The Goddess Legacy: The Goddess Queen\The Lovestruck Goddess\Goddess of the Underworld\God of Thieves\God of Darkness (Harlequin Teen) (12 page)

“Or fish,” he says. His voice is soft, and I have to strain to
hear him.

“Fish might be possible.” And the nymphs would probably swallow
that a little easier. I stand. “I’ll go ask my uncle.”

“Your uncle?”

I blush. Right. He has no idea who I am. “Er, yeah. I’ll be
back.”

I hurry off. The beach isn’t far from the grotto, and Poseidon
offers me a few fish for Cyrus. I don’t like asking for his help—he’s one more
person who might tell Daddy where I am—but I don’t know the first thing about
catching fish. And if meat will help Cyrus heal faster, then so be it. It’s not
like I haven’t risked everything already.

I return with the parcel of fish—which is probably the worst
thing I’ve ever smelled in my entire existence—but Cyrus isn’t there. My heart
skips a beat, and I drop the fish and hurry outside. “Hello?” I call. Why didn’t
I ask for his real name when I had the chance? “Where did you go?”

He couldn’t have gone far. I look for any trace of footprints,
but other than the ones my wet feet leave behind, there are none. Terrific. He’s
worse than Eros. I turn my back for a few moments and—

Laughter. I stop to listen, straining to hear over the sounds
of the waterfall. Yes, definitely a man’s laughter. Tiptoeing through the trees,
I follow it. What could Cyrus be laughing about? Who is he laughing with? And
how did he leave the grotto?

Poking my head around a thick trunk, my mouth drops open. Eros
sits in the middle of a small clearing, one he claimed as his ages ago, and he’s
stringing flowers together. Cyrus sits beside him, leaning against a tree to
support himself, and he too is making flower chains.

It isn’t just Cyrus who’s laughing. Eros giggles, too; the
sweet sound of it mostly drowned out by Cyrus’s deeper chuckles. I’ve never seen
Eros with anyone other than the nymphs before. The three days Ares was here
after our son was born hardly count, after all. But Eros looks happy. Really,
really happy. And so does Cyrus.

“What are you two doing?” I say in a playful voice. The last
thing I want to do is make them feel as if this isn’t okay. I should be wary of
Cyrus, especially around my son, but any apprehension I had about him is long
gone now.

“Mama!” Eros holds up his flower chain, a mismatch of colorful
blossoms. I kneel beside him and kiss the top of his head.

“That’s beautiful. Is it for me?” I say, and he shakes his
head. Before I can say anything else, he holds it out for Cyrus.

“Yous!” Eros declares. I expect Cyrus to turn it down—Ares
would never wear a necklace of flowers no matter who gave them to him—but
instead he takes it.

“Thank you,” he says, and he ties it around his neck. “How is
that?”

Eros giggles, and I kiss his pudgy cheek. “That was very nice
of you,” I murmur. “Such a perfect little boy.”

“He is,” says Cyrus. “You’re very lucky.”

I smile faintly. “I am.”

Cyrus ties off the last of his stems. “Thank you,” he says. “I
owe you my life. I can’t begin to make it up to you, the kindness you’ve shown
me, but I suppose this is a start.” He offers me his crown of flowers. “It’s not
much, but it’s all I have.”

My lips part in surprise. I hesitate, but at last I take it
gingerly. He’s done good work, wrapping the stems around a thicker vine and
securing everything in place. I touch a petal. No man’s ever given me something
like this before—something they’ve taken time to make with their own hands. Ares
has given me jewels, silks, the finest things in the world. But he’s never been
able to appreciate the beauty in something so simple.

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s lovely.”

“As are you,” he says quietly. “You are the first person I’ve
met who is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside.”

I have to press my lips together to keep from grinning, and
even then, my cheeks grow warm. “I should get you back to the grotto. I have
your fish.”

He nods, and slowly he stands on shaky legs. He must be more
healed than I’d thought. I watch him for signs of pain, and while he winces
some, he manages to make it back to the grotto without too much trouble. I take
Eros’s hand and follow.

That evening, we feast on fish. I have to eat to keep up
appearances, and Eros eagerly tries a few bites before he declares he’s full.
Cyrus, however, wolfs down three fish on his own, and I take note. Next time I
find an injured mortal, fish it is.

By the time Eros falls asleep in my lap, the sun is setting,
and I sit beside Cyrus as we watch the fire. It’s peaceful, and for the first
time since Ares left, I’m not lonely. “What’s your name?”

