Ares (Contemporary Mythos Book 3)

Mars and I stood in the rental car parking lot, staring at the white Honda Accord.

“Not going to argue to drive this one?” Mars asked with a smirk.

“Nope. All you, big guy.” I whipped open the back passenger side door.

Mars grabbed it. “You’re not sitting up front?”

“Sitting in front would imply lengthy conversation. Let’s be real. Neither one of us is a talker. I’ll do us both a favor and seclude myself in the backseat.” I plopped down and pulled the door shut, not bothering to wait for his hand to move.

He pulled his fingers away and clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before slipping on a pair of Aviator sunglasses. His hair was down today, hanging in wavy tendrils of chocolate brown past his collarbone. When he reached the driver’s side, he bent forward, looking at his reflection, and pulled his hair back into a bun. He dragged a hand over his beard, took a quick glance around, and then slipped into the car.

He grunted as his knees hit the steering wheel and fumbled with the controls on the side of the seat. The motor carried the seat back until it almost hit the bench seat next to me. He rolled his shoulders, pushed the button to start the car, and we were off.

Traffic backed up I-25 from the intersection to the on-ramp. No surprise there. It was one of the most headache-inducing highways, and I lived in D.C. for several years. I sighed and pressed my forehead against the window, internally screaming at the slow crawl.

Snagging my phone from my pocket, I made myself look busy by mindlessly scrolling through random screens. Try as I might concentrate on cat memes and click-bait ads, there was far too much bullshit fogging my brain. I’d never let fear show on the surface. But it was there—always there. Could I keep my championship title? Was the threat to my life real? Would someone try to kill me? Would they succeed? I glared at Mars’s reflection in the rearview mirror. With his focus on the road, he didn’t look at me. His face irritated me as attractive as it was. His face represented a painful zit on my ass. One put there by the one woman I trusted and considered a friend—a sister. And why was he so damn mysterious?

Fuck silence.

“Why did you retire so early?”

He peeked at me in the mirror over the rim of his sunglasses. “I thought we weren’t talking?”

“Considering this traffic, I’d say we have several hours until we get there.” I crossed my arms and slouched.

He propped one elbow on the window sill and draped a finger on the bottom rung of the steering wheel. “It wasn’t challenging enough. Got tired of pulling punches.”

“Challenging enough? And bodyguarding is?”

His gaze turned devious. “I never had to kill anyone in the ring.”

My throat dried. “You’re saying what I’ve seen in the ring, wasn’t to your full capability?

“Not even close.” His jaw tightened.

My stomach clenched, and I pressed my thighs together, sinking back into the comfort of my leather backseat.

“Why do you do it?” He rubbed his chin.

“Do what? Fight?”

He shook his head. “No. Make wicker baskets.”

The story of my life was far too personal. I didn’t go that deep with anyone. I’d barely gone there with Chelsea. “I’m good at it.”

“You also enjoy it.” Despite his sunglasses, I could feel his stare singeing me through the mirror. “The feel of your blood boiling.”

I clenched the edge of my seat with both hands. “Yes.”

“The look in your opponent’s eye right before you deliver that last devastating punch.”

Min kathysteríseis.

The words fluttered over my brain, making my head fuzzy. I was a dissected frog on display, pinned to a board. “Yes.”

“And there are times you wish you could’ve finished the job. If the ref—if the world—didn’t hold you back.”

How did he know? I’d never told a soul. I parted my lips to stumble through an answer.

A car cut in front of us, almost clipping the front bumper, but Mars swerved in time to avoid it. He laid on the horn and threw both hands in the air.

“Maláka!” He punched the steering wheel, making the horn toot again. “Mou éprikse ta nérva!”

The same ancient horn sound I’d heard in the gym blasted through my ears, followed by hooves scraping the ground.

“Where did you go?” His voice jolted me back to the present.

I rubbed the skin between my brows. “What?”

He tore the sunglasses from his face. “You stared off into space with your eyes as wide as grapefruits for a solid thirty seconds.”

Had it been thirty seconds? Felt more like a millisecond.

“A daydream.”

He stared at me through the mirror far too long for comfort.

“How did you lift that barbell?” I glared.

