Chapter II: Dionysus

CHAPTER II

DIONYSUS

Dionysus left Nevernight and returned to Bakkheia, to the suite where he usually stayed despite having an estate of his own on the outskirts of Thebes. It was not that he found one place more comfortable than the other—he found no place particularly comfortable—it was that he could not handle the quiet of his home. Peace did not calm him; it only gave rise to louder, more incessant thoughts.

Even now, he was not completely free of them—of the endless voice in his mind that told him he had not done enough, that he was not enough. But at least here he could drown it out with the noise, the revelry, the madness.

He looked on it all now from the quiet of his suite, which had been abandoned by the usual carousers while he had answered the summons to Nevernight. Despite the early morning hour, his club teemed. Music vibrated his very soul and made his heart stutter in his chest. Laser lights cut through the darkness, highlighting sweaty and flushed faces, illuminating acquaintances and lovers locked in carnal embraces.

The musty scent of sweat mixed with the noxious odor of drugs seeped through the vents and burned his nose.

He was used to it—the sounds, the smells, the sex. It was part of the culture that had formed around his cult, one he had led with his maenads from town to town, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, and while he had long abandoned that life, he would never quite be free of the madness Hera had stricken him with.

Now and then, he could still feel it. It was a subtle tremor that consumed his body, and as it spread, it was warm and made him feel pierced through with pins and needles. It made it impossible to sit still, impossible to rest.

Just the thought made his fingers shake. He curled them into fists and held his breath, hoping to quell the feeling before it moved up his spine and into his veins, before it consumed him again, but as he focused, he became aware of a sound coming from somewhere inside his suite.

It was a panting moan.

He turned from the window overlooking the floor of this club and peered into the darkness but saw no one.

The sound grew in rhythm and was accompanied now by a knock.

Dionysus crossed the room toward a storage closet behind the bar. He pressed his ear to the door, which was soft, covered in the same black velvet that lined the walls. When he was certain the sounds came from there, he opened it.

Inside were Silenus and a woman he did not recognize. The satyr leaned against one side of the closet while the woman rode him, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Fuck!” Silenus said, and they froze.

“Gods-dammit, Dad,” Dionysus snapped.

Silenus laughed, breathless. “Oh, Dionysus. It’s just you.”

It was not as if this was the first time he had caught Silenus engaging in sexual acts. The satyr had become part of his cult after he was cursed to wander the earth. They’d spent days at the center of orgies, giving and receiving pleasure, as was his way of worship. Still, over the years, it had become something Dionysus wished to see less and less from a man he’d come to view as his father figure.

He closed the door with a sharp snap and then plucked a bottle of wine from the selection at the bar and poured a glass. As he took his first sip, the door opened again, and the woman stumbled out.

She cleared her throat and pushed her hair behind her ear.

“I am so sorry, Lord Dionysus. I did not mean—”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said quickly, not looking at her. He took another sip of wine. “Go.”

She bowed her head and stumbled away. A slice of bright light from the hallway cut through the dark as she left.

Behind him, Silenus emerged. “I was not aware you had returned,” he said. Though Dionysus was not turned toward him, he could hear the clink of his belt as he secured it.

“How long have you been in that closet?” he asked.

The satyr paused. “I don’t actually know.”

Dionysus lifted a brow and glanced at his foster father. “Then how did you know I left at all?”

“I always know when you leave,” Silenus said. “Because I feel like I can breathe again.”

“Fucking rude,” Dionysus said as Silenus elbowed his way beside him at the bar. The satyr was a head shorter than him but taller than any satyr he had ever met. It was likely because Silenus was not just a nature spirit. He was a nature god. He even looked different from others of his kind. Dionysus had seen satyrs with horse or goat feet and tails, but Silenus had the long ears of a donkey and a tail to match. Though it was a form he kept hidden mostly by his glamour.

“You have never faulted me for honesty before,” said Silenus as he poured a glass of wine, only to down it like water. It was typical of him—he was the God of Drunkenness, which was why they had paired so well for so long, their lives revolving only around revelry.

