Chapter XIV: Dionysus

CHAPTER XIV

DIONYSUS

When Dionysus and Ariadne manifested in his living room, his arm was still anchored around her waist. Her breasts pressed into his chest, and his cock rested again the bottom of her stomach. He wanted to die, and he did not care what kind of death, real or otherwise. He only needed to be rescued from this fucking torture.

He did not immediately let her go, and she did not immediately pull away, which made him think she was far more unnerved than she appeared. Still, he admired her composure.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She looked confused by his question, and he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps she was surprised he asked.

“I…don’t know,” she admitted.

He frowned and then drew a stray piece of hair from her cheek. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

“Which part?” she asked, her eyes dropping to his lips. “The part where you kissed me or the part where I shot those two men?”

They stared at each other, and all Dionysus could think of was that kiss and more—how she’d climbed into his lap and moved against him, how she’d felt in his hands, so fucking hot and right.

And he knew he was in so much trouble because all he would be able to think about was what might have happened had they not been interrupted and if Ariadne had only responded in kind because she believed it was necessary.

She stepped away and he let her go, hating how empty he felt when she was gone.

She turned in a circle, eyes roaming over his space.

He’d forgotten how much he liked being here, how safe it felt compared to the club, which was always alive, always on.

This space was quiet.

The walls were warm in color, mostly covered by shelves, packed haphazardly with books. There was a simple linen couch and a glass coffee table opposite a fireplace, and on the mantle were more books. The windows were lead-paned but covered with heavy drapes. He rarely opened them, rarely wished to look at the world he saw so often.

“Where are we?” Ariadne asked.

“My home,” he said.

“You live here?”

“Yes, I live here,” he said. “Surprised?”

“Well, you always seem to be at Bakkheia.”

He didn’t tell her that it had been a month since he’d been here.

“Why are we here?” she asked, facing him. “Why not go back to the club?”

“I don’t want to be there right now,” he said.

It was too much—too loud, too bright, too crowded.

She took a breath and shrugged off the jacket he’d draped around her shoulders, then took a seat on the edge of the couch. Dionysus watched her. He could not help it. He wanted to know what she was thinking.

“What happens now?” she asked.

Fuck me. Of course she was thinking about their next move. What were they going to do now that they knew Medusa had last been seen near the ocean, near Poseidon’s realm?

“I don’t know,” he admitted. He needed time to think, time to process. The question was, did they have time?

“Can we trust Michail not to tell anyone who we were looking for?”

“No,” said Dionysus.

She stared at him. “Then why didn’t you kill him?”

Dionysus raised a brow. “Easy, Detective. I thought you were opposed to killing?”

She glared at him. “It is not as if Michail is a good guy.”

He didn’t argue because he agreed, but then Dionysus had a hard time believing anyone was good in this world. Everyone was capable of bad things.

“It does not matter if Michail lives or dies,” said Dionysus. “People will still hunt Medusa.”

“But have they gotten as far as us?” she asked.

“It’s hard to say, but I can assure you they have likely not gotten any further.”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“Because everyone who’s in search of her will either abandon the cause once they discover Poseidon is involved or find themselves at the end of a glorified pitchfork.”

“Including you?”

“I admire that you think I could go head-to-head with Poseidon.”

“I don’t care if you can,” she said. “I asked if you will.”

“You seem to think everything is simple, a decision that comes down to yes or no,” he said, frustration coloring his tone. “If Poseidon does not know of Medusa’s importance now, he will once I confront him.”

“Then don’t confront him,” she said.

“How else do you expect us to find her?”

“I’ll do it,” she said.

“No,” he said immediately.

He could not even entertain the idea. Poseidon was a dick. A royal one. Especially to women. There was no way he would put Ariadne through that.

“Poseidon knows nothing about me,” Ariadne argued and then shrugged. “To him, I am a mortal woman searching for…my sister.”

“Do you think he will care?”

“No,” she said. “But perhaps he will care about what I have to offer.”

“And what do you have to offer?”

She said nothing and Dionysus took a step toward her.

“What do you have to offer, Ariadne? Information on my operations? On maenads? Will you sacrifice a hundred lives just to save one?”

“You think I would betray you?” she asked.

“Your loyalty is with your sister,” he said. “And I do not blame you, but it means I cannot trust you.”

She said nothing, but her anger screamed at him.

“So you’re giving up?” she said finally.