He snorted through his nostrils like a bull. “What?”

“The bar. At the gym. You lifted it like it was a damn pillow.”

He mumbled in Greek, clearly still pissed at the guy who cut us off, before wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. “I’m strong.”

“Three dudes and I weren’t able to handle it. You lifted it with one hand, Mars. One.”

His hand tightened around the top of the steering wheel. “Magic.”

“Magic,” I repeated, pursing my lips. “Is that what they’re calling muscle enhancement drugs nowadays?”

His left nostril bounced in a snarl. “Know what? I’m going to let you think what you want to think. That head of yours is so thick. Once you’re mind’s settled, there’s no convincing you.”

“You don’t know me.” I seethed, the familiar fury pulling at my spine.

His eyebrow twitched at me in the mirror.

I ground my teeth together before kicking the back of the seat in front of me.

“Don’t I?”

I wanted to kick the seat with such force it’d tear a hole in the upholstery. “Would you flip the radio on?”

He slipped the Aviators back on. “With pleasure.” He slammed his palm against the dashboard, pushing the power button.

The song This Means War by Avenged Sevenfold echoed through the car interior. I focused on the traffic creeping by us out the window, forcing my thoughts elsewhere.

The car lurched forward as Mars slammed on the brakes. My seatbelt tightened, forcing me back.

“Malákas traffic!” He held his hand out toward the car, who’d slammed its brakes in front of us. “Why do mortals feel the need to slam on the gas at every opportunity knowing they’ll only get a few meters, hm? Can you explain it to me?” Veins sprouted on his neck, and he gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

That’s the second time he referenced “mortals.” This guy had to be high on something.

I undid my seatbelt and slid forward, delicately resting my hand on his shoulder. “Hey, big guy, it’s going to be okay.”

He nudged my hand away. “Don’t patronize me.”

“I want to get to the hotel, you know, alive.” I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t always have to be ready to rip someone’s head off.”

His chest pumped up and down. “Put your seatbelt back on,” he said before turning the volume up on the radio.

I rolled my eyes and threw the back of my skull against the headrest with a sigh. Since Chelsea and I started working together, she’d come up with a lot of harebrained ideas. This one was undoubtedly the worst. I decided to let her know. After taking a quick shot of my view from the backseat, I attached it to the following text to my darling public relations agent:

Me: See this guy? He’s yelled Greek obscenities for the past hour over every single car that’s cut us off. I’m pretty sure if I weren’t here, he’d have climbed out of the car and pulled someone through their window by now. Seriously. WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS GUY?

Send.

It took us three and a half hours to make it to the hotel. While Mars managed to wrangle his temper, there were several times I thought one of his eyeballs would pop out of its socket. When we got out of the car, he slammed the door shut and turned his back to me, interlacing his fingers behind his neck.

I popped the trunk and cocked an eyebrow, watching him. “Ever consider anger management classes?”

He turned with a snarl, snatching my suitcase before I had a chance to grab it.

“Not now, Harm. You say I don’t know you? You definitely don’t know me.” He threw his duffel and garment bag over his shoulder and flung the trunk shut.

I leaned against the car as he stormed across the parking lot by himself. It didn’t take him long to realize I wasn’t beside him.

He turned on his heel and glowered at me over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

I pushed off the car with my elbow and lazily made my way over. “Seeing how long it took you to notice.” Slipping my hand over the handle of my suitcase, I tried to yank it from his grasp. “I’m perfectly capable of wheeling my own suitcase.”

He lowered his face. “Are you always such a hard ass?”

“Yes.” I pulled again with more force, and he let go. It happened so suddenly, I fumbled with it before setting it upright.

He started to walk away but stopped abruptly, unzipping his bag. He pulled out a baseball cap and slipped it over my head. It sunk over my eyebrows, given the strap was adjusted for his oversized melon.

“What is this about?” I glared up at him.

“The fewer people recognize you, the better.”

“I’m flattered, I really am. But I’m not that well known.”

He removed a pair of sunglasses and slid them over my nose. The tips of his fingers brushed against my cheekbones, sending tingles down my neck. The skin above his nose wrinkled, and he dropped his hands as though they burned.

“Can’t be too careful.” He turned away.

