Her smirk went flat, and she jerked her chin. “Sick fuck, be gone.”
He teleported away, probably eager to rejoin the line of deities waiting to cross the platform. It was a form of entertainment, to play with pain. A shock to the nervous system, and a way to feelsomethingfor those that felt nothing inside—or for a lesser god to build up their pain tolerance. Either way, deities had a peculiar way of sating their boredom.
“Only you could betray the High God and then somehow convince him to start hate-fucking you,” Viviana muttered before sipping on her drink.
“How was he?” Mansi messed with a piece on the side of her bolt-action rifle, a newer creation that was meant for larger, more defensive game. Her dark brunette waves shifted around her shoulders as she did so, the gold chain around the crown of her head catching in the dim overhead lights. Her jewelry matched the buttons and stitching of her lavish cropped vest. “The bastard is crazy as all hell.” She looked up at Marina, smiling deviously. “So, I imagine he’s a nasty one.”
Marina rolled her eyes. “He was fine.” She signaled to the bartender for another refill.
It was a lie. Thebastardactually performed well. Ever since their encounter a few days ago, the grief and betrayal webbed in Marina’s chest had loosened up a bit. The ache was still there, but her mind was preoccupied with flashes of Acacius’s hands on her waist, his tongue captivating her with each swirl, the intensity of his divine power pulsing feverish waves through her.
A heat kindled behind Marina’s navel as the bartender refilled her glass.
Stop thinking about it.
“Next!” Mansi shouted, aiming her gun straight at the platform. Another god sped out from behind the curtain, racing across the stage with fervor. The clap of the shot resounded, and the god hit the floor. This one made it more than halfway across—a respectable attempt.
Marina knocked the wine back in one gulp, hoping it would burn away the sensations of Acacius still lingering on her skin.
The bartender shifted his stance, the opening of his blazer revealing his bare abdomen underneath. He rested his hand in the pocket of his stocky pants, his lavender gaze sparkling with an amused look before filling her glass again and stalking away.
Marina rested forward on the bar top, running her fingers through her hair. Her nails felt good against her scalp. She took a breath and analyzed her mental state. Her thoughts were quiet.
It appeared the intense release she received from Acacius was to thank for her peace of mind.
As the days prolonged, though, she knew the anguish would reappear. It would start gradually, like static caught in her head—her final moment with Mother, gnawing on every word she’d said and wondering if she, herself, should’ve done things differently; going through Mother’s confession and the centuries of betrayal ingesting her insides; Father and his death, and the heavy, benthic remorse.
When these feelings would eventually take over, she’d desperately want to seek out Acacius again, like he was some sort of panacea to cure her torment. It was a habit of hers that she refused to succumb to. If it was sex she needed, she could find a willing deity anywhere. Acacius wouldnothave power over her.
Mansi came up beside Marina and reached for her iceless whiskey. She smelled of hot ore, the metal from her inventions fresh on her fingertips, mixed with almonds and sandalwood, the oils she used on her skin. Mansi enjoyed traveling the Mortal Land and collecting products to enhance her beauty. She was theonly goddess that Marina knew who didn’t use glamor in any facet.
Mansi swallowed her amber drink and licked her lips. “I have never been prouder of you than at this moment.”
“Because you have such high expectations of me to begin with,” Marina teased, spinning around in her stool to look out at the room. Dark Quarry was one of the many dive bars located on the tertiary level of the Drefan district, a hideout for the masochists within the shady shops all interconnected by iron bridges.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked Isolde. Up this high, the tawny glow from the city’s crevices reminded Marina of the melted honey her servants used to drizzle atop sea berry scones. They were a breakfast she never enjoyed, so they were always sent to Naia’s bedchamber instead.
Mansi sauntered back to the shooting mark and crouched next to her bag. Various tools and metal pieces lay out around the black leather: different sizes of chambers, cartridges, grips, and sights that she could meld into her current weapon. The metal morphed at the call of her divine will.
Viviana faced the windows, propping her elbows back on the bar top. “It appears you are the talk amongst deities.”
Marina crossed her legs and held her wine to her lips. “Someone has to be. Deities are rather annoying beings that way, always longing to talk about another. If not me, then you, or the Council.”
Viviana stared down at her gin, swirling the ice around in thought. “Is it true that you almost lost your title to Torin?”
Marina heard Viviana’s actual question underneath:Why would you give in?
During the battle with Torin, Naia had called out her name, right when Marina was about to let the god strip her of her title. Her sister’s boisterous voice had plunged Marina into what feltlike frozen river water. A lump had swelled in her throat. Naia cared. Even if just a little, she cared for Marina’s wellbeing, and it was enough to revive her spirit and decapitate the god.
“I paid a visit to Mira.” Marina took a large gulp to numb the emotions that came with the topic of her mother.
Viviana cut her gaze onto Marina. “And?”
Marina focused on the pale, saffron-colored liquid in her glass—anything but the pinch in Viviana’s brow. “Shesent those gods to my bedchamber night after night, to hunt me down wherever I was in the palace.”
The words were heavy, like rocks crumbling down her throat and into her chest.
Viviana straightened in her stool and remained quiet for a long second.
