CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXIV

Prometheus had proven true to his word. He had wooed Amara with trips to all the local haunts initially, walking her back through their short history together. Reinforcing the memories. He had even taken her to the tartan shop that specialised in clans of old, only for the pair of them to find it had been closed for severalmonths.

It had been a ploy, he admitted to himself. An easy out for him if Amara could discover her lineage for herself. And while she had been disappointed, Amara had still remained hopeful.

“There’ll be other stores and answers out there somewhere. I have faith,” she told him gently, taking his hand and leading him away from the emptystorefront.

It reminded him of what she had told him the first time they had met, when she’d still been in her immortal form. Her resilience, her level of faith, after all the goddesses … after what he had put her through, despite the fact her alchemy continued to elude her, floored him. The fact that she had also given him a chance to prove himself, hesitant as she was that he meant it, told him that she wanted to believe him a man worthy of her faith. He wanted to believe himself worthy ofher.

Everyone who had become acquainted with Amara’s world soon became acquainted with him too, particularly the regulars at the café. The mothers with their prams swooned over him, though he never offered them more than a courteous smile, his eyes clearly for Amara. Rhonda and Bessie cooed over him too, and for them he would make time to sit with them as they regaled him with stories of their youth. When he would finally excuse himself, always after a respectable amount of time, they would turn to Amara and remark on what a wonderful man he was, which always caused her to smile. As if she was not aware.

“Oh, dear, we forgot to tell you,” Bessie said one day as Prometheus and Amara had joined their table. “We showed that tartan of yours to one of the historian enthusiasts in our prayer circle and she recognisedit!”

Prometheus and Amara both sat up to attention. Amara leaned forward expectantly.

“Did she know where it wasfrom?”

“Yes, she did! She said it was old Caledonian. What did she say that was? Oh yes, what the ancient Greeks called Scotland. She said your lineage must be of the ancestors ofold.”

“Oh,” Amara replied, a look of puzzlement on her face. Prometheus could tell it hadn’t been the answer she was expecting. In fact, it just left more questions.

“Of course, there’s not much left on the knowledge of the ancestors before the ancestors …” Rhonda chimed in, oblivious to Amara’s reaction. But Prometheus knew well what it was like to be of ancestry forgotten.

“If there are more questions there will be more answers,” he told her, reading those questions in hereyes.

“You’re right,” she said, shaking off the disappointment and smiling brightly. It didn’t quite reach her eyes but the two ladies didn’t notice. They were too busy cooing over how well matched Theo and Amara were.

Prometheus kept his eyes on Amara though. And he kept his eyes out for signs that the gods and goddesses were interfering again. But, as if they sensed him watching, they were nowhere to be found. Perhaps they now knew he was watching out for them. Perhaps they did not want to anger the one rule breaker who’d dared defy Zeus and lived to tell the tale. Even a Titan’s reputation could make him a larger-than-life legend in their eyes. He was vigilant, keeping Amara close enough to know that she was wanted but at arm’s length in case he got swept up in whatever sick game Aphrodite and Athena had decided to play next. It was clear to him that the two had, at some point, decided to use him. If they wanted to play a game of covert chess with human pawns, he would beat them at their own game. They would not be using Amara.

But as the weeks passed and the cool kiss of autumn pressed herself deeper into the streets of Edinburgh, Prometheus began to believe that Aphrodite had truly thought that true love would keep Amara safe. Still, something in the back of his mind nagged at him. How could they keep Amara safe and yet still do the Fates’ bidding?

That night, at Kiaria’s, a bottle of red wine lay breathing between them. All three glasses on the oak coffee table were full. Kiaria sat cross-legged, innocently, in purple and black splashed yoga pants and a matching loose-fitting black top, on the two-seater grey sofa. Prometheus was on a brown beanbag closer to the TV, which was currently off. Kiaria, despite her love for conversation, only liked one sound at a time and it was usually the sound of her own voice. Prometheus’ legs spread to accommodate Amara between them, both of them facing Kiaria. Between them was the coffee table. There were already three empty bottles of the same brand of wine sitting by the recycling bin.

