50. Sin

50

Sin

No. No one's dying here. Not after all this. You can't have us.

Nat leaps, knives instantly in her hands, she spins. I launch, heart pounding, striking her in the wrist to throw her aim off and send three blades slamming into the ceiling.

Blocking her body from the room, I hold her still.

She doesn’t fight, her gaze fixed on the ceiling above her. “That was fast.”

“I’ve been training.”

Her smile is diabolic.

“Haven’t learned everything yet,” a velvety voice croons from behind us.

My blood runs cold.

Eros, God of Love, slowly extracts the fourth blade from his heart. The clang of metal scraping against bone echoes through our room, and a chilling combination of pride and utter fear courses through me.

It occurs then that we’ve never met.

But he’s meeting my expectations.

Tall and lean, his golden skin glistens despite the dim lighting. His eyes are a bright shade of blue that draw you in like ice over a lake, promising safe passage across. His clothing is sleek and modern, with touches of cream and caramel, a black belt. Smart, fitted to a defined torso and strong arms.

He lets my knife hit the ground with a thud, golden eyes narrowing as they flick between Nat and me. A single glowing drop of ichor pools at his wound, too thick to spill.

I can’t help the rush of my power, the immediate throw of forgiveness. It leaves me so ferociously, the windows crack.

Nat shudders.

Eros smirks, running a hand through his tousled blond hair. “Rest, son, I know how being Fated works. I will punish you for her transgression.”

Nat snarls, “Like fuck you will.”

Eros’s laugh is rich and smooth, a seductive lilt to draws listeners in. “Titans are so crass. I blame their breeding.”

“Fuck you.”

“This”—his stare flicks to me. Accusing—“is who the Fates have chosen? She’s feral.” His lips tip, and I get why Nat scowls at me so much, wishing I could punch the smugness off his face. “However, if you have half my appetite, feral is somewhat necessary.” He plucks a handkerchief from his pocket and throws it at me. “Wipe your mouth.”

I smile, all teeth and lips, wet with Nat’s arousal. “No.”

“Thank Hades you got your mother’s looks,” Nat drawls to me. Fighting words. Because I know I’m looking in a mirror.

Eros’s voice is low, a warning wrapped in silk. “You dare insult me, Titaness?”

Nat raises her chin defiantly, unafraid. “Oh, I dare much when it comes to those I love.”

Love .

The word hangs in the air between them, heavy with meaning.

The God of Love has none in this room.

Better yet, he has hate. A Fury’s hate, potent and crippling. Hate born of love and protection. It can make one fearless in the face of even the Gods.

Eros’s lips curl into a sneer. “Hades is not here to protect you.”

“Enough,” a booming voice interrupts.

An enormous figure emerges from the corner of our room, footsteps echoing like the strike of a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil.

He can hardly fit in the room.

His broad shoulders are covered in a cloak of worn leather, held together by large metal clasps. His muscular arms are adorned with intricate tattoos depicting symbols of fire and forging. He has a robust, square jaw and a stubbled beard, and his black hair is sliced close to the skull for fear of getting it caught in the forges.

His eyes are a rich, fiery red, filled with both exhaustion and determination.

Finally, the hammering of my pulse wanes.

He looks exhausted, weary as he’s always been, but power, ancient and terrible, radiates from him in waves.

“Hef,” I greet, angling us to stand as a united front between Nat and my father.

Hephaestus nods, a soft gleam in his eyes. “Son.”

Hundreds of years of regret snap into me.

Regret for loathing this God who stepped in to care for me, who showed me love could be unconditional, could connect people with nothing in common.

“It’s been …” He stops, clears his throat, eyes glassy, nods again, and I understand. Too long, it’s been too long.

“Say what you must,” Hephaestus rumble to Eros. “Nothing else.”

Eros scoffs, his perfect features twisting into disdain. “Supervised visits. He’s my blood, not your scum to heel in soot and sweat.”

Hephaestus purses his lips.

All he must do for Eros to cower.

I feel Nat tense behind me, her rage a palpable force. But she remains silent, letting Hephaestus handle this.

“A gift,” Eros announces, dropping a neatly wrapped box onto our bed. “Perhaps now you’ll understand my actions, son. And stop pissing on my temples.”

Nat huffs. “Not likely.”

I tighten my hold on her. “Yes. Agreed.”

“The strength of love so lends itself to forgiveness, does it not?” Eros steps closer, an air of confidence in his every movement. “Perhaps Olympus is not too far for you to visit. Depending on what she—”

“Step forward,” Hef cuts off, ignoring the God completely. I release Nat to move, but then, “Not you.”

