Chapter VIII: Dionysus

CHAPTER VIII

DIONYSUS

Dionysus waited for Ariadne in the common area.

They were heading to the pleasure district, where they would begin their search for Medusa. It was the last location the maenads had been able to trace her to, and beyond that, she seemed to have disappeared.

“That’s the fifth time you have checked your watch in the last minute,” said Naia. “I do not think it will get her here any faster.”

Dionysus scowled and glared at the maenad who sat in an oversize chair, crocheting. She wasn’t even looking at him.

“She’s late,” he said.

“And you’re never late?” asked Lilaia, who sat opposite Naia, a book propped open in her lap.

“Not when it counts,” Dionysus replied.

Both women scoffed and rolled their eyes.

“You should be siding with me,” he said. “Ariadne has done nothing but make your lives more difficult since she arrived.”

“She might be difficult, but her reasons are not unfounded,” said Naia. “You know we all wish her sister was free of her abuser.”

“I have promised to help,” Dionysus said, frustrated.

“Give her time to trust you, just as you gave us time,” Lilaia said. “You know this does not happen overnight.”

Her words tightened his throat with guilt, which he felt even more keenly as his frustration grew.

He did not have time to wait for her to trust him. Her uncertainty was dangerous. It made her unpredictable, and it put every one of his maenads in danger.

The sound of heels clicking drew his attention, and he turned to watch as Ariadne stepped out of the shadows wearing a short, black dress that barely grazed her thighs and knee-high boots. She looked like she belonged in his bed—and that was where he would like this outfit to stay.

His cock twitched, growing hard at the thought.

“What are you wearing?” Dionysus demanded.

“A dress. What does it look like?” she said, pulling her jacket closed, but it was far too late for that. He’d already noticed the lace over her breast.

Dionysus opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried again and stumbled over his words. “You cannot wear that to the pleasure district,” he said.

“You cannot tell me what to wear,” Ariadne said.

“I told you to blend in,” Dionysus countered.

“This is blending in!”

“You are not blending!”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not changing.”

“Ariadne,” Dionysus said, a hint of warning in his voice.

“Dionysus,” she challenged just as steadily. “What is so wrong with this outfit? I have been to the pleasure district before. I know how to dress for it.”

“You’ve been before?” he asked, shock washing over him.

“I’m a detective, you idiot. I work on sex crimes. Of course I’ve been.”

He stood opposite her in silence. He wanted to say something, to stand his ground, because he knew the kind of people who wandered those streets, but all he could manage to say was, “Oh.”

Naia and Lilaia giggled quietly.

He glared at them and scowled.

“If we’re going to find out anything about Medusa, one of us has to look the part.”

“Let’s go,” he said and started toward the elevator.

Once inside, Dionysus punched the button for the main floor and then leaned against the cool, metal wall opposite Ariadne. She kept her arms over her chest, on the defense. They stared openly at each other, frustration present in the air between them.

This was a mistake.

“What’s wrong with the dress?” she asked.

Dionysus could feel the heat rushing to his head, roaring in his ears.

“Do you know how many men will look at you tonight?”

“I imagine quite a few,” she said. “Including you.”

He swallowed and looked away. “I did not intend to be disrespectful,” he said, his voice low and gruff, not because he did not wish to apologize but because he was embarrassed.

“I can protect myself, Dionysus,” she said.

Her comment drew his eyes once more, and he could not help letting his gaze drift down her body.

“I am armed.”

“In that dress?”

“Yes, in this dress.”

He raised a brow.

“You don’t believe me,” she said.

“That dress barely covers your ass, Ariadne.”

“It goes well below my ass, Dionysus. Perhaps you need a lesson in anatomy.”

“If you’re willing,” he said.

She glared and then lifted the hem of her dress.

“This is my gun,” she said and bared a brace she’d secured at the height of her thigh. “And this is my ass.” She turned and exposed one firm, round cheek.

What the fuck was happening?

