can’t be controlled, and he can’t be swayed, Aventine might be better off…”

  I accidentally kick a half-eaten piece of fruit that squelches against my foot as I move forward, and both men look over at me. Shit. I smile brightly, putting on my most vapid expression so they won’t see the fear pounding in my heart. I don’t understand most of their conversation, but I’m pretty sure it’s not good news. “Hi. The god is ready to go to sleep for the night. Is there a room prepared for him?” And just because I can’t help but be a little catty toward these two jerks, I add, “Something appropriate for his amazing godhood, of course.”

  Both men exchange a look. Neither one moves from their shadowy corner. “My rooms are the finest in this temple,” the prelate says after a moment. “I can have them readied for him. And you? What do you require?”

  They stare at me so hard that I feel like I’m on the spot. I get the sense that this question is loaded. “Like…sleep-wise? I’m pretty sure he wants me to sleep with him. In his room,” I add because that might sound a little slutty. Truth be told, I thought I’d be getting into this gig and doing that sort of thing to save my hide, but so far Aron of the Cleaver has shown zero interest in my person. It’s kind of a relief…if only he wasn’t so insulting about it.

  “Sleep-wise or anything else,” the prelate says. “Do you require money? Wealth? Jewelry? Do you like pretty things?” He smiles creepily.

  At first, I’m insulted. Is he asking if I like shiny objects because I’m a fucking girl? Then I realize there’s a far more sinister aspect to this. I’m being bribed. At some point, because I’m now attached to that sparking, pale asshole of a god, I’ve become important. I can switch allegiances and go with these guys and whatever nefarious shit they have planned. I can help them take out Aron—because I have no doubt in my mind that this is the ultimate plan to take back control—and ask whatever I want in money or prizes. I can ask for all the slaves in the city to be freed. I can ask for anything and everything.

  All I have to do is work with these two.

  I consider it for a brief, shining moment. Aron hasn’t won any love from me. Guy’s an enormous dick and loves to make me feel small on a regular basis, and I’ve only known him for a few hours. I don’t have anything in this world and these two are offering me safety and security…sort of.

  But then I think of how Aron saved the lives of all the blonde slaves. Maybe there’s something under that asshole exterior after all. I’ve been brought here for a reason, and Aron’s that reason—I think. I can’t betray him. Not when he saved me, too. He could have looked me up and down like the prelate did, sneered at me, and picked a different blonde. Instead, he tied himself to me and me to him.

  I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a traitor. “I’m good, thanks.”

  Their expressions grow cold. Shuttered. The prelate nods. “So be it. I will have my slaves prepare the chambers for the Lord of Storms.”

  “Spiffy. I’ll tell him.” I keep the bright smile on my face though everything in me is screaming to run away. This feels…wrong. I can’t quite shake the feeling that these two are going to try something, and I need to be aware of it.

  Aron does, too.

  9

  A short time later, Aron and I are led down the winding stone halls of the temple. They descend into the earth and I’m reminded of the pyramids back home, but we only go down a few floors, where the stones are cooler and overall the humid heat from above is nonexistent. The temperature change makes the place pleasant for all that it’s endless carved stone and torchlit halls. At the end of one of the long hallways, double doors are opened and we’re led into a sumptuous, enormous chamber. There are more torches along the walls, so the room is a little smoky, and straw is scattered over the stone floors, which seems like a fire hazard to me.

  There’s a large circular bed in the center of the room, ornate draperies hanging above it like a headboard. Anchored on one wall is a massive ornate axe, the symbol of Aron himself. The bed looks big enough for four people. This is a nice room…but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not safe.

  The prelate’s nowhere around, though. There are serving girls, all dressed in the short linen skirt and nothing else, and they bow and simper and wait for Aron to address them.

  He stands in the room and it’s clear he doesn’t know what to do next. Poor guy’s pretty lost. I suspect this is all very new to him. I also think he wouldn’t want them to see how he doesn’t have basic knowledge of things like sleep or clothing. So I step forward and gesture at the serving girls. “You can all leave now.”

  They look surprised and hesitate. A few of them glance over at Aron, as if waiting to see if he contradicts me.

  The god gives them his best imperious look. “Did you not hear my anchor?”

  “Of course, my lord,” one murmurs breathlessly and then they’re all bent over, bowing and scuttling from the room like frightened crabs.

  I wait patiently until they’re gone, and then I shut the heavy wooden doors to the room behind us. After that, I move around the room, pulling up wall hangings and looking for secret passages. I find one behind an ornate tapestry in front of a statue, and push the statue back against the door there so no one can get in. And then I shove one of the heavy wooden chests against it, barricading us in. That done, I look over at Aron.

  He stands in the middle of the room, watching me with a curious look on his face. Still naked. I realize a moment later I’ve more or less locked myself into a room with a naked man who can do anything he wants to me. God, I’m dumb. I hope he’ll realize now is not the time to get freaky, though. “We need to talk.”

  “I thought we came to this room to sleep. Is that not what humans do?” Incredibly, he manages to sound as imperious in private as he does in public.

  “You and I need to get some basic groundwork established so we can work together as a team—”

  “We are still not a team,” he snarls at me, and I can hear distant thunder rumble overhead.

  “Fine, whatever,” I exclaim. God, he’s still pissypants even in private. What the hell? But that doesn’t mean I can’t work around this. I have to because I can’t shake the feeling that the prelate is up to something bad. But I need to know more about Aron for starters so I know what I’m working with. “Can I ask you a few questions? I just want to know a bit more about this you and me thing.” I gesture between the two of us. “I’m not used to being an anchor or whatever it is I’m called. I’m not entirely clear on what that means.”

  “You had to c
lear everyone out of this room so you could ask me what an anchor is?” He crosses his arms over his chest, stance arrogant as if he’s not buck naked in front of me. It takes everything I have to maintain eye contact, because every time he moves, the jiggle of his hog is distracting.

  “No, I cleared everyone out of the room to protect us. The less they know about you and me, the better. They’re probably spying for the prelate.”

  He grunts. “I would be surprised if they are not.”

  “So let’s pretend I’m new here. What does an anchor do? Something tells me it’s more than just fetching your slippers.”

  The god’s eyes narrow at me. “How can you not know?”

  “Do you not know either?”

  His mouth thins into a firm line and he’s silent. “There are some things I seem to have forgotten.”

  “Well, shit.” It’s the blind leading the blind around here. I can’t blame him, though. It sounds like there’s a lot that’s new to him and he wasn’t the one that came up with the whole “anchor” thing. It’s obvious that the prelate knows what’s going on, but I’m also pretty damn sure he’s the last person we want to admit a vulnerability to. “Okay, first things first, we need to find someone that will tell us what we need to know. Is there any place you can think of where they’d be loyal to you and open to telling the truth?”

  His ice-pale eyes narrow and he looks furious. “Loyalty? This is my temple. Why would they not be loyal to me?”

  I move closer to him because he’s getting loud. “Look, just between you and me, the prelate? That expression on his face was not loyalty. You embarrassed him in front of his people. He doesn’t know what to do with you, and I worry it’s going to be something bad. He doesn’t like you. I think he only obeyed you because it was in public.”

  “I am a god.” His eyes blaze with anger.

  “I thought you were mortal? Or an Aspect, right? That’s what it is.” I snap my fingers. “Do you have all your powers as an Aspect?”