From what he gathered, the pair had fallen out. But when Prometheus had appeared on the scene once again, Kiaria had smiled sharply and forgiven Amara. Amara naively called it a misunderstanding, but Prometheus was no fool. He hadn’t missed the glint of Kiaria’s canines that said she smelt fresh blood and bathed in it.

She reminded him of Eris, Ares’ sister, as she trailed her sword through eerily quiet battlefields stained with blood, her bare feet squelching on the torn-out organs of men and licking her tongue across the bloodied blade. A memory he would never forget. He found Kiaria’s fickleness was as distasteful as Eris’ bloodlust.

He would sooner prick Amara’s skin with a pin before he entrusted her to this woman, but Amara appeared to like her. Then again, Amara was too soft once someone was under her defences. As if she was responsible for them once they were under those tortoiseshell-like barriers she put up.

“You really think humans have no free will?”

Kiaria had decided to engage him in a heated debate since the first bottle had beenopened.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he countered. “I’m saying the way they are wired only allows for so much freewill.”

“So what ... we’re puppets?!” Kiaria wasn’t buying it.

“No … we’re just wired a certainway.”

They had been debating this one for the last hour and a half and were still coming back to the same point.

“Perhaps,” Amara interrupted, the most sober of them all, “we should move on to anothertopic.”

“I quite agree,” Prometheus said. There was a briefpause.

“So Theo,” Kiaria smiled. Prometheus did not appreciate the tone. Perhaps a change of conversation had not been the smartest idea.

“We’ve known each other, what? Two months now? And I haven’t had the chance to ask ... what are your intentions withAmara?”

Prometheus grinned a boyish grin. One no one often saw on his face. The only other times he had smiled like this was when Amara had said something playful or when he didn’t think she was looking.

“To make sure she’s happy.”

“And Amara, are you happy?” Kiaria asked.

“Of course I am.” Amara stroked the jean-clad outer calf of Theo’s leg that was wrapped around her. Whether it was to soothe him or her, he couldn’t say. But it soothed something in him to have her touching him like this.

“For now, sure. But you can’t want to work your entire life in Aunt Alice’s café?” Kiaria pushed.

Amara shrugged. “I don’t see anything wrong with doing servicework.”

Prometheus’ legs clenched.

“There’s something quite humbling about it,” Amara continued. “You really get to know humanity, you know?”

“Well ... you couldn’t pay me enough to keep doing it,” Kiaria said, downing the rest of her glass before reaching for the wine bottle and pouring the dregs in. Sighing, she swung her legs over the sofa and rose. She had quit two weeks ago when John had left for a “real” job.

“That’s the last of the wine. Let me see what else we have.”

As Kiaria sashayed off into the kitchen, Amara squirmed and turned to face him. It was only when she began looking at him in concern that he realised his face had turned to granite, a large deep groove across his brow.

“Hey, is everything ok?”

“What did you mean when you said you get to knowhumanity?”

“Well …” Amara settled back into his chest, burrowing herself closer to him. “For one, you can tell who has worked in hospitality before. They don’t treat you like a servant but a person. They tend to be more patient, kinder, lessdemanding.”

“And the ones who haven’t worked in a café or the likebefore?”

“Tend to be more troublesome.” Amara laughed.

“Has anyone been giving youtrouble?”

“Just a couple of the snooty old biddies and a couple of judgemental mums. Nothing you need to worry about.” Again, she reached out to stroke his leg. The gesture didn’t soothe him as it hadbefore.

“What isit?”

“You came here looking for answers, which you still don’t have, but now you seem content to just be a waitress. Are you sure you’re happy?”

If she truly was happy, he would be. He would keep her safe, especially from the antics of the goddesses. The rest of humanity could be damned now. He knew it would hurt, losing all those souls. It would tear out a part of him, but that part would heal ... eventually. It would be nothing, he knew, nothing compared to losingAmara.

