Because as the centuries they had lived together progressed, his dominating nature had begun to chafe and she had begun to defy him?
“You do not ask me for news from Olympus. It is not like you to not want to know the rumours spreading through the city.” Ares quaffed his ambrosia, a twinkle entering his eyes as he studied her over the rim of the goblet. “You seem out of spirits since that last war in the mortal realm ended.”
“Not at all.” Enyo smoothed her black skirt down as she shifted her legs over the side of her seat and sat up. “It is a little too warm for my tastes today and I am tired.”
Unlike her brother, she didn’t feel the need to wear her full armour when in Olympus. Her black leather and silver breastplate and matching boots were enough protection for her.
She glanced back over her shoulder.
It wasn’t as if anyone would dare attack her in Ares’s home after all.
She couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed her to venture into the city without him plastered to her side, there to take whatever gratitude was offered to them for their assistance in wars and disputes, stealing every drop of it for himself.
“Hermes has been getting into trouble again.” Ares sank into a throne-like armchair on the other side of the low wooden table to her and swirled his ambrosia, a thoughtful look on his handsome face as he pursed his lips. “Morpheus has been off causing trouble in dreams again. Predatory bastard. Apparently this time, he targeted many Nereids.”
Enyo wanted to snort at that. Her brother had the gall to call Morpheus predatory because he had been inserting himself into the dreams of the sea nymphs? Ares had tried to insert himself into their lives countless times, had stalked the most beautiful of them and had managed to convince many of them to open their thighs to him.
“And the Underworld is in an uproar of course.”
Enyo jerked to attention, her jade eyes fixing on her brother.
The glint in his blue eyes told her that he had known she would react to the mention of that realm, and that he was going to torment her by drawing out this news because she wanted to hear it.
“Ares,” she whispered, imploring him, not above begging him now. Her heart drummed a sickening rhythm against her breast and she fought to calm it, aware that if Ares noticed the urgent tick of her pulse that he would only make this more agonising for her. “What news comes from the Underworld?”
Ares hiked his bare shoulders and crossed his legs as he eased back in his chair.
Her lips compressed, anger spiking in her blood and igniting a hunger to leap at him and force him to answer her.
His wicked smile said he had sensed that in her too.
Before she could warn him not to torment her, he spoke.
“The third-born of Hades has re-entered the realm, apparently in pursuit of a daemon. Hades has his legions hunting for the male.”
Esher.
Esher had once again ignored the terms of his banishment, but this time to hunt down a daemon. One of their enemy?
It worried her.
She knew Hades.
She knew the weight of what Esher had done, along with everything else, rested firmly upon Keras’s shoulders. She couldn’t imagine the pressure he was under now.
Her dark eyebrows furrowed as she thought about him, about how Hades would expect him to take full responsibility for whatever mayhem Esher caused in the Underworld, and for any harm the daemon caused in that realm too.
The pressing need she had been fighting for the last few months returned, stronger than ever, pushing her to do something.
To help Keras.
“A daemon has breached the gates. That is war, brother, and—” She cut herself off when Ares narrowed bright blue eyes on her.
“Our hands are bound, I’m afraid.” He twirled the goblet in his right hand, his face a calm mask, not a single trace of concern touching it. “Hades made it very clear that we are not to interfere. This war has nothing to do with Olympians like us.”
She bit her tongue, hating the way he drew that line between her and Keras. He had never liked her friendship with the firstborn of Hades and Persephone, and he had done everything in his power to force them apart.
And she hated him for it.
Just as she despised herself for letting him succeed.
She should have been stronger. She should have stood up for herself and what she wanted.
She twisted away from him and stared out of the window, desperate to occupy her mind with something else, anything else to stop her from saying something to her brother. Speaking her mind when she was pushed to her limit like this was never wise.
She had done it once, and only once.
Because Ares had locked her in the pitch-black basement of the house for a full lunar cycle and forbidden anyone to go to her, not even to give her food or water.
He had gone to war and when he had returned, she had been starving, out of her mind and weak with hunger. Even immortals like her could starve given enough time. She had been so desperate for food when Ares had unlocked the door that she had promised she would never speak out of turn to him again.
He had patted her head and told her that he would hold her to it, and if she broke her promise, he would destroy what she held most dear.
His cold smile had told her that he knew what that was.
Keras.
“You are quiet,” Ares said and pushed onto his feet, the metal of his boots clunking against the tiles as he crossed the room. More ambrosia flowed into his goblet.
Gods, she would kill for a cup to quieten her nerves.
She was trying to wean herself off it again though.
“We are gods of war, brother,” she murmured, watching two red birds as they flitted over the terracotta rooftops of the