His words soften slightly as his gaze shifts from me to Nat.

Trepidation clogs my throat. “Not her.”

Forming a team to drive me to an early death, Hef pushes me aside as Nat strides forward, unafraid.

They stand face to face, a single piercing look passing between them. Perhaps understanding. Two beings who have been mistreated, unloved and abused that still found a way to love.

Hef extends his hand towards Nat, palm up, and she places hers on top without hesitation. His fingers slide up her wrist to wrap around her gold vambrace.

“He weakens the forge with notes,” he says, his tone gruff but not unkind.

“Gold is weak to begin with.”

“Not mine.” Hef twists her arm, examining the metal. “I’ve found that the air on Olympus raises the temper, and I can make it near impenetrable. Stronger than steel.” He swirls his finger over the seam. “I’ll need to run tests on its performance with inscriptions. You know, you were quite the challenge to outfit.”

An unspoken understanding passes between them and Nat lifts her other arm for his study.

“I had armories of pewter waiting for you,” Hephaestus continues. “The moment Prometheus dreamed of you. Before even Eros came crawling to my workshop, promising to unleash arrows into the Underworld and yank you out.”

Eros makes a noise of dissent, and I grab my knife from the ceiling.

Hef doesn’t turn away from Nat. “Hades requested the best for his realm walker. Just as I dress Persephone against her foes, so I dress you out of the Cloud Gatherer’s reach.”

Nat spreads her arms, scanning the vambraces.

No questions, no demands, as if learning Hephaestus, God of Craftsmanship forged her armor is expected.

I’m not there yet.

“These are yours?” I ask, tapping my own vambrace. The silver that saved my life.

Hef chuckles, latching onto my arm and squeezing until the metal cracks against my skin, punctures. “No. This is mortal formed. The armor of the King of Pherae.”

“Admetus,” Nat clarifies, touching her own armor. Admiring.

I glance at her. “You know about Admetus and Alcestis?”

“You don’t?”

“How do you?”

She shrugs. “Megaera loves that story. Hades’s bleeding heart on display again. He fought Thanatos himself to return Alcestis to Admetus, battled Charon and the Rivers with his decision. Megaera says he had to ferry souls for a decade.”

My brows slam together. “He fought Thanatos for them?”

“That’s who collects souls for the Fates.”

“I know that.”

She smirks at my tone, something she’s been doing a lot more lately, and calmly explains. “Hades believes love should always win. He’s as much of a sap as you.”

Hephaestus smiles, dark brows on Nat. “The Greeks owed the victory to Heracles. Any other Olympian would have demanded credit for Alcestis’s return.”

“I also believe love should win,” Eros grumbles.

“Shut up,” Hef and Nat snarl together.

The God smiles at her.

I feel a swell of emotion in my chest, awe and humility for these two beings, so different yet so alike, united by the scars of their pasts and the fire in their souls.

Hades too.

Hades, who was misjudged by me, by Olympus and mortals, even creatures. The God who plucked me from Thanatos’s grasp.

For the love of his pseudo-daughter.

“I always wished for a daughter.” Hef’s voice sounds like distant thunder. “Do not let the realm change you, Natasa of the Underworld. Change the realm to meet you.”

Nat shifts beside me, her stance poised and deadly, a cobra ready to strike. “You left him,” she mutters. “You can give me all the armor in the world. It doesn’t matter. Not when you abandoned him with her .”

Her. Because she knows the name Lesenia makes me wince.

Hef does not back down. “You are accustomed to harmony in the Underworld.”

“ Harmony ?”

“But there are many Gods in Olympus. and just as the mortal realm fights, so do we.” His ancient gaze draws to me. “At least your crucible begot purpose which begot love.”

“True beauty,” Eros mumbles, “is forged in adversity’s fire.”

I bet he read that off a fortune cookie.

“How would you know?” I ask my supposed father, hate slinking down to my marrow. “Is beauty pain? Are you terribly tortured? Was it awful abandoning your family to sequester on Olympus with your Fated?”

Eros’s smile gleams menacingly, angelic features contorting into an expression of icy fury. “You ought to understand—”

Hephaestus slams a hand on Eros’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Godling.”

Briefly, Eros looks like he might argue. But then he sees Nat’s hand joined with mine, and he thinks better of it. With a final sneer, he vanishes in a burst of white light.