“Ariadne,” Dionysus warned, gripping the bar behind him until his fingers hurt. His dick was hard, and there was no fucking way he would find relief with her dressed like that the entire night. It did not help that he could not stop thinking about how he’d like to punish her. He wanted to smack her ass hard enough to elicit a cry from those full lips and bury his fingers in her wet heat. When she came, he would make her suck those same fingers while he fucked her from behind, his pace set to the sound of her choked cries.

But she was not someone he could ever do that with. She hated him and certainly would not appreciate his dominance.

She lowered her dress and turned to face him again, a smug smile tugging her lips.

“Yes, Dionysus?”

Her gaze skated down his front, catching the bulge of his trousers. Her smile vanished. He waited for her to meet his eyes, and when she did, he spoke in a cool and deliberate tone.

“Do not tease me,” he said.

She shuddered as she swallowed and then looked away.

Everything was worse after that.

The elevator ride seemed to last forever, and Dionysus felt like he couldn’t breathe, because if he did, he’d only smell Ariadne, and then he would never be rid of this aching in his groin.

“Finally,” he scowled when the doors opened, bolting from the small space into his garage where he kept a number of pristine vehicles.

He did not wait for Ariadne to follow; he knew she trailed along after him because those fucking boots clicked as she walked.

“Aren’t you a god?” she asked.

“Do you really have to ask that question?” he asked.

“I thought you could teleport,” she said.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like other gods,” he said.

He liked cars, fast ones, and preferred that method of travel over any other, even teleportation.

“I’m sure that’s what you all think,” she said.

Dionysus rounded a corner of the garage and approached his favorite ride—a custom black chariot motorcycle. He took the helmet where it hung on the handlebar and held it out to Ariadne.

“Put this on,” he said.

“Put this on?” she repeated. “I can’t ride that!”

“You can,” he said and swung his leg over the seat, settling on the bike. “You will.”

Ariadne yelled over the roar of the motorcycle as Dionysus started the engine. “I am not dressed for this!”

He shrugged. “I tried to warn you.”

She glared at him, and he let her do it for as long as she needed. Finally she relented and approached, slipping onto the back of the motorcycle and pulling on the helmet he had given her.

He glanced back at her.

“Hold on,” he said. As he took off, Ariadne’s arms tightened around his waist and her thighs pressed in on his, which amused him at first and then quickly became the only thing he could focus on as he left his garage and sped down the streets of New Athens toward the pleasure district.

He leaned forward on his bike and Ariadne leaned with him, her head resting against his back and her hands splayed across his chest. He warmed where she touched him, despite the cold that slammed into his body as he zipped in and out of traffic, heading for the coast.

There was a point, however, as he crested a hill and could look down on the glimmering district, with its red-tinged aura and phallic symbols, that made him feel dread, and it was because he was about to put Ariadne in a situation he did not like. It was not the district itself he minded; it was where they were going within it. It was one thing to choose to engage in prostitution, another to be forced.

Michail, the man they were going to see, forced—men, women, children.

Dionysus and the maenads had been working for years to slowly take down parts of his extensive operation, and part of that involved establishing a relationship with the mortal. By this point, Dionysus knew him pretty well and hated him thoroughly, but if he was going to save the numerous women the mortal had sent across New Greece and to the islands beyond, he would have to endure.

He arrived, parking on the street about a mile from the district, which was located down a sloping hill. Ariadne slipped off the bike and pulled off the helmet, shaking out her hair. Dionysus looked away quickly, still suffering a nearly painful erection from her mere presence.

“What’s the plan?” she asked.

“The maenads tell me Medusa lived at Maiden House. We do not know where she’s gone, since this brothel owner does not keep physical records of anyone who enters their doors, even their workers.”

“That isn’t legal,” Ariadne said.

“I know,” Dionysus said.

Legal sex work was not frowned on within New Athens, and a lot had been done to protect sex workers’ rights. Unfortunately, the fight for those rights had led to an increase in sex trafficking and brothels like Maiden House.

Her mouth tightened.

“How did she end up at Maiden House?” Ariadne asked. “Do we know?”

“We think she was pulled off the street.”

It wasn’t a simple process either. Someone had gotten to know her, gained her trust, and then betrayed her.

Ariadne did not respond, likely because she also knew how this worked.

