Ares (Contemporary Mythos Book 3)
Ares: Chapter 8

We’d been in the car for the past half hour, making our way to Santa Fe, New Mexico, and Mars barely moved a muscle. Not so much as a cheek twitch. I wanted to catch his red eyes again. Mostly because I wanted to prove to myself and him, I wasn’t crazy.

“Is this why you wanted to sit up front?” He eyed me sidelong. “To stare at me?”

I turned in my seat, prying the seatbelt away from my chest with a thumb and staring at him with narrowed eyes. “You said you retired because you didn’t feel challenged. What would be a challenge for you?”

He leaned toward the window, looking at me like I was a crazed stalker. “Avoiding this conversation seems to be challenging enough.”

“I mean, what would it take? Multiple opponents? A ring of fire?”

My attempt at convincing myself I wasn’t crazy spiraled rapidly.

He peered at me over the rim of his sunglasses. “Those both sound more…difficult. So, sure.”

“You said you had several siblings. How many specifically?”

He sighed and raised one finger at a time, his lips mouthing numbers. “I don’t know. Ten? Twelve?”

“Wait, you don’t know how many brothers and sisters you have?”

“After ten, I lost count.”

“But they’re your family.” The words made the skin between my eyes crinkle.

He rolled his shoulder. “Barely. Most are products of my dad’s fondness for women. Half-siblings. Hardly see any of them.”

Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.

“I see. So, your dad’s a manwhore?”

He made a tsking sound. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“What’s your dad do?”

He scrunched his face. “What do you mean?”

“His job? What he does to make a living?”

“Oh uh…lawyer.”

I caught that. He hesitated. “Wow. And he had nothing to say about his son beating men’s faces in as a career?”

“We don’t say much of anything to each other anymore.” His right nostril twitched in a subdued snarl.

“Right. The whole disowned thing. I’d imagine that would put some stress on things.”

He grunted.

Silence fell again, and I tapped my fingertips against my knees.

“Why don’t you fly?” He asked without turning his head.

“Airplanes?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Unless you’re hiding a set of wings under that jacket.”

“Because the only father figure I ever had died in a plane crash. My uncle.” I clenched my hand into a fist on the seat, digging my nails into my palm.

“I was closer to my uncle, too, growing up.”

“Yeah?” I sulked in my seat. “I was ten. I’d just started hanging out with him more. He’d take me places when his sister, my mom, would forget to pick me up at school.”

I could feel him looking at me, studying my face.

“And then just like that…gone.”

A deep sigh escaped his lungs, and we both went quiet. I concentrated on the sounds of tires rolling against the asphalt. I’d told a handful of people about my uncle. Mars was the first not to say he was sorry or something about a tragedy. It was refreshing because, really, why would a stranger apologize for an event out of their control?

After several minutes of compartmentalizing my thoughts, I turned toward him. “Are you on drugs? Seriously, no judgment here.”

He ripped his sunglasses off, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “I’ve already told you no.”

“I should know if my bodyguard isn’t in top form. That’s all.” My heart thumped against my chest.

“Believe me. I’m in top form.” He shoved the glasses back on.

“Okay. You’re right. We’re in way too close of quarters for this conversation.”

He flicked the radio on and sat back in a huff, dragging his fingers through his beard.

We spent the rest of the two-hour drive in silence. Every time I’d try to sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye, he’d be looking at me. Didn’t they say something about being able to share silence with someone? Was there anything to say about us sharing the silence, considering we weren’t very talkative people? If what they said were true, it’d mean we were becoming more comfortable with each other. It would mean another dent in my armor.

“We’re here,” he said, already stepping out.

The hotel looked a hell of a lot fancier than the one in the Springs. Tall spires reached to the sky, resembling medieval castle structures, and the main building’s size compared to a university campus.

I bumped the car door closed with my hip and whistled. “Well, hello, Santa Fe.”

Mars grabbed the bags without so much as glancing at the building.

“How are you not impressed with this?”

He slung my duffel over his shoulder, shoved his bag on top of my suitcase, and walked to the entrance, wheeling it behind him. “My architectural likes go back a bit further than medieval times, gatáki.”

I trailed behind him. “The heavyweight champ is so cultured. Who knew?”