If she wasn’t happy, if the soul of the priestess was starting to wake up ... would she realise who he was? Would she be mad at him from keeping her from her moira? Would she push him away? Would he lose her? He couldn’t abide that thought. Not now. Not now that he knewher.

“Just a waitress? Ouch.” Amara’s eyes uptilted inhurt.

Shit.

“That’s not what I meant. It’s the wine ... forgive me?”

Amara gave him an assessing look, thennodded.

“Found it!” Kiaria walked back in holding another bottle of wine in the air triumphantly, the glass glistening off the kitchen light. On reading the room, she lowered the bottle.

“And I am going to take this off to bed with me … I’ll see you star-crossed lovers in themorning.”

Amara glanced at the clock that hung above the armchair.

“She’s right. It’s late. We should getgoing.”

Prometheus didn’t say anything but released Amara from the prison of his legs as she unfolded and rose languidly, like a cat stretching. Occasionally she did this, made movements that made her appear regal, and he was wracked with guilt again that he hadn’t told her the truth. But what good would it do now? Until he figured out how to get her to transmute the fear that coiled tighter around her bones every day till she seemed frozen in a perpetual human loop of servitude, until he helped her overcome it, revealing her true heritage would simply be presenting her with her death warrant − a sure-fire way for the fear to eat her alive faster. He wouldn’t do it.

He held hands with her the entire way back in the taxi. Penance he would willingly pay as her touch continued to burn into him.

When he moved to release her hand as they pulled up to Amara’s house, she tugged at him, hard enough that he complied and slid across the slippery vinyl seats and exited with her. They both watched as the black cab disappeared off into the distance.

Prometheus had drunk his fair share of wine that night, considerably more than Amara, but he wasn’t as drunk as she thought he was. Gods had a different metabolic constitution. Everyone knew that, even if they didn’t believe in them anymore.

He looked down to Amara, her hand still clasped in his, saw the invitation in her eyes. The memory of last time hounded him but he was still a man. His cock twitched.

“Are you sure?” He needed to be certain. It had still only been a matter of months since herassault.

“I’m sure,” she whispered, breaking his mental chastisement.

“We will stop if you …”

Amara pressed a small finger to his lips. “Please don’t ruin this,” shewhispered.

Her confirmation and admonishment pulled at something low in his gut, and whether it was that, the wine, or the way she looked at his lips, the last of his restraint shattered. He cupped her cheeks and kissed her. A full body kiss that had her pressing the full length of herself into his chest. Breasts crushed to him, he pushed one thigh between her own and she melded perfectly onto him. One of his hands flew down to her arse, cupping her firmly onto his thigh until she began rubbing against it needily. She moaned in the back of her throat as he thrust one of his hands into her hair, angled her head and deepened the kiss.

Eventually, Amara put her hand on his chest and he had just enough semblance of reasoning to pull back and allow them to gulp in breaths of fresh night air.

“Upstairs,” Amarawhispered.

“Yes.”

She led him through the wooden door that creaked and into a sparse hallway, where a sideboard hosted a tangled, thirsty plant that almost touched the floor, a host of unopened mail and a tray of keys. Amara placed hers in the tray gently, pushed a finger to her lips to indicate her house mates were likely home and sleeping, given the number of keys in the dish, and they proceeded up the stairs on almost silent feet − Prometheus was heavy after all − until they reached the top of the stairs and turned immediately to the door on the left.

It was a small room, with the bed immediately to the right of the doorway and pushed against a cream wall. Opposite was a small bookshelf that was home to a few books Amara had picked up, a collection of crystals, bird feathers framed in a fan-like shape and a pot of potpourri. Prometheus smiled. If Amara had no inclination of her heritage, she really was being obtuse about it. Opposite the bed was a small wooden dresser that had a matching wooden vanity mirror leaning at an angle. He watched Amara’s reflection as she made quick work of taking out her earrings and shaking her hair out, loose curls bouncing around her head … before turning to him.

Part of his mind still functioned as his knees hit the back of the bed and he decided to sit. To let Amara take charge. To make sure she was comfortable throughout. Taking her cue from him, she immediately straddled him.

