Medusa seemed to genuinely feel bad about it. Which meant the gods had decreed this. She’d receive no aid during the challenges.

  Irritating gnats.

  Still refusing to do what was required to free the boy from his spell and death, Theo reached out and grasped the first book she could find. A historical romance. Flipping the book open, Theo sighed and started reading. She had a lot of time to kill.

  So, Theo read in silence, long enough for her to finish her book—granted, she was a fast reader. She picked up another historical romance, Bringing Down the Duke, and opened it to the first page. Hours slipped away, and Theo was transfixed. A massive squawk sounded from Theo’s arm when the book was at its climax.

  Squawk, squawk, squawk. The raven wanted her to save the boy. But that was a deed Theo wouldn’t ponder. Saving him would fall right into Nefeli’s plans, which wouldn’t do.

  Squawk. Squawk. Squawk. Now, the raven was calling her a selfish coward.

  Theo glared at it.

  “Your raven is right. You’ll never leave this library if you don’t help him.” Medusa stretched out on a table, lying down like a sphinx.

  “I know.” Theo rubbed her eyes drowsily before glancing down the hallway coated by books and springtime.

  Pride.

  Honor.

  Revenge.

  Pride.

  Honor.

  Revenge.

  Theo repeated the words in her head until she got up the nerve to stand up. Facing the champion, she sucked in a shaking breath. Theo’s plans required her to rescue the mortal.

  “I hate you,” she whispered to the statue. The only way to break a gorgon curse was with the most disgusting of acts. Theo would’ve chosen any other tithe for the magic—pain, torture, sorrow, even laughter. She’d even welcome a slight maiming, but a slight maiming wasn’t in the cards.

  No. Only unadulterated passion broke the gorgon’s curse.

  Theo sighed. He was far too tall. Godly even. She huffed and gathered three long, thick tombs and stacked them in front of him. She’d never be able to reach him without them. Then she climbed them carefully and clutched the champion’s stone cheeks between her hands and tightly closed her eyes, bracing for a bitter taste.

  Tentatively, standing on her tiptoes and trying to balance—geez, the foolish mortal was tall—she placed her lips on his. Theo sucked in a breath, and all her muscles went rigid. Counting to ten, she longed for this horrid moment to be over. When she hit the number seven, rock gave way to flesh, and her mouth lurched away, the books rocking beneath her. It wouldn’t be enough to free him but turning the kiss into the level of passion needed to break the spell without his permission felt horribly wrong.

  Theo scrunched her face and sent a silent plea to the heavens for forgiveness, her gaze touching the black shadows of the library ceiling.

  The champion sputtered, and his eyes widened.

  Before making the moment even more awkward or wasting time, Theo asked, “May I kiss you passionately?” She croaked out the last word. It tasted like molasses on her tongue. Sticky and far too sweet.

  The towering champion—whose face was the only portion of him freed from stone—stared at her like she spoke the language of the gods. Still, Theo was sure she’d spoken the common tongue . . . although she couldn’t be sure of anything anymore, especially with humans. Theo was rotten at talking to them. It was perhaps her greatest weakness. Humans were far too complicated and full of unwanted feelings.

  “Wha—what?” He stuttered, confusion and an emotion Theo didn’t understand lighting up his features.

  “It’s the only way to break the spell. Pure passion.” Theo crossed her arms protectively over her chest. She didn’t want to do this either. “Medusa turned you into a statue, and kissing is the only way to break the curse.”

  “What?” He repeated.

  Theo loosed a growl. “We don’t have time for this.”

  As if conjured by her words, stone clawed back up his neck.

  “Oh, gods,” he breathed. “Yes, do what you have to.” He croaked the last bit out as limestone clung to his lips, fastening them shut again.

  Standing nearly on pointe, Theo tried to reach the correct angle of attack. Perhaps it’d work better if she imagined it as a war—a battle with tactics and strategy.

  After all, she was War.

