Page 24 of Lies Among Gods

Lyra sighed. “Simple and painless sounds... nice, after everything."

Alaios's gaze settled on her, sharp and uncompromising. “That is the trap. Perfection is the absence of necessity. If you choose the perfect life, you are choosing a life that doesn’t need to be ruled and doesn’t need a new god to correct it. It proves you are content to be guided, not to govern. A goddess must crave dominion over her fate, not a reprieve from it."

"So, I have to reject happiness?” She whispered, finding the concept brutal and counterintuitive to everything life had taught her to reach for.

"You have to reject the easy happiness,” he corrected. “The happiness that is given, not earned. The trial will ask you to surrender your ambition for ease. Every temptation is a velvet handcuff. You must value the struggle that made you who you are—the rejection, the fight, the unaligned path—more than the flawless alternative it offers. That struggle is proof of your strength, Lyra. It’s the core of your being."

He pushed off the desk. His footsteps were a soft, rhythmic thud on the floor as he paced. His hands clasped tightly behind his back. “It’s a test of whether you’d rather be the most cherished possession in a perfect world, or the sovereign who must endure an imperfect one. You need to believe in the things that aren’t easy, the path that is rough. Not in all the things that are just handed to us."

Lyra studied him, her brow furrowed. His expression was utterly stoic; his eyes were intense and professional. He spoke of her deepest fears and vulnerabilities with the cool detachment of a battle strategist. Yet, the fact that he was here, taking the time to brief her, felt like a deliberate act of care. Sometimes she would see him looking at her with an intensity, but right nowit felt more like he was staring through her. The look in those eyes softened.Was this his version of flirting? A calculated, high-stakes warning cloaked in the eyes? Maybe that’s what he meant when he said he doesn’t do innocence, but he doesn’t realize I’m not so innocent.

She decided to pivot the conversation. She craved lighter words, a conversation that didn’t revolve around the grim ticking clock of her life and afterlife.

She looked up at him and said, “And what do you believe in as a God?"

His intense gaze, a sharp, piercing pool of darkness, widened, surprise flooding his eyes like a sudden, unexpected tide as the question hung in the air, sharp and clear. “Myself."

"That’s it? You don’t believe in anything else? Like friends, family…” she paused, looking for something in his eyes she wasn’t sure of, “love?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, a gesture devoid of humor. “I’ve lived a long time and lost all of my mortal family. Plus, I don’t know if you haven’t noticed, I’m not the most popular among mortals or my own kind."

"I don’t know if you noticed I haven’t always been the popular mortal myself,” Lyra said, a wry smile touching her lips.

He laughed, a low, guttural sound that resonated deep from his chest. “Oh, I noticed, Lyra. That’s precisely why I pay attention. The popular ones are predictable; they want what they’re told to want. Sheep who go along with the flow of what’s expected.” He shifted his weight, and the conversation flowed back to the trials, his voice steady and serious as he explained the necessity of discipline.

Lyra followed his monologue, but her focus was less on the abstract concepts of dominion and more on the man in front of her. She looked at him, truly looked at him, and realized how handsome he really was. The brutal line of his scar didn’tdiminish his features; it simply made them sharper, more compelling. She reached up, a purely instinctive gesture, and brushed a stray dark lock out of his face. Her fingers paused as his silky strands slid between her fingers.

He paused mid-sentence, his dark eyes locking onto hers, the flicker of surprise quickly replaced by that familiar, piercing intensity.

“What happens when you let go of that control?” she whispered breathily.

He shook his head before straightening up. Lyra prepared to leave, the fear of the trials momentarily eclipsed by the unexpected connection she felt. But as she took a step back, his hand shot out, catching hers.

His hand was rough and calloused, the skin hardened by centuries of working—a stark contrast to the soft, elegant, almost decadent smoothness of Asmodeus’s touch. The feeling was completely different: not the heady, chaotic intoxication of desire that Asmodeus offered, but a potent, grounding strength that made her feel like recklessly taking.

Alaios moved with sudden, brutal speed, pulling her flush against his chest. He bent down, and this kiss was not the swift, sweet press of lips that Asmodeus had given her before. It was deep, all-consuming heat, demanding and possessive, a clash of wills expressed in fire and pressure. His lips were firm, his intent absolute, and the storm of feeling that erupted inside Lyra was a violent, undeniable answer.

His tongue invaded her mouth as if laying siege, a forceful, determined thrust that sought to conquer her defenses. It swept across her teeth, a bold and intrusive exploration, and pressed against her own tongue with a possessive urgency. The kiss was not gentle, nor was it a question. It was a declaration, a forceful assertion of desire that left no room for hesitation. Each movement was deliberate; a strategic maneuver aimed atoverwhelming her senses and claiming her with an intensity that bordered on desperation. The invasion felt both thrilling and terrifying, a precarious balance on the edge of surrender.

He pulled back, his breath coming in a low, ragged stream that fluttered her hair, his eyes dark with unleashed hunger barely kept in check.

"Don’t tempt me again, Lyra,” he stated, his voice a low, rough growl, his grip tightening just enough to remind her of his strength. “Unless you want to know how far I’ll go when you say yes."

Her breath locked in her throat, all thoughts vanished as she wanted to get a deeper taste of him. He released her, gently pushing her away. She turned and walked out of the room; the door shutting with a thud behind her. She turned to stare at that door, her fingers tracing her lips and the lingering warmth.

Chapter twenty-one

CHAPTER 16

At last, the murmurs of discord drew the attention of the pantheon. Alaios Tugadóir descended, and where his feet touched, divisions sharpened and old grievances flared. Strife was not punishment, but a teacher, guiding mortals to understand that peace under War was fleeting and that survival required both cunning and courage. The faithful learned that obedience alone could not protect them; some lessons must be earned in conflict.

Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran

Lyra snuggled up in bed, playing a game on her phone. She had no plans other than to do nothing. The silence of her room, broken only by the faint, rhythmic sound effects of the game, was a fragile sanctuary she desperately needed. After the chaos of the last few days—the gods, her parents, and the constant press—the idea of simply existing without a script felt like the most rebellious act she could commit. She just needed a few hours where Lyra was allowed to be a girl in sweatpants and at-shirt, not the Unaligned, not the Reject, and certainly not the ‘Future Goddess’.

Diane, moving with the frantic, purposeful energy of a mother on a mission, threw open Lyra’s door. “Lyra, get up. It’s a family dinner, and you will not disrespect your brothers by missing it."

Lyra burrowed under the blanket and let out a low, rumbling groan that vibrated in her chest. “Mom, can I just have one day of peace and quiet?”