Her foot hooked around his left calf and began to rub up and down against his jeans. Underneath the hair on his legs, the friction of Amara’s movements, made heat travel up his legs. Her hips began to make the same small movement against his groin. Groaning, he curled his hands back into her hair, and kissed her like a drowning man craving air. Amara made a needy little meowl in the back of her throat. His hands travelled down to her waist and under her jumper before his dark eyes snapped open and bored into hers.

“Yes?” He wanted to make sure she was with him, all the way.

“Yes,” she said, breathless.

Making quick work of the jumper and blouse buttons underneath, with surprisingly nimble fingers given their size, he flicked them both to the ground, one hand cupping around her bare waist, barely grazing the black scrap of fabric that sat precariously below it. Amara rose to take off the remainder of her clothing, leaving her clad in only a black lace bra and underwear. Prometheus let out a dark groan.

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her navel. Amara leaned her head back, goosebumps exploding the length of her body. Pulling her back down onto his lap, Prometheus’ lips made their way back up her neck. He felt the rabbit of her pulse as his teeth grazed, slowly, gently at first, over it.

She moaned. Good.

Having kept one hand curved around her hip, he tugged at it, encouraging her to wrap her legs around him and begin those little needy hip movements again. She did. He groaned deeper. Those little movements of hers would be the undoing of him. Noticing this, Amara flashed him a small, satisfied smile and began to pick up the pace.

On her third upward thrust he took advantage, flipping her onto her back, being careful not to press the heavy weight of him onto her or reach for her arms orwrists.

“Still with me, princess?”

Amara nodded, biting her lip.

Prometheus cupped her cheek, lowered himself for a kiss, his longer hair now falling over his forehead as he did so, before his lips began to make their way down the centre of her body.

At the barrier of black lace, he hooked one calloused finger underneath them.

“I likethese.”

“You do?” The question was a careless one and Prometheus grinned against her thigh. This was the way he wanted her to feel. Carefree.

Tugging the scrap of black material away from her thighs, he made quick work of his own clothes before settling back over the top of her. Her leg hooked around him once again, and she sent him a look of challenge, as if to say, what are you waiting for? The leg around him squeezed, urging him towards her entrance. Still, he didn’t move.

His weight was braced on his forearms on either side of Amara. Her nails clawed into his biceps as she thrust her hips up at him in demand. But he didn’t want to rush this, rush her. He would savour her. Make her feel like the most delectable treat. Let her know that she was adored, her body worshipped in this act. He wanted to undo all the harm she had ever been forced to feel when it came to this intimacy. He wanted to earn her trust. To have her feel so safe and held that she would melt into him.

So he nuzzled at her neck again, biting gently at the curve between her neck and her delicate shoulder. She shuddered, her hand moving at once into his hair, but she didn’t push him away. He continued to nuzzle as he played with her breasts, squeezing one of the small mounds before rubbing the nipple between his forefinger and thumb. Her grip in his hair tightened. He pinched her nipple. A gasp escaped her lips.

He looked up at her to check that she was still with him. Her eyes were hooded but they were very much on him, watching what his fingers were doing.

“Harder? Or softer?” he asked, demonstrating with her nipple as he did so. It was important that she make the decisions here. To know she was in control, though it was costing him every ounce of his strength to not lose his own.

“Harder,” she said, her voice husky.

He obliged, this time using his mouth, his tongue and his teeth on the other nipple. Amara arched her back as he sucked deeply, moaning breathlessly as he did so. When he was sure she was on the precipice, he released it. Bowing her back down into the bed, he kept his hands on her breasts as his head made its way down to between her legs. Only then, when he was positioned at her entrance did he let his hands wander down and grip at her thighs, making sure to keep them at either side of his head. Glancing up, he saw she had moved onto her elbows to watch him.

Uncoiling one hand from her thigh, he moved it between her legs and pushed one finger in. Slow and deep. Then he withdrew. And again. By the third time, she was making small little circles with her hips and a needy moan in the back of her throat. He inserted a second thick finger. She stretched to accommodate him, the moan escaping her mouth this time, the breathy sound making him painfully harder. It wasn’t enough.