“I am not giving up!” he snapped. “But I need time to think, and you’ve made it really fucking hard for me tonight.”

Their eyes held and then she looked away, crossing her arms over her chest, as if she wished to distance herself from everything that had happened, including him.

He should not be surprised, and it should feel like nothing, but it didn’t.

It felt like rejection, like the sting of a too-sharp blade to the chest. He knew what had happened tonight was only situational and to have feelings about it meant that he’d developed some kind of expectation, and that was ridiculous.

This—whatever existed between them—was far too angry to be anything more than something both of them would regret.

Like tonight.

“There’s a room down that hallway where you can sleep,” he said. “A bathroom too. I’ll…uh… Do you need something to wear?”

He looked at her long enough to see her nod.

“Please,” she said, her voice a whisper.

“I’ll be back,” he said, walking down the adjacent hall to his room.

When he opened the door, he was met by frigid air. He’d been gone so long, he had yet to change the controls to warm his apartment, though he should not have to. It was summer. It was supposed to be sunny and hot. Instead, the snow grew heavier day by day.

He snatched a shirt from his drawer and took it to Ariadne.

“It might be cold in your room,” he said. “I’ll…adjust the temperature.”

She nodded. He hated these bouts of quiet tension that kept rising between them.

“If you need anything, I’ll be down here,” he said and left, adjusting the temperature before returning to his room.

He shed his clothes and showered. He stayed beneath the spray longer than usual, taking his heavy cock in hand, eager to feel release, to no longer feel the fullness hanging heavy between his legs as he had for what felt like days.

Because it had been days.

It had been weeks.

He thought of how Ariadne had looked in that dress, the way she had obeyed when he told her to kneel before him, the way her eyes burned when she looked up at him, and perhaps it had been with hatred, but sometimes he did not know it from passion, and it didn’t really matter because it fueled the fantasy.

The potential of what could have been took over, and he imagined holding on to her perfect ass and helping her slide down his cock. She would be warm and wet and tight, and she would ride him like she had known his body forever. When she grew too tired, he would take over, pumping into her until everything in his body locked up and all he could focus on was the pressure in his balls that spread all over his body before he came. There was something about opening his eyes and seeing his hand closed around the crown of his cock, semen seeping between his fingers, that left him completely unsatisfied.

He washed again and stepped out of the shower, feeling no less frustrated than when he entered.

He dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist, muttering to himself as he began to grow hard again.

“Fuck me,” he muttered.

“I would, but you aren’t really my type.”

“Fuck you, Hermes,” he said.

He’d sensed the god’s magic the moment he’d stepped out of the bathroom. He didn’t even turn to look at him as he crossed to his dresser.

“Don’t be angry about it,” Hermes said.

Dionysus ignored him and dropped the towel, changing into a pair of boxers. When he turned to face the God of Mischief, he looked a little stunned.

“You don’t have a type, Hermes,” said Dionysus. “You would fuck a rock if you found it pretty enough.”

Hermes found his speech again. “Hey, I have standards!”

“Which is why I said pretty,” Dionysus mumbled, pulling back the blankets on his bed. He did not care that Hermes was here and likely wanted to talk. He was tired.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about why I am here?”

“No, considering the last time you paid me a visit, I dreamed that my testicles were burning off for a week.”

Hermes grinned. “Come on. That was funny.”

Dionysus glared.

“What do you want, Hermes?”

Dionysus lay down, still intent on sleeping despite whatever the god had come to say. He propped his hands behind his head and stared at the god, but Hermes looked unnerved and swallowed hard.

“Well, Hades tells me I am your keeper,” Hermes said. “So I suppose I am keeping.”

“Do you always do what Hades says?” Dionysus asked.

“Only when it’s fun.”

“And checking up on me is fun?”

“Well, it was when I could set your balls on fire,” Hermes said, pausing. Then he raised a brow. “Though I suppose nothing’s changed.” Hermes laughed and Dionysus’s eyes darkened as he glared. Hermes choked and cleared his throat. “Anyway, what I really came to tell you was that Harmonia has been attacked.”

Dionysus’s brows lowered. “What do you mean?”

“Just as it sounds,” Hermes said. “She was beaten, and her horns were cut.”

Dionysus sat up. There were several shocking things about this news, including that of all the gods, Harmonia was one of the least threatening, but also that someone had managed to get close enough to harm a god at all.

“Beaten?” he repeated. “By who?”

