17. Cameron

Chapter 17

Cameron

The heady lust had been a nice surprise, but the shine had started to wear off, the orgasm draining whatever burst of energy I’d had. A cold shower had helped revive me a little bit, but as I flopped down across the bed, I felt an uncomfortable amount of lingering shame. Had I really just jerked off in front of a camera, hoping Deimos was watching? I’d never done something so… dirty before in my life! That wasn’t me. I was a missionary-position, lights-off kind of guy.

My ex, Scott, had always been pushing me to do more, in crazy positions or even in public places where we might get caught, telling me the risk was hot, but I didn’t like the way it made me feel. Like what we were doing was lewd and inappropriate, and if I ever said no, he just kept pushing, even whining and pleading with me to live a little, to lighten up. And of course, I always gave in, because I felt like I was the one to blame if he wasn’t having a good time. As if making him happy was my responsibility or something.

And then he’d gone and posted it all online for anyone to see .

The memories made my eyes prick with all-too-familiar tears, and that frustrated the hell out of me. I was supposed to be over it—over him , over the hurt, the betrayal—but here it was, rising to the surface once again. Did I want him back? Never. But I could admit I missed having someone to call my own.

I never should’ve listened to what Deimos said about the gods feeling no shame. I was certainly no god, and I had plenty of shame to go around. To pretend otherwise was pointless. I wasn’t about to change who I was now.

Deimos didn’t come back until dinnertime. I’d already paced the length of my cage at least fifty times, and when the brain fog and fatigue began to creep back in, I lay in bed and read half a novel that had been left for me, then turned on the flat-screen mounted on the wall and watched an episode of some trashy reality dating show called Lonely Alpha. My stomach had begun to growl and churn uncomfortably by the time I heard footsteps in the hall. My entire body lit up at the prospect of seeing my captor again, after using him as sex-fantasy fodder.

The door was nudged open, and from the corner of my eye I saw him pause on the threshold, but I refused to look at him. I kept my gaze trained on the TV where there was some kind of voting-off ceremony happening. I really didn’t give a shit who was kicked off, but I stared at the TV so hard, you’d think I had money riding on the outcome.

My nostrils flared. Deimos brought with him an array of scents—crisp fruit, aromatic spices, and something rich and chocolatey—but underneath it all, there was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. He was wearing a new shirt, this time a shimmery gray material that softened his violet eyes.

A clatter of dishes had my head jerking to the side, my eyes betraying me as they flicked over him, drinking in the lines of his tightly packed body. He seemed to be avoiding eye contact too, his chin dipped low, eyes on the tray he was balancing in one hand, piled high with food. In his other hand, he was fumbling the keys.

I probably should’ve offered to help him, but I was still feeling a little bitter about the mixed emotions he was stirring up. I mean, he was the bad guy, literally. He broke the law, hurt people, did whatever he wanted without fear of consequences. He was everything I’d fought against my whole life!

But… he’d also encouraged me not to feel shame, had comforted me when I was sad, held me while I was sick.

From where I was propped against the headboard, I watched him warily as he shuffled his way into my cell and set the tray gently on the foot of the bed. “Hey…” he began awkwardly, his shoulders creeping up toward his ears. Without the tray to keep his hands occupied, he didn’t seem to know what to do with them. He crossed his arms, uncrossed them, then finally settled on sliding his hands into his pants pockets.

“H-How are you feeling?” he finally asked, and I swore his gaze did a quick sweep of my body. I decided that meant it was only fair if I did the same, so I took a long, lingering roam of him, lingering on the crotch of his black pants. When my eyes found their way back up to his face, he was watching me with one of his sexy smirks that made heat crawl up my neck.

“Yeah, I feel fine, actually. I guess Dr. Wells’s drugs are starting to work after all.” My smile felt tight, my hopeful enthusiasm totally fake. Neither of us believed that my miraculous recovery had anything to do with the meds.

We stared at each other for a long moment, neither of us trying to fill the taut silence. Finally, Deimos gestured to the food with a nod of his chin. “Are you hungry? I brought dinner.” He slid it a few inches closer until the tray’s handle brushed my outstretched toes. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made my favorite. If you don’t like it, though, blame Phobos.”

His nonsensical logic made me laugh, and he seemed pleased by my reaction. When I reached for the food, though, his smile slipped straight off, his brows dipping low.

“Old family recipe?” I asked, spearing my fork through a strawberry. There was some kind of dark dressing drizzled over the top, smelled like balsamic vinegar. When he didn’t answer, I looked up and found him staring intensely at the fork. Was he holding his breath?

A warning tingle itched at the base of my skull, and I paused, fork hovering a few inches from my mouth. A memory surfaced from ten years ago; a younger version of me but a different villain. I hadn’t had this feeling since Nefarious tried to lure me into a trap outside my high school, but it was my ingrained instincts working to keep me alive.