Removing his fingers, he replaced them with his tongue and felt Amara buck against him. Taking long, slow, cavernous licks, he worked his way up to her clit, and flicked his tongue out over it. Amara bucked harder. Placing his whole mouth against her, he sucked and teased at her clit as his fingers went back inside her. Pumped once, twice. Circled that rough little spot on the inside that he’d designed to bring humans the ultimate pleasure and groaned as she finally let the pressure of the orgasm wash over her and onto his fingers.

Limp in a way that suggested she was satisfied, Prometheus moved back up her body, taking his time to feel every dip and valley of her skin as her breathing returned to normal. He skimmed her thighs, her belly, her breasts, before his hand curved around her neck and he took her lips in a deep kiss that she lazily returned. When they broke from the kiss, she opened her eyes and glanced down at their bodies.

“Are you planning on doing something about that?” she asked, a small smile flirting on her face.

“Witch,” he growled back playfully.

He settled himself over her and between her legs, his weight once again braced on his forearms. He began to move slowly, his chest hair rubbing against her breasts. Amara parted with a moan against his lips. She was slick already. He barely had to push before he was so deep inside her he could feel her internal muscles pulsating on him. Groaning, he slid out slowly − the release, one of pleasure and pain intertwined exquisitely − before returning home to her. It was a slow, rhythmic build, one that had her panting with need, but he heard no complaints. Only soft moans that got higher and breathier the closer she came to surrendering again.

This time, when she spasmed around him, her legs shaking and her hands clawing desperately at the tangled white sheet beneath them, his false name on her lips, he let out a guttural groan of his own and joined her as the feeling of ecstasy sucked them bothunder.

The nightmare that night was a particularly bad one. Prometheus knew she’d been having nights of bad sleep. She’d told him that she still woke up in night sweats sometimes. Tonight, she tossed and turned in the sheet, one minute cuddled against him for protection whimpering as she did so. The next, her limbs pushed against him as if to force him away. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead and every time he tried to wipe them away and brush her hair back, she fussed. But still she did not wake. Then, when Prometheus had thought she’d finally settled, she began to speak in hersleep.

“There never was a plan. You’re liars, all of you. You know nothing. None of you do. You can’t even see it, how far away from humanity we exist ... they are doomed. There is no redemption. Don’t you see? You speak of love and war, justice and chastity, romance and wisdom as if they are each separate entities. But you put all of them within one human body. It is too much to bear. The burden is too great. Even I can feel this human body cracking under the pressure. You gave them voices but no valve. You, the wise one, didn’t even see it coming …”

Amara sighed heavily, as if she was resigned to her fate as her hair tickled against her nose. This time when Prometheus went to tuck it behind her ear, she let out a small smile and burrowed deeper into the cream white pillow. Then her whole body seemed to sigh as she settled into a deep sleep.

Prometheus, meanwhile, stared at her in concern, one hand propping up his head. Who had she been talking to? Athena? That would be the wise one she mentioned. But she’d also said love and chastity ... perhaps Aphrodite … and had Artemis been there too? Surely she wouldn’t have spoken to her patrons in such a manner? Insubordination like that could see you strung up for an eternity of pain. Though, of course, if what Amara said was true ... she was telling them that they had already condemned her when they sent her here. And if there wasn’t a plan, if humanity truly was doomed …

A dull ache formed in the crater in his chest that Amara had smashed through, as his foresight returned with unrelenting force. It played out perfectly in his mind, the low tug in his gut confirmation that it would come to pass. The weight of the knowledge rocked him, until he crushed Amara’s soft body against his harder one. As if he hadn’t already tied his fate to hers.

She made a noise of complaint when he held her too hard and he, unwillingly, loosened his grip.

He now understood the Fates’ hand. Aphrodite’s task. His role. How it all came together perfectly. It could still work. There was hope yet. He knew what he had todo.

First, he must speak withZeus.