He tossed me a sarcastic grin over his shoulder before stepping through the automatic doors. Chelsea stood in the lobby with her face plastered to her phone. An ecstatic grin spread over her lips when she spotted me, and with the phone still in hand, she ran over. Her heels clicked against the marbled tile, and she hugged me.

I stiffened with my arms pinned at my sides. “Why are we hugging? We never hug.”

“Can’t I be happy to see you?” She peeled back, gripping my shoulders.

I cocked a single eyebrow.

“I saw the weigh-in. So very glad you wiped the floor with that bitch. I’ve never seen you fight like that.” Her large blue eyes blinked with the speed of a hummingbird.

Mars brushed past us, lowering his sunglasses enough to look at me. I held back a smile.

Chelsea shifted her gaze from Mars, who’d moved several feet away, back to me. “You two seem to be getting along better.”

“Don’t let it fool you. We’ve reached an impasse and, therefore, a tolerable understanding.”

“Somebody’s been using the word-a-day calendar they got for Christmas.” She half-smiled as she dug her tablet from her purse. “That fight has gotten you some amazing press. Your opponent tomorrow, Kelly Fitz, already released a statement.”

I took the tablet and glared at Kelly Fitz’s Twitter page. “She’s trying to threaten me through a tweet? I need to kick her teeth in on basic principle now.”

“Agreed, but read what she said.”

“When someone feels on top of the world, all it takes is one push,” I read aloud before handing the device back. “And she thinks she’s a poet. Rich.”

“It should be an interesting weigh-in later. I checked you both in. Figured you’d be exhausted after a four-hour drive.”

“Thanks, Chels. I am. I also need to piss like a racehorse.” I looked for the lobby bathrooms.

Chelsea jutted her thumb behind her with her eyes planted on her phone screen. “I’m inviting my sister, by the way.”

Chelsea’s little sister Elani. Every fight, Chelsea would invite her. Not once had Elani taken her up on the offer.

“Why do you do that to yourself, Chels? You know she hates the fights.”

Chelsea let out a deep sigh, her eyes beaming with hope. “I don’t care. I barely see her since she moved to Canada, and there will be two passes waiting for her at will call every time.”

I lightly nudged her shoulder with my knuckle before heading for the bathrooms. As I was about to enter, Mars slid his arm past me, holding the door open. “What are you doing?”

“You truly don’t get what the job of a bodyguard is, do you?”

“I have to use the restroom.”

He cocked his head to one side. “You think you won’t get attacked in a bathroom?”

“What if I have to do more than pee?”

He pressed his forearm on the doorframe above my head. “I guess we’ll both have to get over it.”

I growled, storming into the nearest stall and locking it behind me before he had a chance to crawl in the damn thing with me. I could hear him securing the main bathroom door. Visible under the stall frame, his booted feet scuffed the floor. I sat with my pants around my knees. For the first time in my adult life, I had pissing anxiety.

“I can’t do this with you in here, Mars.” I slapped a hand over my face.

“Do you need me to hold your hand?”

I ground my teeth. “No. It’s too quiet.”

The sound of water flowing from every faucet of every sink echoed off the stall walls.

“Better, princess?”

I didn’t answer and simply let the water flow. Once finished, I kicked the stall door open with enough force to make it bounce. He leaned against the counter with his burly arms crossed, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips.

“Not a word.” I pointed at him and washed my hands.

He gave me a full smile, which made my stomach flip. I averted my gaze, busying myself with the blow dryer on my wet palms.

When we walked out, Chelsea stood in the same spot, with her phone covering her face. She glanced up only long enough to make sure it was us.

“If you take a nap, remember to set the alarm.” She handed Mars, not me, room keys. “Weigh-in is at eight.” Pressing the phone to her ear, she turned away. “Hello? Drew, hi.”

“Yes, mother,” I mumbled to myself.

The room was twice the size of the last one. Two king-sized beds nestled side by side with ornate red and gold comforters, each with equally decorated headboards. On one wall hung a painting of a knight in glistening armor. On the other, replica medieval swords crossed at the blades, secured to a shield.

“The middle ages,” Mars grumbled. “Not the best period, but at least they still had the decency to fight with swords.” He tossed my bag on the bed near the swords.

“What the hell are you talking about, weirdo?” I ran my finger down the hilt of one sword.