“Deimos?”

He startled out of his daze. “What?”

“I asked if this was an old family recipe.” I felt cold and sick. He’d admitted to being at the hospital to take me, but he hadn’t told me why .

But I thought I was starting to understand.

I lowered my fork back to the bowl, and Deimos’s eyes tracked the movement, a strange expression crossing his face. “No, no family recipe,” he said, sighing almost in relief as he finally looked me in the eye for the first time since he came in.

What I saw in his eyes made me shrivel up inside. “I hope you didn’t poison the entire meal. It would be a terrible waste of food.”

His shoulders sagged, and he offered me a sad smile. In reply, he reached out and snatched up one of the spoons, digging out a scoop of the quickly melting ice cream. “Not all of it.” He slipped the spoon between his lips and sucked it clean.

I probably shouldn’t have found it so hot.

Choking out a bitter laugh, I grabbed the other spoon and dug in. “It’s perfect, actually, fitting with how things have always gone for me. My life has never belonged to me, not even before I was conceived. The prophecy readers had me flagged as a person of interest, and when I turned five, the government swooped in and just… bought me. Everyone has always wanted something from me. The government, my so-called friends, even my ex-boyfriend.” I shoved the spoon into my mouth and let the ice cream melt on my tongue.

Deimos shoved the tainted food out of the way, picking up the tub of ice cream. “Shove over,” he said, scooting me aside to make some room for him, then he kicked up his feet and leaned back against the headboard beside me. He offered up the dessert, and we took turns taking spoonfuls. We lapsed into an oddly companionable silence as we watched the reality show wrap up. One of the omegas was crying, hugging the other contestants goodbye as they were evicted from the house, returning to their everyday life. I wondered what that would feel like, a life without expectations, without an audience.

Deimos sighed. “I don’t envy you. It can’t have been easy, knowing you had some grand purpose to save humanity, all under the assumption that you were going to die. That’s a lot for a kid to deal with. I do understand, though, probably better than you know.”

“How’s that?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I had a purpose too, one I never asked for and didn’t want.” His voice had gone flat, guarded, and I peeked at him. He was staring down at his hands in his lap. “As soon as Phobos and I were born, my father knew exactly what he’d been given. We were a pair of the most dreadful creatures, and he was so excited.”

“But you were just babies,” I protested, feeling defensive of the children they once were. “Babies aren’t dreadful, they’re cute and innocent.”

“Not us,” he assured me, his eyes stormy. “We made our mother cry. She wailed and begged for him to take us away, to drown us, to leave us in the forest for the nymphs.”

I tried to picture the stunning Aphrodite I’d met trying to banish her sons, but I couldn’t get the images to align. She seemed to genuinely adore her children, I never would’ve guessed. “What happened?” I asked in a small voice. “What changed her mind?”

“My father. He saw potential in us. He is the god of war, after all, and what better weapon than the awe-inspiring terror coming off us. And so, we fulfilled our awful purpose. I have seen so much blood and death and horror.” He sounded so haunted, I had no doubt it was the truth. “Our mother did accept us eventually, once we learned to control our gifts , and in the end, she tried her best to offset our father’s tutelage, to create a balance. Look how well that turned out.” Deimos’s laugh lacked humor. “So I guess that’s why I am the way I am.” He shrugged like it was no biggie, but I could feel the weight of his confession.

“Our fates have really done a number on us, haven’t they?”

“They have.”

“To be fair, I don’t think you’re as bad as you think you are. You’re not irredeemable. I mean, I haven’t been around as long as you have, but I’ve seen some true evil. I’ve known worse humans than you.”

“Really? Like who?” Was that curiosity or a hint of hope I heard in his voice? I saw that innocence in him, just a flicker, of the child whose mother hadn’t loved him, the father he’d tried to please, and I felt an ache, a need to soothe the centuries-old hurt .

“Yeah, my ex, he…” I couldn’t believe I was about to admit my darkest secret to him, just to make him feel better. To cover up my discomfort, I dug out a massive spoonful of ice cream and shoved it into my mouth. My next words were garbled around the utensil. “The asshole actually recorded us as he took my virginity and then sold the video to the highest bidder.”

“He what ?!” Deimos sat up so fast that the ice cream tub rolled off his lap and hit the floor with a thud. His face was a mask of fire and fury, and I could feel the lashing of his dread lapping at my skin. Goosebumps pricked at me, and I tasted bile in the back of my throat as every human instinct told me to flee. I didn’t, though. I stayed right where I was, staring into the void of terror and seeing… concern.

Deimos cared about me.