“Should I start today?”

Silenus finished the last few gulps of wine before setting the glass aside with a clank. “Dionysus, even you know of what I speak,” he said.

“If you are going to spout wisdom, you need to be far more drunk.”

“This isn’t wisdom. It is true. You have become unbearable.”

“Why? Because I don’t party with you anymore?”

“Well that is a reason,” the satyr said. “But it’s more than that. You know it is.”

Dionysus pushed back from the bar, angling toward his foster father. “Enlighten me.”

“You are not having fun,” Silenus said. “At all. How long has it been since you let loose?”

Dionysus ground his teeth. “I am not the same person I once was, Silenus.”

“None of us are,” the satyr said. “But that does not mean we cannot enjoy life if we are to live it.”

“Was it not you who said it is better not to have lived at all, and if we must, then it is best to die soon?”

“Well, you have yet to die, so why not spend a little more time having fun?”

Dionysus rolled his eyes and stepped out from behind the bar.

“You cannot go on like this,” Silenus said. “You have let her have too much power over you.”

Dionysus turned to him. “If we are going to speak about this, say her name.”

Silenus stared, frustration in his gaze. “This quest for vengeance has made you…someone else.”

“Has it occurred to you that perhaps this is who I am?” Dionysus asked. “And the person you met all those years ago, the one you miss so badly, was created by Hera?”

Silenus started to shake his head. “No. I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t believe it because you don’t want to see it.”

“I don’t believe it!”

They spoke in unison, voices raised and vehement, and once the words were out, the silence that stretched between them stung.

It was Silenus who spoke first. “I want to see you find happiness,” he said and sighed, running a hand through his thin, graying hair. “Even if it is just an ounce.”

“Perhaps I am not meant for happiness,” Dionysus said.

“It’s a choice, Dionysus,” Silenus said, clearly frustrated. “You have to choose.”

“Then I choose vengeance,” Dionysus said. “And I will choose it until I have secured it.”

“What about the girl?” the satyr asked.

Dionysus felt his body tense at the mention of Ariadne. “She’s a woman, not a girl. What about her?”

“She’s pretty,” Silenus said.

His observation already irritated Dionysus. She wasn’t just pretty. She was beautiful, and he was reminded of it every time he looked upon her face, felt it every time he entered the same room as her.

“She hates me,” Dionysus said.

“Because she doesn’t have anything to like at the moment,” Silenus said.

“Perhaps I do not want her to like me at all.”

“Your cock tells a different story.”

“Don’t look at my cock,” Dionysus said. “It’s weird.”

“A cock never lies,” his foster father said. “You like her.”

“I want to fuck her. I don’t like her,” Dionysus said.

“Sounds like the perfect start to a relationship.”

“Yes, an unhealthy one.”

“Have you thought about…I don’t know…turning her into more than just another one of your maenads?”

“I can’t turn her into anything.”

“Of course you can. You have already made her an unwilling prisoner.”

“To protect her.”

Whether she realized it or not, though that had initially not been the case. Originally, he’d kidnapped her and brought her to Bakkheia because he’d suspected her of posing as a distraction so Hera and Theseus could abduct the Graeae. While she had done exactly that, she’d also told him she’d only made the decision to do it once she’d met him and found him completely unbearable.

He clenched his teeth.

“So you care about her,” said the satyr.

“She is a means to an end, Silenus.”

And she would be nothing more.

“Well, if she is a means to an end, let us hope she ends up on your cock.”

---

Dionysus left his suite and took the elevator down to the basement, which was too simple of a word to describe what the underground of his club truly was. Most of the credit belonged to the maenads, who had made it into its own small city. It was a vast network of tunnels that connected to various parts of New Athens, and through it, they spied and killed and built a new life on the ashes of their past.