A bright light flashed over my eyes, and I was running in a forest. Glancing behind me, a horde of Greek soldiers neared. I took a knee, yanking an arrow from my quiver. Pulling the string back on my bow, I took one out with a blow to the head. The remaining three stormed after me, blades raised. I drew my sword, holding it with both hands, waiting for the opportune moment.

The same light flashed, and I stood in the hotel room. A sword was in my hand; the blade pointed at Mars’s throat. His forearm pressed against mine, blocking my blow. My arms trembled, and I stepped back, dropping the weapon.

Mars caught it by the hilt with ease before it hit the carpet. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I grabbed my head with both hands and backed up until I hit the nearest wall. “No.”

With cautious movements, he rested the sword on the table, not moving his gaze away from me. “A dream was one thing. This is something else entirely.”

“You’ll think I’m insane.”

He half-way sat on the table and interlaced his fingers on his lap. “Talk to me, gatáki.”

“I—I get these weird flashes.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Of light? Or actual images?”

I pressed my fingertips against the wall behind me and met his gaze. “Not just images. Scenes. Moments. As if—as if I was there.”

“And what do you see?” He stood; the intrigue evident on his face from the intensity in his stare.

I rolled my bottom lip past my teeth, trying to sort out my thoughts. “It started as quick glimpses or sounds. But it’s always battles. Fighting.”

“Battles with firearms? Grenades?” He rubbed his chin.

“No. Swords. Bow and arrows.”

His face softened. “And this time, right now. Was it different?”

“It lasted longer.” I stared at the sword. “And I felt like I was there. It wasn’t me watching myself in a movie. I was me.” Shaking my head, I flicked my hand. “I know this doesn’t make any sense I—”

“You’re not crazy, Harm,” he interrupted. “How much do you know about your family’s history?”

“I think you know the answer.”

He nodded, his eyes drifting to stare at his boots. “Well, you’re not crazy.”

“I need to take a nap. I feel like shit.” I toed off my shoes and fell onto the bed. “Ugh, I need to set the alarm.” Pushing to my elbows, I sighed. Even the thought of getting up to grab my phone tired me out.

“I’ll wake you up,” Mars mumbled.

I peeked at him through the strands of my dark hair falling over my eyes. He concentrated on the floor, repeatedly running the tip of his thumb over his bottom lip. I sank to the bed and, within seconds, fell asleep.

“Harm,” Mars’s distant voice said.

I grumbled and turned on my side.

“Makos, get up. You’re going to be late.” He shook my shoulder.

I sat up, batting his arm away and striking my palm at his throat. He deflected my hand and forced it down. My eyes widened.

“That’s the thanks I get for waking you up?” He let go.

His moves were lightning fast. I rubbed my wrist, expecting to see scorch marks on it or something. After palming the sleepiness from my eyes, I slid from the bed and begrudgingly got dressed, put on make-up, and made my hair presentable. When we left the room, Chelsea stood in the hallway, tapping her foot.

“Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?” She looked between Mars and me.

Mars pointed at himself. “Don’t look at me. She almost sucker-punched me in the neck.”

Chelsea threw me an exasperated glare.

“Hey. He touched me while I was sleeping. I can’t help it if he doesn’t know the rules.”

Mars shook his head before slipping his glasses on.

Chelsea eyeballed my face. “My God, Harm. Did you even try to cover up those bags under your eyes?” She dug into her purse, producing a compact. Dipping her finger into the powder, she dabbed my skin.

“This isn’t necessary.” I looked up to avoid her accidentally poking me in the eye.

“You always say that, and like always, I’m ignoring you.” She fluffed my hair and took a step back. “There. Much better.”

The same routine at yet another weigh-in—strip down, hop on the scale, and stand with your opponent. Unlike before, however, Mars managed to stay on stage and not intimidate every man who whistled.

Putting on my best mean mug, I held my fists up, posing with Kelly Fitz. Once the news crews took enough photos, we dropped our hands. I turned to walk away, but she grabbed my forearm.

“Your kind should’ve been eradicated,” she said, a fire in her eyes.

I yanked my arm away, clenching my fists. “What did you just say?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Kelly leaned back. “I didn’t say anything.”

Glancing around at the perplexed expressions on everyone else, I had no choice but to believe her. I pinched my eyes shut and shook my head.

Mars’s hands slipped over my shoulders, coaxing me to the end of the stage.