  Gently, as if coaxing a trapped beast, Theo placed her lips back on his. Her fingers slid over his hair, and she stroked the nape of his neck the way she’d stroke her sword.

  Battle . . . she could do battle.

  The stone disintegrated from his mouth much faster this time, leaving their flesh mingling. But their lips merely hovered over each other’s, neither wanting to move or deepen the kiss. But if they were to break the curse, then they needed passion.

  Unfiltered, untamed, animal passion.

  Theo swallowed and closed her eyes, digging her fingers into his scalp as she opened her mouth and began to move. She moderated her pressure and tried to get him to join her, to fall into her, but he stood stiff and frozen like a tundra.

  Rotten ambrosia, Theo cursed, her eyes opening and staring at the shelves behind the gentleman.

  The cast over his body only cracked to the top of his pectoral muscles and refused to move any lower. It was not working.

  Not like this.

  “You have to kiss me back,” she breathed into his lips. “I know it’s unpleasant. Trust me, I don’t want to do this either, but we have to.”

  To illustrate her point, Theo ran her tongue along his lower lip and tempted him to open to her.

  Waking from his daze, the champion moved his mouth. At first, he was hesitant and shy, but when she dipped her tongue into his mouth, a hunger awoke. He had to get inventive with his arms still locked to his sides. His mouth and teeth telling his story. He bit her lip, and tension pulled like a tightrope between them.

  Theo laughed into his mouth, the war goddess in her coming alive under his fervent assaults. It awoke her passion. War was a haunting dance, and kissing could be, too.

  The pounding of her heart was like the rhythm of battle, the clashing of shields, the firing of guns, the battle cry of an ancient warrior.

  And he was a warrior, too.

  His body was built by training and battle. He smelled like a mixture of musk, leather, and sandalwood, with a hint of sensual ardor. But what called to Theo was the way he tasted. He tasted like salt, cherries, and ambrosia—like the nectar of divinity.

  When his hands were finally released, the warrior proved how skilled he could be. Theo shouldn’t have been surprised because she’d seen his skills with a carving knife—his agile fingers—but this mortal was talented.

  He laced said fingers into her hair and pulled her closer, devouring her with sin and electric energy.

  The champion’s legs unfroze, but their tempest didn’t stop. Instead, he lifted her, the books beneath her feet toppling—exerting almost no effort and his hands slid along her upper thighs as he pinned her against the bookshelves. The movement knocked over a bust.

  The passion, the tension, the pure need between them could light the library on fire—could light the world on fire.

  It’d been a thousand years—at least—since Theo’d taken a lover—since she’d even thought about carnal desire. The feeling was new and enchanting.

  And it was magic.

  It was in the humanness of her body—its frail nature, erratic heart, and a chance for death at any minute—that awoke an unfamiliar, untamable desire. A hunger. A potent need. And it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

  Theo had lovers before, but nothing compared to the feeling of being mortal. The life that surged through this body. Pain was heightened tenfold as a human, but so was her pleasure.

  Theo stiffened.

  She had to stop this . . . now.

  Pulling her lips away, she panted as two humans entered the room, their eyes latching onto Medusa, stone crawling up their forms.

  Chapter Fourteen

  THEODRA

  Extremely Enraged Ex-God

  LIGHT’S MIRROR

  Theo panted, her chest rising in a frantic rhythm. The champion still held her up, his fingers clutching her thighs.

  He glanced toward the two new statues. The champion and priestess from Tierland. Their deaths were unfortunate, but not Theo’s problem. They were victims of the Sacrifice, and the Sacrifice was designed to cause death. Theo wouldn’t steal this victory from her sister—Andromache. So, she raised her hand and blocked her champion’s view of the Gorgon. She couldn’t risk saving him again. Whatever feeling stirred in her body when they kissed needed to be eradicated.

  Forever.

  Theo cleared her throat. “We need to get moving.” Her eyes landed on his hands, still holding her thighs.

  The champion touched his forehead to hers and grunted his typical big brutish grunt. Then he sighed and slowly lowered her to the ground. Theo’s feet touched gently, exemplifying the young man’s strength and control.

