Page 28 of Lies Among Gods

She rose on the balls of her feet and pressed her lips to his. It was a soft, grateful kiss, a genuine outpouring of the complex affection she had developed for him—a man who saw her in all her flaws and still gave her what he had never been offered.

He kissed her back, his hand coming up to cup the back of her head, deepening the connection until her mind spun with the grounded, consuming heat of him. His tongue slid into her mouth, and she tasted him: coffee and the slow burn of temptation.

She pulled away first, steadying herself with a hand on his chest. Her heart was hammering, torn between the raw, honest danger of Alaios and the gilded, effortless charm of Asmodeus. She felt like a boat caught between two powerful, opposing tides.

"Thank you,” she whispered, the words meaning so much more than just gratitude for the warning and the truth.

She stepped back, turning toward the door. She knew she had to leave before she lost herself entirely to the moment, before she revealed just how utterly undecided, she was.

Turning back, she looked at him and said, “I need to get home before everyone wakes up.”

Alaios watched her go, a familiar, possessive fire in his eyes.

Lyra left the temple, the cool morning air unable to extinguish the heat beneath her skin, the memory of his mouth warring with the echo of Asmodeus’s tempting purr.

Confused, she got on the tram, taking a seat in the corner, hoping to avoid prying eyes. The memory of the kiss and the raw intensity in Alaios’s eyes pulsed beneath her skin. Her fingertips, tingling from the phantom sensation, ghosted over her lips, a silent plea to bridge the distance, to feel the warmth again.

The sudden, unnerving sensation of being watched quickly overshadowed it. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, a prickling of dread that was no longer the generic anxiety of being famous, but a focused, chilling scrutiny. She turned around sharply, her eyes scanning the commuters, but didn’t catch anyone looking at her. Shaking off the unease as mere nerves, she pulled her hoodie further down to hide her face.

The tram finally slowed for her stop. As she hurried off, she risked a quick glance back. The same male—plain, forgettable, and yet entirely fixed on her—was there, his gaze unwavering. The doors hissed shut, sealing him inside, but the feeling of dread didn’t dissipate; it solidified into a heavy, cold weight in her stomach, a premonition that this wasn’t just a fan or a reporter, but something darker. She started walking, the unsettling image of his eyes already propelling her toward a reckless speed.

Chapter twenty-four

CHAPTER 19

Even families were not spared; brothers and sisters debated whose god was just, whose path was true, and whose devotion was insufficient. The land, once harmonious under the guidance of Sun, Ocean, and Earth, began to show cracks, subtle yet persistent, in every village and city.

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

Lyra stood still, the emerald-green velvet dress a heavy sheath against her skin. It fit like a second skin, the rich fabric draping perfectly, emphasizing curves she hadn’t known she possessed. The bodice dipped dramatically low, a bold plunge that revealed a shocking amount of cleavage, and the high slit in the skirt ascended to mid-thigh, offering a tantalizing view of her leg with every slight movement. Shimmering like a constellation, the tiny jewels sewn into the dress winked and flashed, scattering pinpricks of light that danced across the fabric.

Her mother and Anya moved around her in a frantic ballet of final preparations. Diane fussed with the intricate braidsAnya had woven into Lyra’s dark brown hair, securing a few shimmering pins.

"Perfect, darling! Absolute perfection. The Gods will see exactly what a triumph you are,” Diane whispered, her hands shaking slightly with nervous excitement as she smoothed the skirt.

Anya, equally breathless, dabbed a final touch of gloss on Lyra’s lips, stepping back to admire her work. “The color is divine on you. It makes your eyes look like jewels, Lyra."

Lyra’s gaze met her own reflection in the full-length mirror. She didn’t recognize the woman looking back. The anxious, slightly slumping girl who hid in hoodies was gone, replaced by a confident, almost dangerous figure whose poise seemed born of the dress itself. The person in the mirror was certainly Lyra Nymphaea, but she looked like a queen dressed for battle—or seduction. It was her reflection, yet it felt like a glimpse into the formidable woman she was supposed to become, not the person she was.

A chime of the doorbell echoed through the house, immediately followed by the sound of her father, Pollo, opening the door.

Diane straightened instantly, her eyes blazing. “That must be Asmodeus. We can’t keep him waiting! Come, Lyra, we must make an entrance."

Anya sighed, a mix of envy and devotion coloring her tone. “You are so lucky, Lyra, being pursued by a handsome god like him."

Lyra side-eyed Anya, unsure if that was a compliment to herself or an insult towards her brother.

Diane gently took her hand. Lyra locked eyes with her. Noticing for the first time in a long time, pride shimmered in her mother’s eyes. They flanked her, carefully guiding her toward the entryway.

As they reached the archway, Lyra saw him. Asmodeus Hedone was a breathtaking sight, leaning casually against the doorframe. He wore a tuxedo jacket the color of rich emerald velvet, the exact shade as her dress, paired with a crisp black button-up shirt and matching black slacks. He was immaculate, a vision of confident power

His baby-blue eyes swept over Lyra, and the slow, knowing smile that spread across his face felt like a physical caress.

"You walked in and I swear my brain said, ‘Say something dirty or regret it forever’. So… here we are,” he purred, his voice dropping to a seductive register.

Lyra laughed, a genuine, delighted sound that felt free and easy. He always managed to make her laugh, to make her feel impossibly beautiful, but the ever-present question rattled beneath her amusement:Did he truly mean it, or am I just a new, amusing plaything, a prized conquest he would eventually discard when the novelty wore off?

“Hey,” Pollo laughed. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about.”