Deciding to bury the brief awkward moment we’d had, I pointed at the hat. “Are you going to at least tell me what’s on it?”

“My Zodiac symbol.” He kept his head held low as he rummaged through his bag.

“Which is?”

“Aries.”

An invisible force pushed on my chest. “Mine…too.”

His eyes gleamed. “Your zodiac sign,” he started, turning to face me. “Is Aries?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

A single strand of his dark hair fell from the bun at the back of his head, and he secured it over his ear. “Small world.”

He took three strides and made it halfway to the door before I hitch-stepped to catch up with him.

“Wait a minute.” I grabbed the strap of his bag.

He stopped and glowered at my hand.

“You’re worried about someone recognizing me, but not you? As much as it pains me to admit, you’re far more popular than me.”

He pulled out his sunglasses from an inside jacket pocket. “I haven’t gotten any death threats.” He slipped the glasses on and leaned forward, flashing a villainous grin. “Do these make you feel better?”

I ground my teeth together, trying to ignore the scent of leather wafting from his neck, despite the fact, there wasn’t one strip of leather on him. Adjusting the hat on my head, I followed him into the lobby. It was an average hotel that wasn’t as fancy as the Ritz but not as questionable as a Motel 8. They didn’t charge for rooms by the hour, so that was a good sign. The lobby’s white marbled floor was extra glossy like they waxed it this morning. There were enough fake plants in every corner of the entry we could’ve filmed the Jungle Book.

“Should be a room booked under a Chelsea Stewart,” Mars said to the front desk attendant after removing his glasses.

The woman’s chest visibly flushed when her eyes lifted from the computer monitor and roamed over Mars.

“Absolutely. Let me get that pulled right up for you.” Her grin widened, displaying her pearly whites. “And may I say, I love your accent. Where are you from?”

Mars leaned on the wooden counter with one arm, circling his beard with a hand. “Greece.”

“Greece?” Her smile spread. “I’ve always wanted to go there. See all the temples and columns.”

“Who’s your favorite Greek god?” Mars asked.

She giggled and tapped her finger against her lips. “If I had to choose, probably Apollo.”

Mars rolled his eyes, and his body stiffened.

“Is Miss Stewart, your…wife?” The attendant curled a finger into the collar of her maroon jacket.

“No. My client’s publicist.”

“Oh? A client of?” She raised a thin blonde eyebrow and bit her lip.

I’d had just about enough of it and shoved past him. “Me. I’m the client. Could you pull up the reservation? I’m tired.”

The attendant cleared her throat and worked her manicured nails across the keyboard. “Of course. My apologies.”

Mars’s hand wrapped around my shoulder, and he coaxed me back. “You’ll have to excuse her.” He peeked at her nametag. “Cynthia. She tends to get cranky when she hasn’t been laid in a while.”

My jaw dropped, and I whipped the sunglasses off so he could see my stare of death.

Cynthia’s cheeks turned pink. She did quick work with mouse clicks and typing before slapping two room keys and an invoice on the counter.

“Room 111. First floor. Down the hallway to the left.” She pointed and pulled at the collar of her blouse, fanning herself.

Mars gave a two-fingered salute, grabbed the room keys, and turned for the hallway.

“Was that necessary?” I clipped at his boot heel.

He’d put his sunglasses back on and raised a brow over them.

“Oh, please. You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I added.

“She was getting too familiar for my taste.”

My mouth formed an “o” shape, ready to rattle off another dozen questions.

“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here,” a man said.

Mars whipped around and tore the Aviators away with a sneer. “You.”

The man sat on a cranberry-colored lobby couch with his legs crossed. The pin-striped gray suit shifted as he stood up, clutching his pale white hands on the lapels.

“It’s been so long. Is that any way to greet an old friend?” His hair was white as snow and fell in unruly shambles over his face. A pair of glacial blue eyes gleamed through the strands.

“You say friend, I say nuisance,” Mars replied with a snarl.

“Are you going to introduce me?” I asked.

The man gasped and pressed a hand over his chest. “My counterpart here can be dreadfully rude most of the time. My name is Morpheus.” He extended his hand with a wicked smile.