He tilts his head and looks at me out of the corner of his eye.
“What is yours?”

I shake my head. I can’t tell him. Our names were once a
secret, but now that mortals worship us, we’re too well known for me to say. He
might think I’m a namesake, that my parents wanted to honor a goddess, but he’s
seen too much. He’ll put two and two together, and while I trust him, I don’t
want to risk him bringing others back to my island.

“I call you Cyrus in my head,” I admit. “I don’t know why.”

“Cyrus?” His lips curl into a small smile. “That’s as good a
name as any, I suppose. May I choose a name for you?”

I nod. “Just make it a good one.”

For a long moment he studies me, his gray eyes reflecting the
fire, and at last he murmurs, “Ava.”

Ava. The way he says it sends a shiver through me, and I snake
my hand through the space between us until I’m touching his. “It’s perfect.”

“As are you,” he whispers. Our eyes lock together, and time
seems to stop. All I see is him. All I feel is him. All I smell and all I touch
is him, and all I want to taste is him.

Maybe it’s loneliness. Maybe it’s the way he looks at me. Maybe
it’s his laughter or smile or any number of things. But even though I love Ares,
I lean into Cyrus and press my lips to his.

It’s a soft kiss without the burning passion I have with Ares,
but it’s still tender. It’s still sweet and loving, but a different kind of
love—the kind of love that tells me he’ll take care of me, and I’ll take care of
him. The kind of love that wants to hear about my day. That sees me underneath
the beauty and still loves me anyway.

I crave it. It’s a salve, soothing the wounds Ares has caused.
He isn’t Ares, he’ll never
be
Ares, but in that
moment, I’m grateful for it. I don’t want the kind of love Ares has given me the
past few years. I want this love, the love in front of me, the love I can touch
taste smell hear see. Cyrus may not realize it, but the way he feels for me
radiates from him, wrapping itself around me. This kiss is an offer, and I want
to take it.

“Ahem.”

I jump back, jostling Eros. In the doorway, silhouetted by the
last vestiges of sunset, is the last person I expect.

Ares.

“I see you’ve been keeping yourself busy.” He spits the words
out like venom, and part of me bristles, but another part can’t blame him. “Who
is this?”

“I—” I swallow and force myself to sit up straight. Ares is the
one who left me alone for years. What did he expect? “This is Cyrus. He had a
wreck, and he landed on the island. I’ve been helping him recover.”

“And this is your idea of playing healer?” Ares narrows his
eyes, and his fingers twitch toward the monstrous sword strapped to his hip.
Brilliant.

Cyrus squeezes my hand. I should pull away, but I need the
comfort his touch offers. Clearly I won’t be getting it from Ares. “Is this your
uncle?” he says, and the idea is so absurd that I snort.

“Her uncle?” Ares steps closer, and the fire casts shadows on
his face. “Is that what you’ve been telling him?”

“What? No,” I say quickly, and to Cyrus I add, “this is my—
This is Eros’s father.”

His grip on my hand loosens, and now it’s my turn to squeeze. I
don’t want him to let go. “Oh,” he says. “I’m sorry. I had no idea she was—”

“She is,” snaps Ares. “She’s mine. You have one chance to get
the hell away from her before I slit you from nose to navel.”

Despite my grip, Cyrus pulls his hand from mine, and he slowly
crawls back into the nest of pillows. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I would have
never—”

“Not there,” growls Ares. “Not in our bed.”

“Ares, he’s injured,” I say. In my arms, Eros makes a soft,
keening sound. “He can’t go anywhere.”

“I don’t care,” he snarls.

“Well, I do.” I stand, taking Eros with me. “You have no right
to storm in here and start making demands, not after leaving us. Not after
missing Eros’s entire life.”

“It doesn’t seem like you’ve been left wanting.” Ares moves
closer until he’s only a few inches away from me. He’s taller now, stronger than
he was before, and his armor is flecked with droplets of blood. They’re still
wet. “Perhaps Mother was right. Perhaps all you are and all you’ll ever be is a
whore.”

Cyrus’s fist comes out of nowhere. One moment Ares is in front
of me, and the next he’s sprawled out beside the fire. I gasp and step back.
Cyrus is on his feet, his legs trembling with the effort of standing upright,
but I’ve never seen him look so impassioned.

“You
will
speak to her with the
respect the mother of your child deserves,” he says. “Or you will leave.”