Hef’s lips twist into a mirthless smile. “If not having it for myself meant that you could, then I accept the Fates choice for me.”

Not having Aphrodite, not having his love.

“Then you are twice the male Eros is.”

Hephaestus sighs, the sound like the hiss of steam from a furnace. “I did not know how to raise a child,” he admits. “Keeping your father away may have been a mistake. He wanted to pressure your threads to pull you together. But the strongest alloys need the proper conditions to bond. You should be easy on him.”

I should.

I understand myself more just after our one meeting. I understand leaving to be with the one you love. I understand beauty can be pain, and the urge to want others to have the love you do.

Except my Fated would never ask me to forsake my family. She would never let me if I even suggested it. She does not choose the easy, bliss filled path.

I’m lucky for that.

Nat’s fingers tighten around mine, an unspoken show of support. “Perhaps you should have taught Eros that love is not a weapon to be wielded.”

The God nods to her, respect in his fiery eyes. “Perhaps,” he agrees. “Perhaps the outcast should have forced his way in to make change, but the past is set in stone, and even the Gods cannot alter it. We can only hope to make it better for our children.”

He looks between Nat and me, and for a moment, I see a glimmer of the father I’ve always yearned for. Not the distant, stoic God, but a male who understands the power and pain of love.

“I will need measurements as they change,” he says softly. “I must go. Persephone, of all the Gods, has invited me to my first family dinner, and Hades instructed that I wash beforehand.”

I want to ask him to stay. But I don’t dare take him away from the first acceptance he’s had from his family. “Try to talk me up,” I quip, voice rough with emotion.

“And bring her roses,” Nat instructs. “Blue, if you can. To help with the homesickness.”

There’s no hug.

We’ve never been huggers.

But Hef nods at me as he steps back, form already beginning to fade. “Congratulations.”

He disappears with a clash and the last two knives clatter from the ceiling.

Nat doesn’t flinch.

I stare at the spot where Hephaestus stood, suffering a strange mix of emotions. Gratitude for the small glimpse of the father I’ve always wanted. Anger for the years of absence and the scars it caused. And a bittersweet ache for the realization that even Gods can make mistakes.

Nat’s hand is warm in mine, her presence a steady anchor in the maelstrom. I drink in the lovely beauty of her features, the unwavering loyalty in her eyes.

“Thank you for not killing them,” I murmur, lifting our joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles, then my ring on her pointer.

She scoffs, but there’s no heat in it. “You act as if I’ve got webbed feet and black wings. I’m not a mindless killing machine. Eros’s death will take extensive plotting.”

The tension in my chest eases. “I suppose we should see what dear old dad left us.”

“If he’s really your father, it’s probably some sort of twisted aphrodisiac.”

“Well, we won’t know until we open it.” I tug her towards the bed, snatching up the box with my free hand.

The wrapping is exquisite, creamy pearlescent paper, and a satin bow.

Nat watches me pull it, rubbing her vambraces. “I’m going to give Hades so much shit for lying about my armor.”

“Hey, love.” I rip the paper, kiss her cheek. “Let him get away with this one. For me.”

She glares at me. Eventually nods. “You’ll owe me.”

I lick my lip, where her arousal still clings. “Keep me in debt. You know I love to pay.”

Rolling her eyes, falling into my side, she pops the box open.

Freezes.

Nestled on a bed of velvet the color of blood is a baby rattle.

It’s an exquisite little thing, crafted from the finest silver. The handle is intricately carved with images of frolicking cherubs, their chubby faces alight with glee. Tiny arrows and hearts are interspersed among the figures.

Nat makes a small sound beside me, a mix of wonder and disbelief. “Is that … ?”

“New measurements,” I whisper, awestruck.

Nat’s hand slides protectively to her stomach.

I peer at her, joy like I’ve never known filling me.

“Sin …”

“Yes, love.” Tears fill my eyes.

“Hephaestus asked for new measurements.”

“Yes love. Every day.” I crash to my knees, kiss her stomach. “Gods, every minute. You’ll sleeping in full armor.”

“Sin …”

That tone. “Not like that, Bloodspiller, not now.”

She pulls my ear. “Sin.”

I glance up, chest tight.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you, Sin.”

I kiss her. Then her stomach. “We’re going to fix the realm. I’m going to fix it for you.”

A laugh, a dare. “Are you?”

“Yes.” I kiss her and kiss her and when I pull back, I taste lemons.

Lemons sour and sweet, and beneath it, the smallest fleck of flavor, almost lost, is the tart taste of currants.

Hope .