I lifted my hand. Mars blocked it with his forearm, and I frowned. Morpheus’ eyes sparkled in Mars’s direction.

I elbowed Mars in the side, making him grunt. “Morpheus? Like from The Matrix?”

“Yes, precisely. My parents thought we both looked so much alike,” he chuckled and displayed his hands over himself.

I snorted and extended my hand again. “I’m Harm.”

“Harm. Short for something I’d imagine?” He moved his hand toward mine, but Mars blocked it again with his arm.

I tossed Mars an exasperated look before returning to Morpheus. “It is, but I don’t go by it anymore.”

Morpheus wiggled his fingers. “How curious.” He looked at Mars with a toothy grin.

Mars’s nostrils flared.

“Oookay. I think we should head to our room. It was a pleasure meeting you, Morpheus,” I said, shoving past Mars to grab Morpheus’s hand so we could finally shake.

Morpheus’s grin turned downright sinister, and his grip tightened. A tingle traveled down my arm, my neck and settled over the back of my skull.

He hovered his lips near my ear and whispered, “Sweet dreams, Harm.”

I shook my head and blew out a breath once he let go of my hand.

He waved at Mars with his fingers. “Tootles.”

“I was trying to avoid your shaking hands for a reason.” Mar blocked my path.

“Why?”

His eyes shifted. “Because. He’s—you know. He’s—weird.”

“I’ve met weirder.”

“Remember that I tried to stop you,” he snapped before moving for the hallway.

The truly peculiar one here was Mars. Morpheus was, at most—quirky. After catching up to him in front of our room, I caught his gaze. “Stop me from what?”

He slid the card into the reader and pressed his shoulder into the door, staring down at me. “You’ll see.”

And now he was cryptic.

It was a modest room with two queen-sized beds, a desk, a TV, and a mini-fridge—the usual.

“I half expected her to screw with me and book only one bed,” I said with a snort.

Mars tossed the keys onto the nightstand and slid his jacket off, tossing it over the desk chair. “I can push the beds together if it’d make you more comfortable?” He bumped his knee against one bed with a wicked quirk of his brow.

“I’m good, thanks.” Tossing my suitcase onto the single lounge chair near the window, I unzipped it, immediately grabbing my nightly attire.

The bathroom door shut with a click, and my shoulders sank. The sound of the shower turning on sounded through the thin door.

Great. He didn’t even ask if I wanted to go first. I sulked on the edge of one bed, grimacing at the ugly pattern of the comforter—green, orange, and purple paisley. Grabbing the remote, I started channel surfing. Re-runs of Friends. Local news. An interview recap of some surf competition in California with a guy named Simon something. Dozens of channels and nothing to watch. Go figure.

I flopped on the bed, spreading my arms wide and staring at the white popcorn ceiling. There were questionable brown stains here and there and circular cork-sized marks every few feet. The bathroom door creaked open, steam creeping out.

“It’s about—” My words caught in my throat.

Mars walked out in nothing but a hotel room towel wrapped around his waist. Hotel room towels were never big enough, especially for a man his size. It stopped at his upper thighs. I’d seen him half-naked plenty of times in the ring, but this was entirely different. His deeply tanned skin glistened with water beads. His chest peppered with just the right amount of hair to scream masculine without turning into a forest. The water made his dark hair slick back, cascading down in wavy tendrils. He brushed his teeth with the full-sleeve tattoo arm, and his muscles tightened with each stroke.

He cocked an eyebrow and pointed at the bathroom with the toothbrush. “You want to use it?” he asked, holding back a mouthful of toothpaste.

My stomach twisted into never-ending knots, and I clutched my pajamas to my chest before springing off the bed.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” I zoomed into the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

“Can I at least spit this out first?” he asked through the door.

If I saw that chest again, I wasn’t sure what I’d do. Be tempted to lick it? Or worse.

“Use the trashcan. I’m already undressed,” I lied, pressing my ear to the door to listen for him walking away.

He growled and the sound of his feet brushing across the carpet made me exhale.

When I came back out, I was relieved to find Mars under the sheets, his body fully covered with his back turned. I crawled under the comforter, sighed, and nestled into the pillows for a good night’s sleep. Or so I thought.