Abruptly, a bellowing roar rang out like the heaviest of thunderclaps as if lightning had struck mere inches away. That had to be Destroyer. The dragon was nearby, and so—his blood quickened—was the Amazon queen who occupied too many of his thoughts.
Chrys tore off in the direction the sound had come from. Another roar shook the ground. How big had the thing gotten in a matter of a few months?
Dumb question. This was a monster born of a Titan and an Olympian. For all Chrys knew, it had sprung out of a severed thumb fully grown or some nightmarish shit like that. It wouldn't surprise him in the least.
Birds screamed and flew through the canopy to the safety of the sky above. Other animals ran past him, barely sparing him a moment of concern. A jaguar, sleek with its spotted tawny pelt bounded from the path ahead, giving him barely enough time to move aside as the deadly cat sought safety.
Chrys' heart beat at a frantic pace. He must be close. As he ran through the mud and into the sturdier ground of the jungle itself, covered overgrowth, and plants he had no idea if he could positively identify, all he knew was that he was almost there.
Perhaps he missed the thrill of the old days when warriors were at war more than they were home. When the old gods were still feared and worshiped. When satyrs were not considered a fantastical myth. Before the divide of Boeotian and Arcadian satyrs.
Before the curse.
"Chrysander."
The sudden use of his name in a voice he never thought he'd hear again nearly tripped him over his own feet. What the fuck?
Gathering his wits and slowing to a halt, Chrys turned in the direction of the voice. Surely it had been his imagination. It would have to have been…because Dionysus had died. Murdered by his coconspirators in a plot to release the Titans and usurp Olympus, and whatever other mad powerplays he had been scheming.
Yet…the wine god was right there in front of him, Boeotian horns proudly on display, dressed in white robes that hid his hooves, and holding a chalice of what Chrys could only assume was wine, given the god in question. "How?" There really wasn't a better question at the moment, and he didn't have time for whatever this was. Myrine needed him…
Or maybe you only wish she did.
Dionysus waved a hand as though the why held no consequence—except it did. "Nevermind all of that. What is important is what you do with my company."
"Your…shit, I didn't even want—"
"Chrysander, I asked for them to pick you. I knew of all my remaining Boeotians, you would be the one to see the company ran well. That you'd run it with the heart and goodwill it should have been overseen with the first time around."
Heat infused his cheeks. He had to confess. Chrys couldn't in good faith keep his secret after that kind of praise. Truth be told, he would have cracked eventually if things had continued the way they had. He'd very nearly attempted to rescue Calix himself even though he would have lost his thyrsus doing so, and probably both their lives if Theron had caught them. "You should probably know I was spying for Hermes for some time now."
The god nodded and took a sip of wine. When he finished, he lowered the chalice and licked his lips clean. "Since Melancton left, yes. I know."
"Wait, you did?" Chrys blinked, his shoulders loosening up from the tension he hadn't even noticed knotting up there.
Dionysus took a drink from his cup and nodded. "Well, after I died. My rebirth, my second rebirth that is, brought with it a startling clarity." He moved closer to Chrys, who barely refrained from backing up a step. This was by far the last thing he expected to find in the jungle.
Had he said rebirth? He rubbed his forehead as he took in that information. Of course, everyone knew the Titan queen, Rhea, had resurrected Dionysus after Hera had him murdered. That was one of the truths that made it into mythology books. "But Rhea is still imprisoned with the rest of the Titans."
Dionysus smiled slyly and took another sip of his wine. "A new era of gods is on the horizon, Chrysander. It's been long past time. The Olympians squandered away their reign on earth, hiding from mortals. I know now that I shouldn't have been wasting my time on breaking certain curses and getting back at Zeus. No." He leaned in closer as though to tell him a secret. "I hold the key to the next age of gods and heroes in my very blood."
The last time Dionysus had pierced a vein and given ambrosia to anyone, he'd created the maenads. Those women, meant to be female companions in immortality for the Satyroi, had turned into murderous wackos, and all of them had been destroyed. Including the love of Theron's life—by Calix's hand. It was the source of their rivalry, and without a doubt marked the moment Theron lost whatever traces were left of his humanity. It was a matter of debate how humane he was prior since he'd never been a morally good man.
Nevertheless, if Dionysus thought his blood was the key…crazy as that was… "Last time…" he started but was interrupted by another roar. Shit, he had to get to that fight. Chrys looked over his shoulder in the direction it had come from. What should he do?
"Last time I was an Olympian. Now, I'm something…more. Something new."
Well, that was ominous as hell. And this was the wrong time to dig for those answers. "I mean no disrespect, but I have to go." He gestured in the direction he'd been headed. "Big dragon.