They made their way into the thick of the district, fusing with the crowd. Dionysus was not so worried about blending in, given he was usually sighted here and a god they heavily worshipped. Every year during Apokries and the Dionysia, he held a celebration in the district’s courtyard where people came from all over New Greece to fuck each other in public.

What he was far more aware of was Ariadne, who also knew of those celebrations and the revelry he encouraged.

They came to the courtyard where a golden pillar was erected, carved with erotic scenes. Beneath it was the throne upon which he sat and cast his magic.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “You use your magic to conduct orgies in this square, and yet outside this, you—”

Dionysus gave her a harsh look, warning her not to finish that sentence. All he needed was this mouthy detective to ruin everything he’d worked hard to establish here.

“Why?”

“Consensual sex is not unwilling. You of all people should know that. Those who come to this square, they want to fuck, and they don’t care with who.”

“I do not come here to fuck,” she said.

“Perhaps you should,” he said. “You might be a little more bearable.”

She glared at him, her mouth tightening, but her silence did not last long.

“Do you participate?” she asked.

Dionysus looked at her. “Why?”

“I just wondered,” she said, looking away quickly.

“I suppose that depends on your definition of participate.”

“What other definition is there?”

“In reference to the festival, you could be asking me anything. Do I dance? Do I sing? Do I—”

“Do you fuck strangers, Dionysus?” Ariadne snapped, clearly fed up with him.

He smirked in triumph, but it only lasted a moment, because he soon realized just how frustrated she was.

“No,” he said finally. “Or at least…not in a long time.”

A strange and awkward silence descended between them, and they did not speak until they reached Maiden House, a sleek, two-story building with no windows.

Before they entered, Dionysus turned to Ariadne.

“I need to know if you’re going to be okay,” he said. “If I…can touch you.”

She studied his face. “If it means finding Medusa and getting my sister back, I can do anything.”

He gave a sharp nod.

They entered the brothel and were immediately thrust into darkness. Already, Dionysus found himself reaching for Ariadne, his arm snaking around her waist. He pulled her against him, his mouth near her ear.

“As badly as you may want to,” he said, “don’t open your mouth.”

He could just imagine the look she was giving him. He could feel her anger, but he was surprised when she didn’t shove him away. She did, however, dig her nails into his arm.

“Dionysus! The god of the hour!” Michail said as he approached, pristine in appearance. He was an older man with thinning hair he kept smoothed back to hide an obvious shining bald spot.

Dionysus shook his hand and offered a one-armed embrace.

“And who is this…lovely creature?” Michail asked.

Dionysus turned to look at Ariadne. He expected to see her scowl at being called a creature, but she’d transformed and plastered a sweet smile on her face.

“This is…Phaedra,” he said, immediately regretting the choice of name, especially as he noticed Ariadne’s smile falter for a second.

“Phaedra,” Michail purred. “Aren’t you a beauty? I did not know you hired hetairai, Dionysus.”

“I don’t,” Dionysus said.

“Oh,” Michail said. “Then—”

“He doesn’t have to pay me,” Ariadne said. “I simply…enjoy his company.”

Michail smiled. “Lucky you. Come, come. The show is about to begin.”

When Michail turned, Dionysus glanced back at Ariadne. He wanted to snap at her, What did I say?

But she returned an even harsher look that said, I know what to do.

Michail took them into the main part of his club but kept to the outside of the floor until they reached the stairs, which spiraled up to the second-floor balcony where there were several individual boxes. They were multipurpose—occupants could watch the show on the floor below or pay for their own private ones. The inside of the box was luxurious—mostly dark, save for a faux fire that danced within a marble wall. There were two large leather chairs and a table between them.

Dionysus felt a lump form in his chest as Michail took a seat, knowing that Ariadne would have to sit in his lap.

His dick was going to fall off at the end of the night.

He lowered into the chair and looked up at Ariadne, meeting her gaze before he placed his hands on her hips and helped her sit. It was as much a show for Michail as it was practical for him. He’d like to avoid having her experience the hardness of his cock, especially knowing she did not see him that way, but that was near impossible. Her eyes had already fallen to it, and when she sat, her thigh pressed against him, a constant pressure that made his head spin.

