Bound to the Battle God Page 8

  His jaw clenches and he glares fire at me.

  “Any of them?”

  “Mortal,” he says in a warning tone.

  I raise my hands in the air, determined not to get frustrated. “I’m asking because I need to know what we’re working with. You’re a storm god, can you call down thunderstorms and shoot lightning at people? If you can, then all my worrying is for nothing.” And really, I’d feel better knowing he’s got massive loads of power and is just choosing restraint and pissy attitude to keep people in line.

  Aron’s jaw clenches, the scar on the left side of his face flexing. “I…” He shifts on his feet and then gives me his fiercest scowl. “I do not think I can.”

  My spirits plummet. I suspect he’s just as wimpy as me in this form, with only a cool thunder soundtrack to make him seem impressive. “Can I ask why you were booted out of heaven?”

  “The Aether,” he corrects.

  Apparently he knows that much. “Okay, the Aether. How come you were kicked out of it?”

  His mouth flattens. “The High Father was not pleased with how I handled my duties. I am being punished.” He says the words as if they taste bad.

  “But there’s a way to get back, right? If there’s a way for you to get home, there’s a way for me to get home, too.” He doesn’t answer me, and I wonder if he knows any of this. “Okay,” I mutter to myself, twisting my hands as I think. “Okay, as long as we know our limits, we’ll work with it. I gather you don’t know much about sleeping, either. Or eating or drinking. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  He shakes his head.

  Well, that makes one of us. Despite the fact that I pigged out in the main hall, I could still eat. Probably stress related, I suspect. I ignore it for now. “Have you ever been mortal before—”

  The look in his eyes flares like I’ve given him a grave insult. “I am not mortal. I am an Aspect.”

  “Okay.” I clasp my hands together, because I’m being patient, I really am. “Narrow down for me the difference between an Aspect and a mortal.”

  Aron glares at me. “I owe you no explanation.”

  Probably because he doesn’t know himself. “You’re right, you don’t. But it would really, really help me out if you told me, because I’m flying blind here.”

  He narrows his eyes. “I am a god. That has not changed. I am just…a god who has been stripped of his powers and forced to walk the mortal plane with you at my side.” Again, he says it like he’s spitting nails.

  So flattering. “Is this your first time being an Aspect? The way they talked about it in the temple, this holiday’s a recurring thing. The Anticipation. I assume it’s happened before.”

  “It has happened before,” he says slowly, gazing around the room. “But not to me.”

  Oh. “Think it’s happened to anyone else at the same time? Right now? Should we try praying to the other gods and asking to get you home?”

  The look he gives me is withering. “You think I am the only disobedient god?” He snorts with amusement.

  All right. So Aron’s a bad boy and all the other bad boys and girls have also been kicked from the heavens? Got it. “Can we find some other gods and have a chat with them?” He gives me a dirty look that’s so irritated I go silent. Jeez, what did I say? “All right then, meeting up with other gods is out.” Maybe they’re the gods that booted him out of the heavens and that’s why he doesn’t want to find anyone else. “It’s just us, then. We’ll figure things out as we go.”

  Doesn’t seem like Aron’s going to get me home anytime soon if he doesn’t know anything about what’s going on. All right, then. This will just be a long haul. Fighting back disappointment, I consider our surroundings. The room’s opulent, but I don’t see anything we can use to defend ourselves if someone attacks, and that worries me. Even the food tray doesn’t have a knife on it. I rub my brows, tired. It has been the longest of days. “So is it okay if I turn in?”

  “Turn in?”

  “For sleeping?”

  “Ah, sleeping.” Aron nods slowly. “This is where mortals lie in bed and close their eyes for long periods of time. I always wondered about that.”

  I’m starting to wonder if the transfer to being mortal—excuse me, an Aspect—scrambled his brains. “Yes. They sleep. The brain goes quiet and your body refreshes itself. Everyone has to do it.”

  “What if I do not want to?” The arrogance returns to his voice.

  “It’s sort of a requirement for humans, like breathing and eating and drinking.” I pause, because he hasn’t done the eating and drinking thing. “You sure you’re not hungry?”