It was the complete opposite of what Ariadne had suspected, which was that he ran a sex trafficking ring. It was not the first time someone had accused Dionysus of such abominable behavior, but the fact that she had irked him, and it insulted the work of the maenads who spent the majority of their time rescuing other young people from fates similar to the ones they had escaped.

He wasn’t sure why he was so bothered either.

They would not be so effective if their secret was known, and the fact that the world outside his realm believed he participated in trafficking usually benefited his agenda. It meant that people seeking those services often came to him to make connections, eventually becoming the target of his assassins.

It was hard work, precarious work…and for some reason, Ariadne’s readiness to assume the worst stung.

It was not as if he should care either. He had only known her for a few weeks, and yet there she was, under his skin and burrowing deeper.

Sometimes when he was near her, he felt as though Hera had struck him with madness again.

When the elevator door opened, he stepped out onto the metal platform that overlooked the maenads’ main living area. It was large, to accommodate the number of women who had joined over the last several years, though not all his assassins lived here. He expected to find the room abandoned this early in the morning, but a few maenads were still awake and alert, standing with their arms crossed, looking up at the industrial ceiling where large, metal ducts and bright lights hung. Some women looked frustrated, others annoyed, and a few were amused. Despite their mixed feelings, he knew they were listening.

He sighed because he knew exactly what they were listening for: Ariadne was trying to escape again.

He shook his head and stepped closer to the platform’s edge. He wondered how long she’d been in the duct and when she’d stopped moving—likely as soon as he had arrived. She was probably up there now, cursing him, though he had no doubt she would wait him out as long as possible.

Then he heard a soft sneeze and concentrated his power there. Screws popped out of holes, and the structure bent and folded. Ariadne gave a sharp cry as she fell from inside and crashed to the floor. For a split second, Dionysus worried that she had hurt herself during the fall, but she rolled onto her ass and glared at him.

She wore ripped jeans, a fitted shirt, and a leather jacket; her dark hair hung heavy over her shoulders. She was beautiful, even when she was pissed, which was all the time, at least with him.

“Leave,” he commanded, and the maenads dispersed, disappearing down one of several darkened archways, leaving him alone with Ariadne. He stared at her a moment longer before taking the stairs to the lower level. As he crossed to her, she rose to her feet, dusting herself off, wincing as she did. “What hurts?” he asked.

She froze and glared at him. “If you were worried about hurting me, you should have thought twice before using your powers against a mortal.”

“I did not use them against you.”

“Then we have very different ideas of that meaning.”

He took a deep breath to quell his frustration, but it didn’t work. “If you are going to try to escape, you could at least accept my offer of training. Perhaps then you’d be successful.”

“I am trained,” she snapped.

“To interrogate and to use a gun,” he said. “What useful skills against gods.”

She reared back and tried to punch him in the face. He wasn’t sure if this was her attempt at demonstrating skill or an instinctual reaction to her anger, but he caught her fist before she could even drive it toward him.

Her cry of pain surprised him, and he immediately released her. She wrapped her fingers around her right wrist and held it to her chest.

“Let me see your hand,” he demanded.

“I’m fine.”

“For the love of the gods, Ariadne. Let me see it!”

She kept her teeth clenched and he held her gaze as she extended her hand. It did not appear to be obviously broken, and when he placed his palm over it, the energy confirmed his suspicions.

“You sprained it,” he said.

“You mean you sprained it,” she said.

Guilt struck him hard like a dizzying wave. He met her gaze. “I’m sorry.”

His apology seemed to catch her off guard because she blinked. After a moment, she realized he was still holding her hand and tugged it away to hold it to her chest.

He cleared his throat. “You need ice,” he said and started to walk around her. “Come.”

He crossed the main living area and headed down a long, dark hall to the kitchen. He flipped on a switch, and fluorescent lights illuminated a sterile, stainless steel space, made so that it could feed hundreds at a time. Given that this underground network could house thousands if needed, it was a necessity.

He crossed to a row of tall shelves, located a box of sandwich bags after some digging, and filled one with ice. When he turned, he found Ariadne standing inside the door, staring.