Fuck me.

“It’s been a few weeks since I saw you last,” Michail said.

Dionysus could barely focus on his words as Ariadne drew an arm around his neck, her breast pressing against his chest.

“I had an unfortunate visit from the God of the Dead,” he said.

“Oh? Did someone die?” Michail asked.

“No,” Dionysus said. “Hades likes to accuse me of things he knows nothing about.”

As he spoke, he felt Ariadne’s eyes on him, burning a hole through his chest. He wondered if she was just as aware of his presence—of the way his fingers splayed against her skin. Could she feel the heat rising between them?

Michail chuckled around a cigar he’d just placed in his mouth. “I have heard he is here this evening.”

For a moment, the God of Wine thought he’d misheard, which was quite possible since Ariadne had begun to trace circles on the back of his neck.

“What?” Dionysus asked, surprised.

“Oh yes,” Michail said as he lit the cigar. A burst of sweet spice dispersed through the air. “They tell me he’s at Erotas. I wonder who he’s visiting.”

Dionysus wondered too, because Hades certainly wasn’t there for sex.

The door to their box opened, and a young man entered carrying a tray. He was practically naked aside from a bedazzled loincloth. He set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table between Dionysus and Michail. Dionysus noted there was no third glass for Ariadne, which was typical of Michail. He was not inclined to entertain the women or men brought along by his guests. To him, they existed for pleasure and entertainment only.

Michail did not acknowledge the young man, and he soon left. The mortal leaned forward and poured two glasses.

“Hope you will approve,” he said. “This is from my private vineyard.”

Dionysus took the glass.

“Would you like to taste?” he asked Ariadne.

He felt it only right to offer, but he was not prepared for what she did with it. She wrapped her hand around his and brought the glass to her lips for a sip—and then she kissed him with the taste of wine on her tongue.

He tried hard not to react, but that only looked like digging his fingers into her skin to keep from pulling her closer and grinding against her. When she pulled away, she let her mouth drift over his jaw to his ear, drawing the cartilage into his mouth.

He ground his teeth and Michail chuckled.

“You clearly have your hands full with her,” the mortal said, taking a drag of his cigar. “What can I do for you, Dionysus?”

The question was posed with a note of suspicion Dionysus did not miss.

“Do you not trust that I merely wished to catch up with an old friend?”

Michail laughed. “An old friend to be certain,” he said. “But catching up is not within your interests. You’ve come for something as you always do. Tell me. Perhaps I can help.”

“Perhaps you can,” Dionysus said. Ariadne had ceased to suck on his ear, which was somehow both disappointing and a relief, but now she toyed with his braids as she leaned against him, and all he could really think was how soft her breasts felt against his chest. He considered that he should probably touch her more, but he could not embrace this role as easily as she could, because despite her consent, it still felt wrong without her interest.

“Why don’t you entertain us from afar, darling?” Michail asked.

Dionysus was not sure why the mortal made the request. Perhaps he found that Dionysus was too distracted, or he’d incorrectly inferred that the god did not wish for her to hear.

Perhaps he wished to see her.

“No,” Dionysus said quickly, his hands tightening on her hips to hold her in place as if he had the right to possess her. “I like her here just fine.”

“I’ve got this, baby,” she said, her lips caressing his as she spoke.

He could not help the low growl that escaped his mouth. She’d fully committed to this role, and he was not sure how to feel about it.

Actually, he was sure he hated it, but that was also ridiculous given they’d agreed on the part she would play.

She pushed off him and straightened.

“You got any music, honey?” she asked Michail.

“I’ve got anything you need, darling,” he said.

Ariadne smiled at the man as he reached for a remote. With the push of a button, their box was suddenly vibrating with a steady beat.

“Will that work, sweetheart?” he asked.

Her smile widened. “Perfect.”

Dionysus glared at her, but she did not seem to notice as she walked to the space in front of them where a silver pole glimmered in the firelight. He couldn’t take her eyes off her as she shrugged out of her jacket. He hated his curiosity. He wondered what she would do. How thoroughly had she played this game as a detective?