“Harm, are you okay?” Chelsea asked as we passed her.

“I’m fine.”

I rubbed my temples as we made our way out of the hotel ballroom and into the hallway. My thoughts were so jumbled I couldn’t keep them straight. I made a beeline for the bathrooms, pausing at the door. Mars stopped right behind me.

“I don’t need you in here. Seriously, there aren’t even any windows.”

He squared his shoulders. “We’ve talked about this.”

“I need some fucking space, Mars.” My head ached, and I fought back a wince.

Backing away, he threw his palms up. “Know what? Fine. But if something happens, don’t cry to me about it.” He turned away, mumbling in Greek.

Moving to the first stall, I plopped on the toilet seat. All I needed was a minute or two of peace—a moment to clear my head and let the dizziness fizzle away.

Holding my head in my hands, I concentrated on the buzzing from one of the overhead fluorescent lights. With each passing second, my brain calmed, and the world stopped spinning. I opened the stall door, expecting to see Mars standing there. When he wasn’t, I frowned. Leaning on the sink, I turned on cold water, waiting for it to get icy. Splashing it on my face, I let the cold sting send a wave of calm down my spine. With eyes closed, I reached for a paper towel.

The sound of a foot shifting alerted me. My eyes flew open. A fist aimed at the back of my head, and I spun around, grabbing the arm and deflecting it into the mirror. Shattered glass fell across the counter and into the sinks. The attacker wore gloves, a bulky jacket, ski mask—judging from their gait and wide frame, I guessed it was a man.

He growled, and I dashed for the exit, but he slid in front of me. He threw a right hook, followed by a left, and moved forward. He threw the punches at such speed, I couldn’t replace a moment to go on the offense and just kept blocking his shots. My back hit the wall. He leaped at me, shoving his forearm into my throat. I kneed him in the sides but couldn’t push him away.

The bathroom door swung open, bending the hinges. Mars. He snarled before closing the space between us in two strides. He grabbed the attacker, lifting him by the collar of his jacket. The attacker whimpered, punching at Mars’s arm, his feet kicking, trying to replace the floor. Mars’s upper lip twitched, his eyes turned blood red, and he slammed the man into the tiled floor, cracking it.

The attacker shrieked. Mars pulled his fist back and hit him square in the face. His chest heaved, and he hit him again and again and again. I pushed off the wall, holding my hands out like I approached a lion tearing flesh from his meal. The attacker’s face looked like cherry pie through the holes of the ski mask, and I knew one more punch…would be it.

“Mars.” I kept my tone calm and even.

He whipped his head over his shoulder, glaring at me with his fist in mid-air, covered in the attacker’s blood. Harsh breaths escaped his mouth, causing his cheeks to flap. I slid a hand on his forearm and slowly pushed it down. At first, he resisted, but then his snarl turned into a frown, and he let me pull him away.

“You don’t need a life on your hands because of me,” I whispered.

He stared at me, blinking, before letting go of the man’s jacket and standing. It should’ve pissed me off he lost his cool. But something in my gut told me what just happened was part of a much bigger picture—a pain we both shared but didn’t voice.

Now that he was calm…

I loomed over the attacker. “Who sent you?”

The man groaned, tilting his head left to right.

With a growl coiling from my gut, I dropped to my knees, grabbing the man’s jacket and bringing his bloodied face to mine. “Who sent you?”

The man sputtered, sending red spackle against my cheek. A rage thundered inside, making my arms shake. Right as I went in for a head butt, Mars’s arms circled my waist, and he dragged me away. I punched at his arms with a growl.

“What did you just say to me, Harm? Hm? We both need to get out of here.”

I pulled at his arm one last time and went limp in his grasp.

His fingers curled under my chin, turning it to look at him. “We’ll figure this out. But not now.”

I nodded, the muscles in my arms still twitching.

He plucked a paper towel from the dispenser and dragged it over my cheek.

I turned for the exit. “Let’s get out of here before someone walks in.”

He reached a hand for the door handle, his knuckles caked with blood.

“Wait.” I dropped my gaze to his stained skin.

He clenched his jaw and wrapped the same paper towel over his knuckles. We walked into the bathroom as two hardheads, forced together due to unforeseen circumstances. We left as two people with a shared secret and even more unshared ones.