Page 130 of The Games Gods Play
What I was feeling with Hades an hour ago.
With Hades.
The god of death.
I’m not going to be cliché and ask myself what the hells I was thinking. I know exactly what I was thinking…that it felt fucking fantastic.
And that’s all well and good, but the real question is…after this is over, assuming I survive, what could we possibly ever be to each other?
There is no future for a mortal and a god.
Besides, what I should be focusing on right now is yet another Labor—and not dying so I can get around to making any plans at all. Although the way this challenge is setting up, who knows how that’s going to go.
Because I am strapped to a narrow bed.
Sure, it’s a comfy single bed with pink silk sheets—this is Aphrodite, after all—and what’s strapping me down are fuzzy hand and ankle cuffs, also pink. The cuffs connect to a scrolling iron headboard and footboard. I would think this was Aphrodite’s way of having her wicked way with me if the other champions weren’t here, all strapped to similar beds, like an odd rainbow made of our uniforms, as we’re lined up by virtue. Black at the end, of course.
“Welcome to your sixth Labor,” Aphrodite purrs. “This time, your survival isn’t the focus. Love is. Today, your task will be finding someone special.”
The one I love most.
A fact that creates an ache in my chest I’m trying very hard to pretend isn’t there.
What will happen when no one is waiting for me? Or—and this might be worse—someone is, and it’s humiliating.
An image of Hades taunts me.
“Two gods will be aiding me today,” Aphrodite says. “Hypnos will put each of you into a deep sleep. Then Morpheus will send you into dreams. In your dream, you must find the mortal you love most in the world.”
Mortal. I almost laugh my relief. No awkward conversation with my patron god in my future.
I focus on Aphrodite. This sounds too easy for the others, who probably already know their someone, at least—so clearly, the twist is coming. If I could, I’d cross my arms and settle in to wait for it.
“They will be trapped in their own dreams in a place particular to them. So to find them, you must figure out who it is and think only of them. Your dream will take you to them. It may not be who you think.”
That’s worse than I thought. I have to think of them?
“When you find them, telling them you love them is what will release you both from the dream. Bring them back to Olympus to end the Labor. If you don’t return with them before sundown tonight, they will die.”
See. There’s always a twist. Always with death on the line.
Aphrodite’s smile turns sly. “If you do wake them successfully, this person will then play in the next Labor with you…as a partner.”
A second twist? Oh goody, and lucky us. I suppose Aphrodite must, if anything, outdo the other gods just to prove she can.
She holds out a hand, and, with a shower of pink sparks, two objects float in the air above her palm—a bow and a quiver of arrows. “The first person to free their loved one wins the prize of Eros’ bow and arrows. These arrows only induce a temporary adoration, lasting a few hours at most. But in those few hours, that creature—man, beast, or…” Did she just glance at me? “…god…will not be able to resist you or say no to any request you make.”
Assuming the winner can aim a bow and arrow and hit a target properly, that should be fun to watch.
Aphrodite looks at each of us in turn, making direct eye contact, and just that much is enough to make me relax a little. As if she has the power to reach into my soul with a single glance and tell me that everything will work out.
“Now…” She waves a theatrical hand. “Dream and go find love.”
Hypnos looks exactly like you’d think—pale skin, long, straight hair of a deep purple that is near black, and beautiful like all the gods except for his creepy-ass eyes that are pure white. He moves silently from bed to bed, pressing a glowing palm to each forehead, and when he does this, the champion’s eyes flutter closed and their body goes lax. As always, I’m last, so I get to watch this many times over, but it’s not until he gets to me that I see his palm is marked with a swirling symbol and that’s what glows bright white.
If Morpheus is present, I don’t see him.
Then it’s my turn. The glow of Hypnos’ hand feels like the rays of the sun when you tip your face up to it in the winter, when it feels good just to keep your eyes closed and lean into the warmth above.