But then she took hold of the pole and swung all the way around it, and he knew by the one smooth move she had done this before. She moved beautifully, naturally, almost as if she considered it an art and not a form of entertainment. He couldn’t look away as she arched and swayed. He wanted to be that gods-damned pole, and the only thing that kept him rooted in reality and not slipping off into a fantasy was the thought of Michail sitting beside him and watching Ariadne dance while getting hard; it pissed him off to an extent that surprised even him. His fists were clenched in his lap.

This was a mistake.

“Well, Dionysus?” the mortal inquired.

The god cleared his throat and barely managed to look away from Ariadne.

“I’m looking for a woman. Her name is Gorgo,” Dionysus said, giving the name Medusa was thought to be using. “I believe she worked for you for a time?”

“Ah,” Michail said. “Yes, beautiful creature.”

“Do you know where she’s gone?”

“Why are you looking?”

From the corner of his eye, Dionysus could still see Ariadne dancing. He wanted so badly to look. He wanted so badly to tell her to stop. He wanted her so badly.

Fuck him.

He cleared his throat. “She owes me money,” he said.

“As if you need more,” Michail commented.

“It is the principle,” Dionysus said. “As you well know.”

“As I well know,” Michail said, though somewhat distantly. Dionysus noticed his eyes had wandered to Ariadne again, and he could not help looking either.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Come now, darling,” said Michail. “Don’t be shy. Show us some skin.”

“She’s showing enough,” Dionysus snapped.

The corners of Michail’s lips turned up. “Don’t tell me, Dionysus, you’ve fallen for this hetaira. You of all people know they are paid for their companionship.”

It was lucky that Dionysus had such a reaction, because Michail hadn’t seen the way Ariadne froze or paled at the man’s suggestion.

They had to get out of here.

“As she informed you earlier,” Dionysus said, “I don’t pay.”

Michail looked at him for a moment as he took another drag from his cigar. He blew out the smoke and offered the same amused chuckle he’d been giving all night.

“Fine, fine,” he said. “Far be it from me to disagree. I’ve fallen for a whore or two in my life.”

Just then, a knock sounded at the door, and the young man from earlier entered.

“Mr. Calimeris,” he said. “A moment?”

“You’ll excuse me,” Michail said and rose from his seat.

Dionysus waited in tense silence until the man had gone. Before Ariadne could speak, he cut her off.

“Phaedra,” he snapped so quickly, Ariadne flinched.

He hoped she understood why he was speaking to her in such a manner, but he knew what Michail was doing. He’d been called away for no reason other than he wished to observe them alone. They were being filmed and their voices recorded.

“Come.”

She seemed to understand something was wrong, because despite her hesitation, she finally approached.

Dionysus sat forward and spread his legs apart. He wanted her between them because he wanted her close.

“Kneel,” he commanded.

She held his gaze and placed her hands on his knees as she lowered before him. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever witnessed—likely because he’d never imagined this woman obeying him so easily.

He twined his hand into her hair and pulled her head back, then bent forward, his mouth near her ear. She gasped, and her hands tightened on his legs.

“Watch your mouth,” he said. It was the best warning he could give, fearing if he said too much, Michail would become suspicious of his actions.

Dionysus pulled back to look into her eyes again.

Ariadne took a breath. Despite how good she was at this act, it was a challenge for her to remain in this role.

“Have I not pleased you?”

“Hardly,” Dionysus barked, though he did not mean to say it aloud.

She rubbed the palms of her hands along his thighs slowly, deliberately. “What can I do?”

Dionysus just stared at her, his mind completely void of thought—and that, he decided, was why he kissed her, but fuck did he need it. He braced his hand against the back of her head, holding her in place as his mouth collided with hers. There was nothing soft or sweet about how they came together either, both fueled by a desperation that seemed to live within their bones. But as quick as it had started, Ariadne pulled away.

She glared up at him from between his legs, her lips wet from his kiss, her eyes gleaming with a storm of hate and lust.

