12. Deimos

Chapter 12

Deimos

TW: this chapter contains mention of suicide

“The Faywood Hunters’ Guild have arrived with those shifters you asked for, my lord,” Zeek said. When I didn’t acknowledge him, he tried again, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the acetylene torch. “My lord? I said I—”

“Yeah, not now. I’m busy. Just have them put in the cells, and I’ll get to them later.” I waved him off, bending over my task.

This feeling I had—my heart racing in anticipation, butterflies in my stomach—it was close to what I’d once felt for my lost lover, Gorgias. Although this time, it wasn’t tainted with the sharp slap of betrayal.

Nope, I wouldn’t let thoughts of him ruin my good mood. This was going to be epic. I focused on my task, and even surprised myself when I started whistling .

I wasn’t sure how strong Cameron was, but surely not enough to bend steel, right? Although, the bars would need to withstand extreme hot and cold at the very least.

“Sir? Can I… help in some way?” Zeek sounded curious and eager to please, as usual.

I sighed deeply, leaning back on my haunches and pulling off the goggles. I wiped the sweat from my brow and stretched my back. I’d been at this for an hour already. “I guess I could use another set of hands. Here, hold this.” I gestured to the bar I was trying to keep in place.

He hurried over and grabbed the inch-thick steel bar from my hands, swinging it around in his clumsy zeal so enthusiastically that I had to duck or else get clipped in the head. “Hey! Watch it!” I snapped.

Zeek bowed his head in meek obedience. “My most exuberant apologies, most valiant master.” He needed to work on those exaltations. It seemed like he was running out of adjectives.

I snapped out and grabbed his wrist, positioning the bar exactly where I wanted it. “Right… here . Now don’t move.”

Though I’d never been someone to admit when I might be wrong, he did make the work go faster. In no time at all, we had a fairly sturdy-looking cage in place.

I stood back to examine my handiwork. “Yes,” I purred, stroking my chin. “This will do nicely.”

It was nowhere near as tiny or insignificant as the shifter cells. This cell was made to hold a god.

Zeek fidgeted behind me, and the scuffling of his calloused feet on the concrete was starting to get on my nerves. I knew he had questions, and I also knew it wouldn’t take long before the curiosity got the better of him. His face turned red as he seemed to be holding his breath. Then, all at once, he blew out a huge sulfur-scented breath. “Do nicely for what, sir?” He seemed to realize his mistake immediately and clamped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head.

For once, though, I didn’t mind him prying. I wanted to brag .

“This…” I began, tracing my finger along one of the bars, “is a very special treat for a very special friend of mine. We will be welcoming a guest soon, and I would like him to be comfortable for the duration of his stay.”

I wasn’t sure the exact moment I had come up with my plan. Between staring at his pictures and feeling his cock harden in response to me, it seemed like such a logical decision. Add to that the power that thrummed under his skin and my need to claim it, and it was an inevitability.

Cameron would be mine.

“Zeek, I want you to fill this space with luxury. Spare no expense. A wide, plush bed, thick carpet, lamp, bedside table, art on the walls. Something for his clothes, like a dresser. Oh, but then we would have to steal his clothes too. Forget it, too much hassle. We’ll simply have to buy him a whole new wardrobe.”

Zeek had pulled out a notepad and pencil from somewhere inside his wrinkled and for some reason damp suit, and was scribbling furiously to keep up. “Size for the clothing?”

“Oh, I dunno, how about his size?” I said, pointing a finger to where I’d tacked my favorite image of Cameron. He was wearing a pair of tight, dark jeans and navy polo shirt, but the buttons were undone, exposing a triangle of smooth, creamy flesh.

Cameron still hadn’t told me what was wrong, but I’d noticed the past week in my stalking that he’d changed, improved somehow, though not entirely. His eyes were clearer, his cheeks pink and glowing, and he hadn’t been struggling with his balance, constantly reaching toward walls for support. There was still a haunted shadow in his gaze, though. Whatever was going on, it was weighing on him emotionally, not just physically.

He was still capable of using his power. I knew because I’d seen him on the news, on some witness’s cell phone footage of Phobos and his sidekick rescuing people from a burning building. Cameron was blasting a snowy vapor from his palms to clear the lower floor’s main door, while Phobos flew people down from the roof and upper-floor windows.

It was all so… dramatic, and if I hadn’t known that Cam had his hand in orchestrating the drama, I would’ve been halfway through a case of scotch right now, wallowing in my self-pity. Instead, here I was, orchestrating a master plan of my own.

