Page 64 of The Games Gods Play
Each house—or mega-mansion, really—reflects the deity who lives there the same way their armor does, to the point of being almost one-dimensional. Poseidon’s is all ocean, Zeus’ lightning, Demeter’s harvest, and so forth. Do they focus so much on what they are the god or goddess of that they don’t think they can be anything else?
I’d rather not run across any of the major deities on my own, rules or no rules, so I hurry out of that grouping of buildings and around a small lake formed between the valleys of two mountains fed by Poseidon’s brilliant blue waters. Up ahead and above me, buildings are spaced along the side of the terrain in a way that makes me think of a little mountain town, and that’s where I’m headed.
Until, halfway across a larger field, I spot a pegasus in the distance.
Not just one but a herd of them, in all different colors, grazing peacefully in a field of tall grasses mixed with vibrant flowers everywhere.
It’s not until I’m crossing a nearby bridge over a burbling stream that I stop. I lean against the rail of the bridge, staring at a rose-colored pegasus. Despite the lingering ache of what happened to Isabel, my heart settles as the mare lifts her head to look right back as though she were seeing into my soul. She’s close to the road, and I can hear her feathers slide against one another when she ruffles her wings as she grazes.
The only warning I get that I’m not otherwise alone is the distinct pounding of running feet. That and the pegasus lifts her head again.
I whirl just in time to see Dex, murderous intent written in every line of his face, brown eyes narrowed to slits as he barrels toward me.
“You made me look like a coward,” he hollers.
I grab my relic from the back of my tactical vest, sliding it free and taking the axe in two hands, lifting it over my head to throw.
Don’t make me do this.
“Already?” At the sound of an amused female voice, we both freeze.
I lower my weapon to my side as Aphrodite approaches. She looks at Dex, and her smile is one sirens would envy. “Don’t you wish—”
I drop my axe, and it clanks to the ground as I slap my hands over my ears, so I have no idea what she says to him next, but Dex suddenly relaxes, arms loose at his sides, then turns and walks away without a second glance at me.
I slowly lower my hands, staring at her.
And she smiles, eyes twinkling. “I’m guessing Hades warned you?”
“Yes.”
She doesn’t seem concerned as she watches Dex’s retreating back. “I’m not a fan of bullies.”
“Me neither,” I say faintly as she closes the gap between us. “What’d you make him do?”
Her smile turns mysterious. “Nothing too naughty.”
This is Aphrodite like I’m guessing very few people see her. She looks my age, wearing yoga pants and a sweatshirt, and her gorgeous dark hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. No makeup, no adornments, just the raw beauty of the goddess—the kind of beauty that inspires poets and wars.
She reaches down, picks up my relic, and takes a long look at it. “Hades gave up one of his precious axes?”
“No,” I say cautiously.
She arches an eyebrow in question as she holds it out to me. She must realize from my expression I don’t plan to say more and asks instead, “Could you actually have hit Dex with it?”
I take the axe, flip it upside down, and shove it into the hidden pocket in my vest, the weight of the metal fitting comfortably against the small of my back. “Yes.”
“Would you have?” she asks next.
Honestly, I don’t know. But being honest with a goddess who is not my patron seems like a very bad idea. “Of course.”
Aphrodite leans on the bridge railing, looking over to the rose-colored pegasus, who is still watching me while chewing on another bite of grass. “You did well today.”
I glance down at my feet. That is not a compliment I want, not given what happened. “Tell that to Hades.”
“Did my brother lay into you? He’s all bark and…” She makes a face. The kind that if I made it, I’d look like a troll, but on her…jeez. “Well, his bite can be pretty bad, too, but he only uses it when he has to.” She considers me. “A little like you and your axe.”
I’m starting to realize that, too. “He was…fine.”