“It’s okay, I’m over it,” I tried to tell him, feeling cold and shaky, but he refused to hear it.

“It’s not okay, and you shouldn’t be over it,” he thundered, turning toward me. He reached up and caught my jaw, turning my face so he could look me in the eye. His touch felt warm and safe, a contrast to his expression which promised violence. “What he did to you was not just wrong, it was illegal. Did you report him? Please tell me he was punished.” I somehow didn’t think he meant with jailtime.

I opened my mouth to admit my failure, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud, to see my own disappointment reflected back at me, because the truth was—I’d never told a soul. So instead, I said, “Like you’re really one to talk about breaking the law.”

His hand dropped away, and I instantly missed the contact. “There’s a reason for everything I’ve done. It’s justified. Loki needs to pay for the harm he’s caused.”

“And so you cause more harm to innocent people who have nothing to do with you or Loki? Where’s the sense in that? Nope, I’m not buying it.” No one had every made me so angry, so frustrated, as Deimos. “You could’ve found another way.”

“Like what?” he snapped, standing off the bed to pace to small space. “ Get over it? ” he sneered, throwing my own words back at me.

I held my hands out, fingers splayed. “Like me. Take my power.” The words were out before I’d even really considered what I was saying, but I instantly knew it was the perfect answer to both our problems. “You let all the shifters go, and promise me that you won’t kidnap anyone again, and it’s all yours. You can have every single drop of the power inside me.”

He scoffed, doubt written all over his face. “You have been gifted with more power than most gods. Men have killed for less. Why the hell would you give it up freely?”

“Because it’s not a gift, it’s a curse!” I snapped, and he flinched, frowning. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want this, I never did. No one should have this much power. It has always ruined my life, right from minute one, and now it’s making me sick! Please!”

We remained in our standoff, neither of us saying a word, adrenaline surging through me. Deimos’s chest was heaving with his rapid breath. I didn’t know which one of us would break first, but the tension was taut between us.

Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, Deimos reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Without breaking eye contact, he pressed a button and held the phone to his ear. “Zeek, let the shifters go.” I couldn’t hear Zeek’s reply, but it must’ve been confusion, because Deimos said, “Yes, I’m sure. And let the guild know we won’t be needing any more of them either… No, not anymore. I’ve found an alternate source of energy.”

He hung up and tossed his phone onto the nightstand. “So, is that a deal then?” He took one predatory step toward me, closing the distance between us by half. It sent a frisson of fear through me, but I liked the way it lit me up. It made me feel alive in a way I’d been missing.

I nodded. “It’s a deal.” I held my hand out for him to shake, and when he clasped it in his, I gasped.

His grip on me was tight, his jaw clenched as he focused. A tingling sensation began in my palm where we touched, but it quickly crept up my arm, around my shoulder, then extended to my back and chest. It was warm, not entirely unpleasant, but the further it enveloped me, the warmer it got.

“Deimos?” I panted uncertainly, as the heat sank deeper into my core, and the tingling grew sharper, like it had grown teeth. Was it supposed to feel like this?

“I’m here, you’re okay,” he assured me. He gave my arm a gentle tug, and I fell into him, my body sagging, boneless.

The ground itself seemed to shift under me, and a whimper escaped my lips. We toppled backward onto the bed, Deimos on top of me. I didn’t intend to cling to him, wrapping my free hand around his waist, my fingers tangled in his shirt, but all the emotions and sensations were overwhelming, making my head spin. Would I still be the same person without my power? Would I be defenseless, ripe to be taken advantage of? I could feel my strength, my speed, as it was being drawn out, like the sand beneath my feet being pulled out by the tide. Part of me wanted to drag it back within myself, to guard it, but as the level inside dipped, it left in its wake a feeling of pure clarity and vitality.

And now that I’d had a taste, I needed more .

Deimos had this look of utter bliss on his face, and it softened his features, making him look almost happy and at peace. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, and I wasn’t sure he was aware of the way his thumb was stroking my hand. I was certainly aware, though. Every point of contact between us drew my attention. I was compelled to touch him, to make sure he was real, and I found myself caressing his cheek, his stubble rough against my palm. He leaned into my touch, his tongue darting out to flick against my flesh. Was this some kind of dream? I couldn’t decide if it was a fantasy or a nightmare.

Almost in answer, Deimos wedged a knee between my legs and dropped his forehead to my shoulder, moaning. “Cameron, holy shit, this is… a lot. Wow .” He sounded out of breath, his words whispering over the sensitive skin of my neck as he traced his nose up the column of my throat.

I should’ve pushed him away, kept it clinical like a business transaction. There wasn’t supposed to be anything erotic about this, but it was more intimate than anything I’d ever experienced before. I was fully exposed to him in every sense of the word—and holy shit, did it ever make me hard .