As twins, it was no surprise that Phobos and I had always been close. We were inseparable as children. He wasn’t just my brother, but also my best friend. We confided in each other, laughed and played and fought together. And when things got rough, we had each other’s backs. But once we started working with our dad, things between us began to change.

Now, we weren’t just brothers. We were rivals.

I didn’t think Dad meant to pit us against each other, it was just in his nature as the god of war. He prided himself on strength and ferocity. “Show me what you’ve got,” he would say. And Phobos would unleash a wave of unrelenting panic amongst our foes. My power was more subtle, a creeping sense of dread, but no less effective in destroying the morale of an entire army.

It became a never-ending competition between us. There were no rules to say who had won, and so we just kept trying to one-up each other. He would drive men to cry, and I would make them sweat and tremble. He would make them scream, and I had them tearing their hair out by the fistful .

Things changed during the Battle of Culloden, with a young man named Douglas MacPherson. He was just 20 years old, had thought fighting for his prince was a noble cause. He had a sweetheart back home named Rose, and he missed her more than his next breath. And yet… in the face of terror and dread and more bloodshed and death than anyone should be forced to withstand, he put his pistol to his temple and he took his own life.

Phobos was never the same.

Oh, sure, it changed me too, but in the opposite way. Whereas Phobos decided to dedicate his life to mortals in some misguided attempt to make the world a better place, to somehow make up for his hand in the loss of one man’s life, I closed up shop, locked any feelings of softness and tenderness away behind ten-foot-thick walls. I refused to allow myself to feel remorse or grief.

It was right about this time that my lover, Gorgias, was lured away by that deceitful, backstabbing, son of a bitch Loki.

Yet another reason to shut that emotional bullshit down. All it did was make me soft, like Phobos.

Of course, then my traitorous mind conjured an image of Cameron in his blue tights, and all logic fled my brain.

Well, my brother wouldn’t have him for much longer. Cameron would be mine, and Phobos would be the one who was broken and alone instead of me, for once. I would siphon Cameron’s power and defeat Loki, and all would be right with the world once more.

Balance restored.

Zeek soon went about his assigned tasks, which left me with nothing to do but pace the underground tunnels between my businesses. They were chilly, dank, the sound of dripping water down concrete walls the only sound, and none of that did anything to soothe my frazzled nerves .

I was bored. Antsy. Excited for what came next. And because I was feeling this giddy rush of anticipation, I found myself leaving through the secret door in Sugar Shack, heading above ground.

I typically tried to keep a low profile, for obvious reasons, but as darkness descended over the city, nightlife began to stir, and neon lights were lit. I felt like I could easily blend with shadows and go unnoticed.

No one paid any attention to me, I was just a man walking the streets of Valleywood. These mortals knew nothing of gods. Why should they suspect the wolf amidst their flock?

It didn’t take very long for me to get to my brother's neighborhood, strolling along the street in front of his house. The sun had begun to set, painting the sky of vibrant pink and orange hue. There were lights on in the windows, and I wondered which room was Cameron’s. What was he doing right now? Was he lying in bed, thinking about me? My breath stuttered at the thought, and I reached down and squeezed my semi.

And then, from down the street came an expensive black car with dark tinted windows. Having worked for my father, I had seen my share of government agencies who dealt in war. I knew instantly that this car was bad news. I stepped back into the shadows and watched as it pulled up to the curb in front of my brother's house, its engine idling with a dangerous purr.

The house’s front door opened, emitting a stretched rectangle of amber light down the stone steps and driveway. The figure that appeared was too slim and small to be my brother, and my heart beat faster knowing that it was Cameron.

He moved with purpose and with discretion, intending not to be seen. I saw him glance back over his shoulder to make sure Phobos wasn’t following him .

The car’s back door opened as Cameron approached the gate. An overweight, middle-aged man in a rumpled suit got out of the car. it was clear the two men knew each other, but that they did not share friendship. They eyed each other warily through the gate’s bars, and in a low voice, Cameron asked, “Are you sure this will work?”

And the other man replied with a small chuckle, raspy from years of smoking, “Not even a little.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small bag. Cameron reached for it through the bars, but the man pulled it back at the last second. “Are you sure about this, kid?”

“Not even a little,” Cameron said, echoing the man’s words.

The man nodded slowly and passed over the bag. “We’ve been through a lot, you and I. For what it’s worth, I really hope this helps.”

“Thanks, Barney.”

I stayed where I was in the shadows as the man got back in the car and drove away, and Cameron tiptoed back to the house, the front door closing behind him.

The whole interaction was over in a matter of minutes, but the uneasy dread lingered in my stomach far longer, and it had nothing to do with my powers.

What the hell are you up to, Cameron, and what was in the bag?