Silas, the mortal who was shunned from his home country as a child, was the catalyst for the violence. It was no surprise that the High Goddess of War backed him.
Julian, the mortal on the opposing side, gave several failed attempts to cease the war against his brother. The High Goddess of Peace was doing all she could to answer his prayers.
Soon enough, someone would act out of line and the Council would be forced to intervene. In turn, Cassian would have another divine being to punish in his prison.
He envied those with no responsibilities. In the last year, he’d grown greedy with his time and how much of it he spent with Finnian. They went through lulls where their schedules kept them from seeing one another, and Cassian often daydreamed of a time where that wouldn’t be the case.
The night creeped into the early morning hours. Isla and Eleanor abandoned hope that Finnian would arrive before the sunrise and left Cassian at the tavern alone.
He switched from beer to bourbon and moved to a table in the far corner. The tavern was quieter now, dim lights like rays gleaming through honey.
He was hidden from the women circling the tables of men like vultures. Propped up on laps, whispering lustful promises in their ears until they couldn’t handle it any longer and stoodup with the woman in hand, venturing out the back door of the tavern into the shadow-littered alleyway.
Cassian swirled the bourbon in his glass.
One year of time with Finnian. Three hundred and sixty-five days with him that seemed to have sped by like a falling star. How long would Ruelle give them?
Cassian stared at his reflection in the bourbon.
Sickness clotted his stomach at the thought. Ruelle was infuriatingly patient. She would wait. Let Cassian’s thread tangle with Finnian’s until he’d forgotten what life was like before him. It would be the best way to inflict more suffering when she finally decided to meddle.
Fear welled up in him each time he envisioned Finnian’s absence in his life. Crippling, paralyzing fear he did not know how to solve.
In time, he would curse Naia, make a bargain with her, and then curse her again. The Himura demigod’s blood would be his and he could do away with Ruelle. However, that was years away. He needed a solution at the ready—just in case.
Only, coming up with one felt like digging for a needle in a haystack, as the possibilities of Ruelle’s hand were limitless.
He let out an exhale and centered his focus back onto his surroundings—the calm setting of the tavern, the cool glass in his hand, the smell of peanuts and smoke in the atmosphere.
It had been hours. Finnian was probably held up with more tasks. That’s how to-do lists worked. Cross one thing off just for another to be added.
I should wait for him at home.
Aclickof heels sounded along the wooden floor.
Cassian lifted his chin.
“You look like you are in need of company,” a woman purred.
She did not wait for permission before sliding into the chair beside him. The strong fragrance of her perfume burned his nostrils.
She crossed her legs under the table, and her heel brushed up Cassian’s shin.
He moved his foot, breaking their connection.
She leaned in and rested her arm along the back of his chair. The tight dress she wore hugged her hourglass physique like a glove. It sported a daring neckline, and the position she sat in gave Cassian a clean view of her cleavage.
“I am in no need of company.” He sat his bourbon on the table, ignoring her close proximity to his space. She’d arrived earlier in the night with three other women. They’d gone their separate ways and made several rounds amongst the men.
She brushed her lips along the side of his neck, and a pang shot up into his skull.
His stomach knotted and he recoiled. Blood rushed to his head and his heart accelerated. His vision swam and swayed a bit.
He gripped the edge of the table to stabilize his balance. The teeth of his divine energy cut into his veins and latched onto the magic infecting his blood.
She came closer, nuzzling her breasts against his arm. “You don’t look so good.” Her voice wrapped around his ears like a song.
A surge of heat flushed in his abdomen. Tension pulled his muscles taut.