  “I am certain.” He looks around and then nudges one of the thick rugs on the floor with a bare, pale toe. “Do I sleep here?”

  Dear god, he is helpless. “How about the bed, champ?” I even point at it, because I’m a nice person.

  Aron grunts and then moves toward it. He places a hand on one corner and pushes on it, testing. How did this man know to sit in a throne but doesn’t know how to use a bed? Maybe the gods have chairs but not beds, then. Wonder what else the gods don’t have.

  A sense of humor, I mentally tell myself as I watch Aron scowl at nothing in particular. He gingerly sits down on the bed and then lies back, and then frowns up at the ceiling. “How long does it take to refresh yourself?”

  “Longer than two seconds,” I say dryly. Impatient much? I consider the room and there are some nice rugs on the floor but not really any place for me to sleep. The bed that Aron’s in is big enough for me, too, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

  Floor it is.

  I look for extra blankets and pillows. The only ones are on the bed and I think about asking Aron if he minds…then I realize he probably will. So I’m just not going to ask. I move to the opposite side of the bed and grab the least offensive pillow, but when I tug on a blanket, it nudges his shoulder and he opens his eyes and glares at me.

  Fine then, no blanket. I grab my pillow and move to the floor, sinking onto the rug. It’s made from some sort of furry animal and I really hope I’m not going to get fleas. I’m exhausted, too. There are a million things I should probably ask Aron about, but maybe it can wait until the morning. I yawn and curl up, holding the pillow against my cheek. Despite the fact that I’m sleeping on the floor, this might be the best sleep I get since I’ve landed in this hellish place. That’d be nice.

  Of course, I don’t have my eyes closed for longer than a moment before Aron speaks again. “Female. Female, wake up.”

  I open my eyes and glare at him. He’s propped up on one elbow in the bed. “Two things,” I say, lifting two fingers into the air (instead of just the one I want to shoot in his direction). “One. My name is Faith. Not ‘female.’ Not ‘slave.’ Faith. If you don’t call me by it, I won’t answer. And two, it takes longer to sleep than thirty fucking seconds.”

  Aron just arches one of those pale brows at me. “If you will not answer to ‘female,’ then why did you answer me just now?”

  I grab my pillow, glare at him, and turn my back. “Goodnight.”

  “Female—”

  “We just talked about this!” I yell without turning around.

  His chuckle sounds as dickish as he is. “Faith, then. I do not know how to sleep.”

  I roll onto my back and look over at him. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

  “Is there a trick to it? Because I close my eyes and nothing happens. Tell me how to sleep.” He regards me from his reclining position on the bed, amidst the luxury of dozens of pillows and all of the blankets.

  “Dude, you seriously have to give this time. You close your eyes and wait—”

  “I did that—“

  “For longer than a few minutes. Your body will eventually get tired and you’ll go to sleep. I promise.”

  He grunts again, the sound pissy and impatient. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d probably lecture him on the fact that he’s still not wearing any clothing and lying around with your j
unk hanging out makes your company uncomfortable. No matter how appealingly sexy (despite his paleness and douchey attitude) said junk might be.

  But I’m too tired to keep talking to Aron, so I point at him, make a gesture for him to turn around, and then go back to my bed.

  That lasts for about five minutes. I’m just about to drift off when Aron speaks again. “This is not like I expected.”

  His voice is so quiet that it takes me a moment to struggle out of the clutches of sleep and back awake. “Mmm…what?” I rub at my eyes and sit up, because if I don’t, I’m going to fall right back asleep again.

  Aron gestures at the room. “All of this. You. I knew this would be punishment, but I had no idea…”

  “Punishment for what?”

  He says nothing.

  “You can’t just leave that out there,” I tell him, annoyed. “What are you being punished for?”

  “I do not need to tell you anything, human.” His voice is as cold and dripping with arrogance as it ever was. His momentary vulnerability of a few moments ago is gone.

