“I designed this initiative,” Hunter reminded the both of us. “I won’t jeopardise its progress by being as reckless as my brother.”
“How are we meant to trust anything you say?” Matt voiced his concerns.
“Gareth wouldn’t have let him come here alone if he thought Hunter was a threat,” I pointed out, brain kicking into gear.
Gareth hadn’t argued with Hunter when he said he was leaving for my house. He was hosting the head of the Gods and they’d been in contact intermittently for years. If Gareth believed Hunter could be trusted, then I was cautiously inclined to agree.
I watched carefully as Hunter picked himself up from the sofa and straightened the cuffs on his white shirt. He had a distinct energy about him compared to Grayson. Calmer. More mature. Regal. Hunter was the God of forgiveness and protection — the God who led them all. He would not harm us unless he had a reason to.
“I’ll be okay,” I told Matt firmly. “Just don’t be long.”
He looked at me for a moment and I could almost see the fight he was having with himself. Matthew liked to be the saviour. He loved telling a tale that cast him as the hero.
Eventually, he gave me a curt nod. “You get in touch with me or Gareth, if anything happens. Understand?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. We had just suffered through the same experience at the hands of Grayson, and yet he had dubbed me the more fragile of the pair. If Grayson or Hunter expressed their anger again, I wasn’t sure I’d have the chance to reach for the phone and call for help.
“Scott,” Matt said, looking down at me. “I’m being serious.”
“I know,” I placated him as softly as I could. “I’ll call you if anything happens. Spare keys are on the rack in the hall.”
He held my gaze for a moment before reluctantly leaving the room.
Slowly, I turned my attention back to Hunter. His pale blue eyes watched my movements, and my mouth ran dry with nerves as the sound of the front door clicking shut sounded through the house.
“I can’t apologise enough for my brother’s behaviour,” Hunter said before the silence could swallow us.
I felt awkward standing there with a God; the God apologising to me. His gift was forgiveness, and yet he was seeking it from me. And how was I meant to deny it? Even if Hunter’s motives were driven by his ambition for the initiative to be successful and nothing to do with my wellbeing, I appreciated the gesture.
“You don’t need to apologise,” I said, my mouth still dry.
Absent-mindedly, my feet led me past him and into the kitchen. The tiles were cool through my socks. Hunter’s footsteps sounded behind me, solid and loud. I gestured towards the wooden kitchen table that had once hosted Scott family dinners.
“You did nothing,” I said.
“I may not have been directly involved, but Grayson is my responsibility,” Hunter explained, ignoring my offer of a seat and standing with his arms folded across his broad chest. “I know he isn’t happy about the arrangement, but I was hoping he may at least cooperate.” He ran a hand over his clean-shaven jaw. “Our positions are reliant upon mortals and their prayers. If fewer people pray to us, we lose power. The first step is to become a minor God and then we cease to exist.”
The information he shared wasn’t news. It’d all been laid out with the offer of the job. People prayed less, content with the worldly possessions they could gain themselves. What use were Gods when you could resolve issues in mortal ways? Retail therapy never ghosted you. I understood the apathy that came with being just another number in the long line of sinners to the deities.
Hunter was eager to nip the issue in the bud and believed that a better understanding of the Gods would draw people to them again. I wasn’t sure I agreed. Biology might prove they were divine, physics might explain the mechanisms behind the powers they possessed, but how did you install faith in people when you’d let them down time after time?
“Grayson.” Hunter sighed. “Well, I guess mortals will always be vengeful.”
Hunter led the Gods, both elite tier and minor, because humans relied on him and asked for forgiveness and protection. They didn’t just ask those things for themselves but also on behalf of loved ones, and that gave him strength that rivalled the others. He would have been the natural choice for a leader, but that didn’t mean the others weren’t relied upon.
“He doesn’t believe in the need for integration or understanding,” Hunter continued. “He thinks he’s above it all.” The frustration seeped into his words.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “I got that vibe from him.”
A sad smile crossed Hunter’s face. “I hope you won’t judge us all based on my brother’s actions.”
“I really can’t judge you,” I said, leaning back against the granite countertop gently, trying not to irritate my ribs where the pain was still prominent.
“Ah, yes. My wife sensed that about you. You don’t pray. Haven’t relied on us. Not quite a believer.”
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The brazen undecidedness I held towards them dimmed when faced with a God so reasonable. But Hunter didn’t appear to be angry with my lack of belief. He looked tired.
Unsure what to tell him, I turned away and grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter, uncorking it with a pop. I opened the cabinet and reached up for a glass, but the motion made me gasp as the pain shot through my ribs.