He started to speak, to say he was sorry, but she pushed off the floor and kissed him again. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her knees settled on either side of his legs as she straddled him in the black chair. His hands moved to her bare ass, and he squeezed her soft skin before slapping his palms against each cheek. He gripped her again and helped her grind against his length, groaning at the feel of her against him.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he kissed up her neck and jaw. “Has anyone ever told you you’re perfect?”

“You would be the first,” she whispered.

“What a shame,” he said, and their mouths clashed again.

Dionysus had never felt so frenzied with anyone before, but Ariadne was a match, and he wanted to burn beneath her.

He moved one hand from her ass to one of her breasts, kneading and rubbing until her nipple was hard and each swipe of his thumb made her moan.

Fuck, he wanted it in his mouth, but just as he went to pull her dress down, someone cleared their throat and the two froze.

“I really hate to interrupt,” said Michail, who had returned undetected with two large men. They flanked the mortal, dressed all in black. “But I’ve learned some very unfortunate news.”

“What the fuck is this, Michail?”

“Nothing to do with you, Dionysus,” said the mortal. “This is between me and your girl, isn’t it, Phaedra? Or perhaps you respond better to Detective Alexiou.”

“What?” Dionysus looked from Ariadne to Michail.

“Detective Alexiou works for the Hellenic Police Department,” Michail said, clearly under the impression that Dionysus was not aware of Ariadne’s background. “She’s been roaming our streets undercover for months. We’d been onto her for a few weeks when she vanished. I assumed she ended up at the bottom of the Aegean, but it seems she just found another way to get what she wanted.”

“And what’s that?” Dionysus asked. He was looking at her now. His hands were on her thighs, right beneath her gun.

She held his gaze.

“I was doing my job,” she said. “Looking for missing women.”

His chest tightened.

So she’d roamed these streets in search of the women she’d ended up finding at his club. Of course she’d started here. She’d assumed they’d been sold into the sex trade.

“Sorry, darling,” said Michail. “You’re not as sly as you thought. Now why don’t you give my esteemed guest some room?”

Dionysus held Ariadne’s gaze. He didn’t want to let her go.

“Ariadne.” He could not help saying her name.

“I’m sorry,” she said and rose.

“Ariadne!”

But as she stood, she drew her gun and shot it twice—one bullet for each man on either side of Michail.

Dionysus rose to his feet.

“What the fuck are you waiting for, Dionysus? Fucking kill her!”

That was the last thing he wanted to do.

Dionysus called on his magic, and thick vines exploded from the floor, curling around Michail’s wrists and jerking him to the ground. He landed flat on his face, his arms outstretched.

Dionysus crossed to the man and dragged his head back. His face was red and his nose bled. He gave a pained cry.

“If you lay a hand on her, you will die, Michail,” he said. “Now, I asked you a question earlier.”

“Fuck you!” Michail groaned, blood and spit flying from his mouth.

Dionysus shoved his head against the floor again. This time when he pulled his head back, it was by what remained of his hair.

“Let’s try this again,” he said. “The girl, where is she?”

“I don’t know,” Michail said, seething.

Dionysus prepared to bash his face into the floor again, but the mortal had enough.

“Wait, wait!” he said, breathing ragged. “I…I warned her not to go to the shore.”

“You expect me to believe you were some kind of savior?”

“You do not understand her beauty. It’s like a siren’s call.”

Disgust twisted through him at what Michail was implying—that Medusa was too beautiful to exist in this world without worrying about a predator.

“She went to the shore?” Dionysus asked. “And then what, Michail?”

“I don’t know! She never came back!” Michail yelled, and then his voice quieted. “But the ocean is Poseidon’s realm, and we all know what he does to beautiful things.”

Yeah, Dionysus did know.

He broke them.

“Fuck!”

Dionysus slammed Michail’s face into the floor again, and this time the mortal did not move.

When Dionysus rose to his feet, he faced Ariadne, who stood still and quiet.

“Put the gun away,” he said and then crossed to where she’d discarded her jacket. He snatched it off the floor and placed it around her shoulders, drawing her close. “Let’s go,” he said.

This time, he didn’t care to race through New Athens.

He teleported them both home.