  “We’re gonna add ‘human’ to the list of words Faith won’t answer to,” I tell him, rubbing my eyes again. “Slave,’ ‘servant,’ ‘tart,’ and ‘human.’ Oh, and ‘mortal.’ That one always sounds particularly insulting out of your lips.”

  “It is meant to be insulting.”

  Yeah, I figured. I press my hand to my forehead and look over at Aron. He’s lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and I realize I’ve still got all the torches lit. I’m too tired to blow them out—or whatever one does with torches. It’s clear Aron’s not going to let me sleep just yet, so I stifle my yawn and wait for him to continue. When he doesn’t, I decide I’ll do the asking for a bit. “Okay, so what’s your end game here, Aron?”

  “End game?” He looks over at me, his cheek brushing against the blankets on his bed, and for a moment, he looks so beautiful and masculine that it makes my heart ache. Was there ever a guy made so perfect? Sure, he’s got the weird two-color eyes—one green and one brown—but I actually find it startlingly attractive. Then there’s the perfect body, covered in scars, sure, but still utterly perfect. Even the scar on his face just adds to his sexiness.

  Zero flaws in his appearance…but his personality is pretty shit, I remind myself. “Yup. End game. Like, you’re a god and you’re here on Earth—uh, the mortal plane. What’s the plan? What do you need to do to get back home? Do you even want to get back home?” Maybe he chose to leave and I’ve got this all wrong.

  He snorts. “I certainly do not wish to stay here.”

  “Okay, so you want to go home.” I decide I’m going to ignore the insults or we won’t get anywhere. “How do we do that?”

  “You are my servant. My ears on this earth. My link to this world. Are you not supposed to be the one that knows?”

  I sit up and scowl at him. “I’m pretty sure I’m your servant because no one else was beating down your door to volunteer and it was either you or dying, and I’m still not sure I chose correctly.”

  He snorts again.

  “I’m not from here, in case you didn’t notice. I’m from a place called Earth, thanks for asking. And it’s nothing like this.” I gesture at the room, then at him. “I’m just as clueless as you about a lot of stuff, but I know the basics. You know, eating, drinking, sleeping, basic human shit. So if you want to be completely on your own, just say so and I’ll leave—”

  “You cannot leave. You are bound to me.”

  “Then work with me, buddy.” I want to throw something over at him on the bed, but there’s nothing but my pillow, and I need that. “I’m happy to help out, because I want to go home, too. We’ll get you home and maybe we’ll figure out how to get me home.” Heck, I figure if anyone knows how to break the time-space continuum and send a girl back to Earth, it’d be a god. “So how do we get you home?”

  There’s a long pause. “I am not certain.”

  Well, at least we’re getting somewhere other than just insults. “That’s all right. You said this happened to other gods, too, right? Did they get back home?”

  “Yes.”

  “So someone knows how to get you there. We just have to find that person.”

  Aron makes a noise that might be assent, might be annoyance. “I will speak to the prelate in the morning.”

  I bite my lip and think of the intense conversation the men were having in the shadows. How they tried to get me to “help” them. “Just between you and me, I don’t think you should trust him. In fact, I think we should get out of here. Like, as soon as possible.”

  The god sits up in bed, his long, dark hair spilling around his shoulders. He narrows his eyes at me. “Why?”

  “I overheard something.” Quickly, I sketch out the details and then add, “I don’t trust them not to pull something. I don’t like it. They tried to turn me against you.”

  “A fool’s task,” he says condescendingly.

  I arch an eyebrow. “We’ve really got to talk about your self-confidence. How do you know they wouldn’t turn me?”

  “Because they can’t.”

  “Why can’t they? For the right price, I think anyone can be bought.”

  The look he gives me is downright incredulous. “You are my anchor. My servant on this earth—”

  I wave a hand as if brushing aside all that. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not the most huggable and loveable of guys. But that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m trying to tell you that if they approached me, it stands to reason that they approached other people and we need to be careful.”

  He stares at me for so long that I almost wonder if he’s figured out how to sleep with his eyes open. Maybe we should have a conversation about blinking, too. But then he shakes his head slowly. “No. We will speak to the prelate. This is my temple. Aventine is a city dedicated to my name. It is my kingdom to rule over. I see no reason to leave.”