“I want more,” he groaned, licking up my neck with the flat of his tongue, and I shamelessly tilted my head to the side to grant him access.

He released his grip on my hand and instead slid up under my shirt and put his palm flat on my stomach. I grunted as it shot an electric current straight south to my dick. “Oh gods,” I whimpered, my eyes rolling back into my skull.

Deimos gripped my short hair in his fist, and I hissed at the sting, a confusing mix of pleasure and pain. “The only god here is me,” he growled, right before his lips slammed down onto mine. His tongue invaded my mouth, and I grew drunk on the taste of him.

Kissing Deimos was intense, like everything else about the man. He was everywhere at once, his fingers in my hair, grabbing desperately at my shirt to expose more skin. Grinding his erection into mine. I’d never been so fully dominated like this before, pinned down and so thoroughly owned . In this moment, he laid claim to every part of me, and instead of making me feel weak, I felt bolder and somehow even more in control.

It bordered on too much for me to handle, but caught up in the moment, I was surprised to find I was more than willing to try, even if it killed me.

He pulled back, panting to catch his breath, and I swore his eyes were glowing with an inner light. “Tell me I can fuck you,” he said with a tinge of desperation. He rolled his hips, building friction between us. I grabbed at him with the full intention of keeping him still, but instead, I found his ass cheeks, one in each hand, and kneaded those muscular globes like I was making bread.

I moaned in lust-fueled frustration. “I can’t have sex with you. I hate you, remember?” Don’t I? I wasn’t so sure anymore.

Deimos gripped me behind one knee and hiked my leg up, angling his hips to massage his erection exactly where I needed it the most. “You can still hate me while you take my dick,” he said with a devilish smirk. “In fact, I encourage it. Hate sex is hot.”

He didn’t ask me again, and I didn’t offer. But he also didn’t judge me when he flipped us over and I rode his thigh like a pony. No shame, right? Slick soaked my sweats, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Heat, pressure, friction, desperation—it all built up inside until I couldn’t see straight.

“That’s it, take what you need,” he coaxed, his hands at my waist guiding me back and forth. And that was exactly what I did.

“Ah, fuuuck,” I moaned, my eyes squeezed tight as I came harder than I ever had in my life. Stars burst behind my eyelids, and I may have blacked out for a second or two.

I came back to myself slowly at first, inching out of the haze I’d dived headfirst into. But then I suddenly became aware of the way Deimos was drawing a pattern across my back, and my eyes snapped open. I drew a gasping breath and sat up. I was straddling him, my pants sticky and wet, but he was still sporting a major boner. I couldn’t stop staring at it.

I expected him to make some snide comment about leaving him hanging, but he was strangely somber considering our current situation. “How do you feel?” he asked too gently, watching me warily as though expecting me to throw some big emotional scene.

Besides my sweats sticking to me in the worst way? I held my hands out in front of me, flipping them over and flexing my fingers. They looked the same, but nothing would ever be the same again. “I feel… human.”

There was a gaping cavity inside where the powers had been. It seemed bottomless, like a piece of myself had been torn out of me—no matter how enjoyable the process had been. My eyes stung with unshed tears, and I wiped them away with the back of my hand. Even though I’d been literally begging for this, I was still plagued by a sense of regret. Of loss and grief.

“Hey, are you okay?” His words needled at me, prodding at every tender spot I had. Even the villain felt sorry for me. Oh, boo-hoo, look at the poor broken man. Because if I wasn’t the Chosen One anymore… then who was I?

I crawled off Deimos and backed away as far as my cage would allow, my pants a wet mess. My face was hot with embarrassment. “Get out,” I muttered, staring at the floor. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him, to see the pity in his eyes.

Deimos sat up, looking stunned. “Cam, don’t be like that.”

He stood up and reached for me, but I slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me!” I shouted. “What, you haven’t taken enough from me? You’re so greedy that you need more?” A tear tracked down my cheek. “Why don’t you go fight your stupid war with Loki and leave me alone!”

His arms fell to his sides, his entire presence dimming. “Sure, Cam. Whatever you need.” He turned his back on me and walked away, leaving the cage open, on purpose this time. I was no longer a threat.

I had the most insane thought—that I’d hurt his feelings—but men like Deimos didn’t have feelings. He only cared about himself and getting revenge for his lost love.

I could feel my power inside him, calling to me like a siren song. Watching him walk away caused a deep physical longing, but I told myself it would pass. I was fully human now, I was healthy, and that was all that mattered. As his footsteps faded in the distance, a silence settled over me, and I felt more alone than I ever had before. I slid down the wall and wrapped my arms around my legs, burying my face against my knees.

This was what I’d wanted.