Ares scrambles to his feet again, looking both stunned and more
enraged than I’ve ever seen him before. He pulls out his sword, holding it
between them as if he’s begging Cyrus for an excuse to use it. “How dare you. Do
you know who I am?”

Cyrus says nothing. His hands are clenched into fists, and he
stares down Ares as if they’re equals. But they’re not—Ares is a god, and Cyrus
is mortal. It’s a small miracle Ares hasn’t killed him yet, but I’m sure Cyrus
will have a one-way ticket to Hades’s realm soon enough.

“Stop it, please,” I beg. “He’ll leave as soon as he’s healed,
all right? Just don’t hurt him.”

My protests change nothing. They still stare at one another, as
if caught in a silent battle, and I don’t know what to do. I clutch Eros closer,
and he begins to cry. But there’s nothing I can do to comfort him, either. I’m
helpless.

At last, Ares’s mask of rage slips, and he begins to laugh.
It’s a mocking sound though, the kind of empty, haunting laugh that isn’t a
laugh at all. “You,” he says. “You sick, twisted bastard. Aphrodite has no idea,
does she?”

I frown. “No idea about what?”

Ares shakes his head, his focus still locked on Cyrus. “Would
you like to tell her, or shall I?”

I expect Cyrus to deny knowing what he’s talking about—after
all, I’ve been with him for sixteen days. Ares only arrived moments ago. But
instead Cyrus’s expression crumbles, and he turns to me. “I’m so very sorry for
my deception.”

“What deception?” I look from one to the other, my heart
pounding. “What are you two talking about?”

Ares sheaths his sword. “He isn’t mortal,” he says. “He’s been
lying to you all this time, haven’t you, brother?”

My mouth drops open. Cold horror washes through me, so icy and
real that I shiver, and I stare at Cyrus.
“Brother?”

Ares smirks. “I’ll be outside while the two of you sort things
out. But when I return, I expect him to be gone.”

He slips out of the grotto, leaving Cyrus and me alone. No, not
Cyrus. Never Cyrus.

“Hephaestus,” I whisper, and he stares at the floor. “You lied
to me.”

Anyone else would deny it. He didn’t really lie, after all—he
never told me his name. He never claimed to be someone he wasn’t. But he never
told me the truth, either. He pretended not to know me, and his mortal form
alone was an intentional deception.

Hephaestus nods. “I’m sorry.”

“But—you’re mortal,” I say, dazed.

“I’ve been searching for you ever since you left, and I scoured
the world looking for this place. The only way I could blend in was to take a
mortal form. I knew my boat might crash. I knew I might feel pain. It was a
risk, but for you…” He clears his throat. “Please forgive me.”

“I don’t…” I trail off and stare at him as if this is the first
time I’ve ever seen him. It is, in a way. “Why are you here?”

He grimaces. “Because I want you to have the life you deserve.
I’m not very good with words, but I love you, Aphrodite. I’ve loved you my
entire life. Not because of what you look like, not because of the horrible
arrangement my father made, but because of who you are underneath. You radiate.
You’re sunshine. You make the world a brighter place just by existing. You see
the beauty underneath the surface, and the way you love—I’ve never seen anything
more inspiring. And what you’ve done for me on this island…” He shakes his head.
“You risked your safety to heal me. You took extraordinary measures when anyone
else would have left me to die. You gave hope to the hopeless, and that is the
person I love. I only wish you would let me show you.”

I open and shut my mouth, speechless. What am I supposed to
say? What does he expect me to do? Up and leave this place just because he found
me and tricked me into caring about him? “Nothing’s changed, you know,” I say in
a shaky voice that betrays me. “I still love Ares.”

“Even though Ares loves himself more than he could ever love
you?”

I recoil. “You have no idea how much Ares loves me.”

“I know he left you alone with your baby son,” says Hephaestus.
“I know he’s been gone long enough for you to feel lonely and betrayed.”

“You don’t know that,” I mutter.

“I saw how you looked at him when he came back. If you truly
loved him the way you claim, it would have been an entirely different look,” he
says. “You can love more than one person, you know.”

“I love Ares.
Just
Ares.” I say
this more forcefully, as if I’m trying to convince both of us. He frowns, and I
know he hears it, too.

“Love isn’t just passion and noise and lust,” he says. “Love is
the way you feel for Eros. Love is the way I feel for you, the way you fill
something inside me whenever you so much as walk into the same room. Sometimes
love is quiet, lingering in the background until you least expect it. But love
is always there for you. Ares hasn’t been.”