  I bite my lip again. Eesh. “See, it’s that whole ‘your kingdom’ thing that the prelate is going to have a problem with. You came in and stole his thunder, no pun intended.”

  “What is a pun?”

  “It’d take too long to explain. Stay with me.” I shift on my seat, realizing I’ve been giving him a Basic Instinct flash for the last few minutes. Luckily it doesn’t look like Aron is interested in that sort of thing at all. “You swooped in and now he’s not top dog. He’s not in charge, and he has to basically bow and scrape to you, and I get the impression he’s not a bow and scraper. We need to get out of here before he tries something bad—”

  “Bad,” Aron restates, interrupting. It’s a question, I’m pretty sure.

  I plunge ahead. “We can maybe get some money and clothes on the sly in the morning. Get some food. We won’t tell anyone what we’re doing and tomorrow night, maybe we leave this place for somewhere more god-friendly. I’m not sure where that would be, but I bet we can ask around—”

  “Silence, human.” Aron’s voice is almost as angry as his expression. The torches in the room flicker as if a gust of wind just shot through, even though the chamber’s sealed. My skin prickles with a hint of alarm.

  I’m silent. I might be mouthy, but I’m not stupid.

  “We stay here. This is my temple. They would not think to do anything I do not tell them to,” Aron tells me arrogantly. “I am a god. I am their god. Do you understand?”

  I don’t know whether to be irritated, frustrated, or full of pity for the guy. I can’t shake the bad feeling I’ve got in my gut, and I keep thinking of the sneaky, evil looks that the prelate and my old owner were sharing. Those were not trustworthy men. But I’m helpless to make Aron listen to me. I’m a stranger here, and I’ve got nothing to my name except a skirt.

  I shrug and lie back down on the blankets. “Can we at least get clothes in the morning?”

  “We shall see.” He’s back to being completely imperious and irritating.

  I bite back my groan of irritation
and lie down again, punching my pillow and wishing it was Aron’s handsome smug face. Arrogant prick.

  I really hope for both our sakes that I’m wrong.

  10

  I sleep so deeply that when I hear the banging, at first I think it’s in my dreams. That the annoying, incessant drumming has invaded my sleep. But then thunder rumbles overhead so loudly that I feel the floor under me shake with the vibration, and I jerk awake, blinking my eyes.

  Something pounds at the walls again, and the torches are flickering and sputtering on their last legs, the room dim. I look around and Aron is out of his bed, hands on his hips and staring at the statue and chest I put in front of one portion of the wall. As I watch, it shakes.

  I gasp, jumping to my feet. That’s the secret door. “Someone’s trying to come in.”

  Aron gestures at the door, annoyed. “Then let them in.”

  “No,” I breathe, rushing to his side. God, the man is still naked. What the hell is wrong with him? “Are you high? Think—why are they trying to beat the door down in the middle of the night? A secret door?”

  He frowns, his perfect features creasing. It’s clear he has no answer.

  “Aron, this isn’t good. Please, we need to reinforce the door. Better yet, we need to get out of here.” I tug on his arm, ignoring the shock that jolts through me at the touch and hoping that my frightened expression tells him how serious this is. My heart’s hammering with fear and I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared—not even when I landed in this strange place.

  The doors shake again, and it sounds like they’ve got a battering ram of some kind. I suck in a breath and look to Aron. “What do we do?”

  The god looks around the room and then his gaze lands on the gigantic, ornamental axe on the wall over the bed. It’s mounted to a wood plaque that’s just as fussy and ornamental as the axe itself, but that doesn’t stop Aron. He climbs the bed with quick, agile grace and pulls the axe from the wall—kind of. More like he pulls the entire thing, plaque and all, down. He frowns as he holds the axe by the handle and shakes it, as if he can dislodge the wood from the axehead, and upon closer inspection, the entire thing seems fake. I don’t even think the blades are sharp. When the secret door splinters, though, he just hefts the entire thing to his shoulder and goes to stand in the center of the room.