“We do not exactly know, but you should be aware. It’s likely the same people targeting gods who are also looking for the ophiotaurus, which means they have some kind of ability to suppress our powers.”

“By people, do you mean the Impious?” he asked. “Or Triad?”

Hermes shrugged. “Possibly. It is too early to make a sound judgment.”

“Is there really any doubt?” Dionysus asked.

“Hades prefers evidence before making such a call.”

“You would think Hades was your king with the way you hang on his every word.”

Hermes narrowed his eyes this time. “Perhaps if you were not so threatened by his leadership, you might see the value in his council.”

“What council? At this very moment, his decisions have us facing defeat.”

Hades had openly admitted he was the reason the ophiotaurus had been resurrected.

“He had no choice,” Hermes defended.

“There is always a choice,” Dionysus said, and then he snapped his mouth shut, realizing too late that he sounded like his foster father.

“It sounds as though you have yet to make one,” said Hermes.

“I chose a side,” Dionysus spat.

“You didn’t choose a side. You picked the best route for your revenge.”

Hermes sounded like Silenus.

“And?”

Hermes shook his head. “You stand for nothing,” he said.

Dionysus ground his teeth.

“It’s probably a good thing Hades doesn’t trust you,” Hermes added. “It doesn’t sound like he should.” And with that, he left.

Dionysus fell back in bed with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling. The god’s words frustrated him, and he found himself wanting to argue that he did stand for something. That was the whole reason he began rescuing women, offering them refuge, and training them to defend themselves in ways that meant they would never come to harm again. It was why he had spent years infiltrating the pleasure district and various trafficking circles.

Yes, he wished for revenge against Hera. She had made his life a living hell. She had murdered his mother. He wanted her to suffer.

But that did not negate the fact that he also wished to protect other women as a result.

Unable to sleep, Dionysus rose from bed and headed to the kitchen for a drink, but as he rounded the corner, he found Ariadne. She had yet to notice his approach as she reached over her head for a glass, her shirt rising over her ass as she did.

Fuck me.

“Need help?” he asked.

She gasped and turned to face him.

“How long have you been there?” she asked.

“Not long,” he said, approaching her. She did not move, pinned against the counter as he reached over her head for the glass and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she said and then stepped up to the sink to fill it with water.

He watched her for a moment and then grabbed another glass to do the same. They stood side by side sipping water.

“Does Hermes visit you often?”

Dionysus choked his water. “What?” he asked.

“I… You weren’t exactly quiet.”

Dionysus tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “What did you hear?”

“Noises,” she said. “Voices.”

“I didn’t fuck Hermes, Ariadne.”

“I…okay,” she said.

He stood there in stunned silence, staring at her. “How could you think—”

“Can you just drop it?” she asked, frustrated.

He didn’t want to drop it. He wanted to know why she thought he would fuck Hermes, especially after he had clearly wanted to fuck her instead.

Silence stretched between them, and Ariadne downed the last of her water.

“I should go to bed,” she said and brushed past him, but Dionysus did not want her to leave.

“When did you learn to dance like that?” he asked.

She froze and turned to face him.

“I took lessons,” she said, as if it were not impressive or even a surprise.

“So you could do what?” Dionysus asked, assuming she’d done so to add to her skill set. “Work undercover?”

“No, for exercise.”

“You learned to strip for exercise?”

“I don’t strip,” she said. “But I do dance. You should try it sometime. It’s great cardio.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he muttered and caught a hint of a smile on her face.

He didn’t think he’d ever managed to make her smile before.

She took a breath and seemed to shiver with it.

“I wanted to say…I am sorry for earlier.” For a moment, he thought she was apologizing for the kiss, but then she added, “I had no idea Michail would recognize me.”

“You could not have known.”

“I should have,” she said. “I should have been a better detective.”

“You’re perfect, Ariadne,” he said.

Her gaze rose to his, eyes widened. He wasn’t sure why she looked so surprised; it was the second time he’d told her tonight, which made him think of how he had let himself go in those heady moments after she’d climbed into his lap at the brothel. The urge to talk about it danced under his skin. He wanted to know what it meant, that they had been able to play their roles so well.

He wanted it to mean something.

“Ari—” he began and took a step toward her.

“Good night, Dionysus,” she said.

He stared a moment and then managed a ghost of a smile and nodded. “Good night, Ariadne.”

He watched her turn and disappear down the hall.