  He still stood close, his eyes swimming with desire. Theo’s breath caught, and that foreign feeling burst through her again.

  “That meant nothing.” She bit her swollen lower lip. “It was only to free you.” Her heart surged, and she cursed herself for letting their passion extend that far.

  He grunted again and nodded. “Just to free me.” He rolled back his shoulders and shook out his arms, and an unknowable expression danced on his cheeks until he schooled it. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “I wouldn’t have, but . . .” she lifted her chained wrist.

  He grunted again—most likely an affirmation. Did he only know how to grunt? It was like his primary language was grunts, Theodic his second, and the common tongue his third.

  Without telling him what she was doing or where she was going, Theo marched toward the exit back to the hallway. “Make sure you don’t look,” she said as she pulled at her chain and forced him to follow.

  “Doesn’t the challenge lie with Medusa?”

  Theo didn’t bother responding. Instead, she turned fully to her task.

  God-made calligraphy looped and etched itself into wooden signs, showing the sections and manner of the tomes. Quickly she found the Room of Witchcraft and started pulling books off the shelf at random, searching for the grimoire. When a book didn’t meet her qualifications, she threw it over her shoulder, heedless of its condition.

  “Do you need help?” The boy asked in a tone riddled with confusion.

  Theo’s first response was to curse him, but she contained herself. It wasn’t often—if ever—anyone offered to help her. So slowly, as if not knowing how to pronounce the word, Theo said, “Yes.” She inhaled sharply. “I'm looking for a book titled Hecate’s Grimoire.”

  He nodded and started tearing through the shelves—although much more timidly than she was—and treating the books like royalty—respect dripping from his every touch.

  The way she wished he’d touch her again.

  No. Stop it, Theo. Control your thoughts.

  Ivy and branches were laced into the shelves, and Theo pulled them aside and searched and searched and searched. It felt like hours later, and still nothing. Searching through all the books at least twice left them nowhere . . .

  Theo was forced to admit defeat.

  The gods were thwarting her at every turn, knowing what she’d do before she did it. Maneuvering, posturing, manipulating, it was the gods’ way—their currency.

  And she was so easily falling into their traps.

  The gods loved playing with humans—dangling them from their puppet strings. They loved exerting power over lesser creatures, tricking and out-scheming them. Theo wasn’t immune to this.

  She should’ve been playing these games better, but she was outmaneuvered at every turn since being turned into a human, now forced into helping her champion—at least a little because she needed to get to the Tribunal. She needed to find Destruction, her second, and get aid.

  It was infuriating.

  “We need to return to Medusa, but this time for the love of all the gods, don’t look into her eyes,” Theo said, forcing him to follow and tugging at the chain which flickered in and out of visibility, today deciding to be formed from pink-metallic glitter.

  “Actually,” she stopped abruptly and ripped off one of her sleeves, “wear this.” And without waiting for a response, Theo tied the blindfold around his eyes, her fingers softly sliding down his face as she did it.

  She shivered and touched her lips. Rotten memories.

  Theo should just fuck him to nullify this wicked attraction, but she promised herself she wouldn’t lie with another male and she’d kept to that promise for the last 1,000 years.

  With some care—although still very little—Theo guided her champion back to Medusa.

  “Ah, you haven’t found what you’re looking for.” A smug expression danced on the monster’s lips. “And you’ve come back to challenge me.”

  “Yes, yes,” Theo spat out, her voice coated with derision, “tell us what we need to do to defeat the first challenge.”

  “Let’s play a game, little mortal.” A thousand hisses rang through the room, and the champion tensed. The sound crawled over Theo’s pale skin. “Whichever of us places four of our stones in a row first wins.” Medusa motioned to the grid cut to the wall. “Win, and you can leave having completed your first challenge.”

  “And if I lose?” Theo smiled, but the guise didn’t light her eyes. False niceties. It was always better to know all outcomes ahead of time.