“What?”

“Can’t you just…magic a bag of ice out of thin air?”

He tilted his head and his lips quirked. “I don’t think that is the correct use of magic.”

“You know what I mean,” she huffed and tried to cross her arms over her chest, but the pain seemed to remind her she shouldn’t.

He approached and handed her the bag. “I suppose I could have,” he said. “But I can also get it myself.”

Besides, he’d needed to create distance between them, even if it had only lasted a few seconds.

She took the ice and placed it on her wrist. “Thank you,” she said, so quiet he could barely hear, though in truth, he did not deserve the thanks. He owed her this.

“I am not joking about training you,” he said.

“I don’t want to be one of your maenads,” she said.

“Then don’t be,” he said. “But if you are going to stay in this world, you are going to need to know how to do more than just carry a gun.”

“Stop assuming all I am capable of is using a gun.”

“Can you use any other weapon?” he asked.

She was silent.

“A gun cannot help us if we are to go against Theseus,” he said.

She bristled at the mention of her brother-in-law, though he knew if she ever heard him call Theseus that out loud, she would rage. Ariadne hated the demigod, and from what he knew, she had every reason. Theseus kept her imprisoned beneath his will by holding her sister, Phaedra, hostage.

“Where were you going?” he asked after a moment. When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Were you going to him?”

He knew the answer, and yet the thought of her sneaking away to Theseus in any capacity made him burn with jealousy.

“No,” she snapped. “I was going to see my sister.”

“Going to see your sister is the same as seeing Theseus,” he said. “Do you really believe he will let you have access to her?”

“No!” she snapped. “But at least she will know I have tried.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and the sight did something to his chest. He didn’t like it because it made him want to do stupid things for her.

“Did I not agree to help you save your sister?” he asked.

“Hades agreed, not you,” she said.

He ground his teeth together so hard, his jaw hurt. “He might have agreed to the deal, but we both know I am the one who will have to see it through,” he said.

“If I am such a burden, then let me go,” she said.

“I never said you were a burden.”

“You don’t have to,” she replied, casting her gaze to the floor.

Dionysus just stared. “I’m not interested in rehashing how we came to be at this point or even how we feel about it,” he said. “What’s done is done, and we have work to do. You want to free your sister and take down Theseus, but what you fail to understand is that Theseus is not just one person, and even if he were, he’s a demigod, the son of Poseidon. He’s thousands strong, and to take him down, we will need more.”

“More what?” she asked.

“More of everything,” he said. “More time, more planning, more people, more weapons.”

“I am not preparing for battle, Dionysus,” she said. “I just want my sister.”

“Too bad,” he said. “Because you won’t have her without a war.”

She took a breath, her chest rising sharply, and he tried not to stare too long so she wouldn’t notice how his attention had wandered.

“You have no idea what you stumbled into,” he said.

“So what do you want from me?”

Her question surprised him, but not because of what she asked but because of how it made him feel—aware of both how empty he felt and his desire to fill that void.

But he quickly quashed those thoughts. “We have to find Medusa,” he said.

Medusa was a gorgon who was rumored to be able to turn men to stone with a glance. If true, she would make a valuable weapon. The moment he had heard whispers of her power in the market, he had hired the Graeae to help him find her, but his plan backfired when Detective Alexiou decided to help Theseus and Hera capture the three sisters.

She likely had no idea what she’d been assigned to do when she’d arrived at Bakkheia. Theseus had made a wolf into a sheep, and Dionysus hated to see how well she followed him.

His eyes narrowed.

“What if she does not wish to help you?”

“It’s your job to convince her,” he said.

“I thought you said you did not need her power.”

“In this game, it is not about needing her power, it’s about who gets to it first,” he said. “And you want me to get to her first, I promise you.”

“Why don’t you send your assassins?”

“This is not a job for them,” he said. “She must be convinced that it is best to side with us.”

“And what if I am not convinced?”

“Then let us hope by the time we find her, you are.”