  “Death.”

  Every snake tracked Theo and her champion’s movements as if waiting to strike—their chance to fulfill that promise.

  The task was both physical and mental. The champion had to carry a stone up the wall and place it into the correct slot while keeping the patterns and strategy in mind. But it was worse than that because he’d have to do it blindfolded. It was too risky not to—life and death were on the line.

  “Snakes or heads?” Medusa asked.

  The mortal rubbed his chin, clearly thinking. “Snakes.”

  It was a wise choice, because if he had to feel where she placed her stones by touch, the face stone would be far more distinguishable than the snakes.

  “You can have the first move,” Medusa said.

  The champion wasted no time. He walked to his designated pile, heaved up a stone and barely broke a sweat, although his biceps twitched in the most tempting of ways. The chain grew taut as the champion reached the wall. He grunted and tried to pull it while still holding the boulder. It was a rather amusing sight.

  “You’re being dead weight,” he said, looking over her shoulder, unable to correctly navigate where she stood with his blindfold on. “This is our challenge.”

  “It’s not my challenge.” She crossed her arms, defiantly. Theo didn’t like being told what to do. Not by her mother and not by this needlessly attractive young man. “I am not here to help you.”

  “Clearly,” he growled and balanced the weight of the boulder on his side. “Why are you here if you’re going to be completely . . . unhelpful?”

  He edited himself to say the nicer version and Theo smiled. She respected his restraint. It was a quality she almost completely lacked. She admired it so much she chose to share a version close to the truth with him. “I angered the wrong god.”

  “So you’re being forced?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right.” He sighed, exasperated. Pausing for a long moment in thought, he placed the stone on the ground, before rolling the chain between his fingers, and following it back to reach her. When his hand reached hers, she shivered from the contact, despite expecting it. His hand glided up her arm and left gooseflesh in its wake.

  She sucked in a breath.

  “I understand that might want to make you rebel and refuse to engage,” he said, “but it’s not just your life on the line here, and I would really prefer making it out of these games alive.” He was both soft and stern. A mixture that sent warmth into her stomach. “Can you at the very least stop working against me?”

  Theo’s brow furrowed. She didn’t want to give Nefeli what she wanted, but this champion wasn’t so bad. She swallowed and gave in, after all, she needed him to beat this challenge so she could find Destruction. She sighed. “I will stop actively working against you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Theo clutched his sculpted arm, so she could lead him back to the wall. The muscle jerked under her touch, and she gulped. It was unnatural to be this handsome. Truly. After all of this was over, she would find the god responsible for this and have a word with them.

  The champion lifted his rock again and Theo was forced to climb up the wall a bit to help him land the stones. Luckily, Love gave them a bit more leash. Instead of six feet, they got roughly ten. This still made the challenge irritating because the grid was roughly eighteen feet high.

  The champion climbed the rungs of the grid, carrying a stone as big as a tire. Feeling his way, he placed his first one into the direct center.

  A brilliant first move.

  It gave the most advantages. A player needed to hold the center. If they could, they’d most likely win.

  With a snap of Medusa’s fingers, she placed her first move on top of his. She had to be borrowing Andromache’s magic for this game because, normally, Medusa didn’t have god magic.

  The boy heard where the rock landed but ran his hands over it to make sure before he picked up his second stone, climbed the grid, and placed it on top of Medusa’s. She responded by putting her subsequent move to the right of his original piece.

  Back and forth, they took turns, and Theo remained silent, watching.

  The boy—man, was a genius.

  The mortal was creating a trap. Understanding the big picture, he thought five steps ahead, perfectly placing every stone.

  This wasn’t an easy feat. He had to memorize the board in his head while physically exhausting himself. Theo hated to admit it, but she was impressed. She could’ve helped him. She could’ve been his eyes, calling out the positions, telling him where Medusa was placing her stones. She could’ve even played the game for him. Theo always won strategy games against Medusa, for she was War, Wit, and Strategy itself.

 

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