Page 7 of Lies Among Gods

Asmodeus Hedone, the God of Lust. The god she claimed to worship stood before her, a stark silhouette against the grimy, amber-lit backdrop of the dive bar. She’d seen his face plastered across screens, splashed across vibrant social media feeds, yet the reality of him, here and now, was a jolt that prickled her skin.

His gaze locked onto her, a slow, widening smirk blooming on his lips, a sight that held no judgment, only the raw, palpable heat of unadulterated, boundless desire.

"A goddess never dates beneath her,” he purred, his voice like velvet and venom, as he reached out. His thumb brushed lightly across her bottom lip. The touch, feather-light yet possessive, sent a shiver through her, a tiny tremor.

Lyra's mind screamed—Run! Lie! Pretend he’s mistaken!—but her voice was steady, defiant, and startlingly calm. She met his gaze; the panic hidden behind her newly acquired false confidence. “Is that your best pickup line?” She challenged him, daring to hold his attention.If the gods are playing a game, then I can play as well.

Chapter ten

CHAPTER 5

Though marriage bound hearts and homes, desire lingered in the spaces between vows, untamed and unanswered. Even under sacred union, temptation found its way into mortal hearts, and whispers of excess began to spread.

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

Lyra watched, a flicker of mischievous light igniting in Asmodeus’s eyes. The air seemed to crackle with unspoken mischief as a sly, knowing grin stretched across his lips, hinting at plans yet to unfold.

“Is that a challenge, little goddess?” Asmodeus said, his voice was like silk gliding across her skin.

“I’m no goddess,” Lyra scoffed, a dismissive flick of her eyes.

Lyra felt Marcus stiffen next to her, a small, involuntary movement that sent a shiver of dread down her spine. The easy, carefree atmosphere of her invented night out evaporated instantly, replaced by a cold, hard certainty that her performance was over. The reality of the divine presence hadshattered the comfortable, small lie she’d constructed to have a night of carefree fun.

Marcus’s voice was a husky whisper, a faint rasp, “You know Asmodeus?”

Marcus’s grip on her thigh tightened, a panicked vice rather than an intimate touch, his fingers digging into the soft flesh just below her dress. Frowning, she reached down, the cool, smooth fabric of her dress a contrast to the rough denim of his jeans as she pried his hands off her thigh, knowing the imprint would linger as a dull ache, a bruise blooming beneath the surface.

Her eyes darted around the bar to see that all the people were staring at them, or to be more exact, Asmodeus. Several figures scattered throughout the bar were holding up their devices.They’re recording this, recording us.

Lyra felt a fresh wave of ice-cold dread flood her system. Her failure, her shock, her every involuntary reaction, would be immortalized, judged, and dissected by throngs of people on social media.Maybe I’ll get lucky and no one I know will see this and it’ll get buried in their feeds. Maybe my humiliation won’t go viral across Pantheia.

Even as the thought formed in her mind, she knew it was a lie; the God was a magnet for attention, his presence pulling every eye in the room and every camera. Marcus, Lyra noted, looked utterly star struck, his former confidence had completely evaporated.

"He’ll take that as a yes,” Asmodeus purred. He looked pointedly at Marcus, who still hadn’t moved. “Run along, fire boy. Your kind burns going down, but she needs something that is a little stronger to drink."

Marcus stammered, scrambling out of the booth, his eyes fixed on the God of Lust. “Of course, God Asmodeus. Forgive my presumption. I didn’t realize…” He grabbed his jacket and jumped up with the urgency of a mortal who had just realized hewas standing before a God. “May the gods ever be with you. I’m an idiot, you’re a god. I’m sorry.”

“I said leave,” Asmodeus snorted, his cocky smirk widening like a predatory grin.

Marcus scrambled out of the booth.

Lyra looked at him, trying to figure out what was going on. She had spent her whole life never meeting a god, being rejected by all of them, having few friends and even fewer opportunities after all the gods denied her. Now, in the span of a week, she met two gods.Is what the God of Strife said actually true? Or are they all in on the prank, and the joke is on me?She studied Asmodeus’s face, unsure of what was true and what wasn’t. She just knew that she couldn’t back down now.

Asmodeus extended his hand to her. The fingers long and lean, no calluses on that soft-looking palm, as if he had never worked a day in his life.This is a prank. There is no way I could be a goddess. It has been hundreds of years since the last god descended. They have gotten together to make me the butt of a joke, and I will not play along.

"Are you always this pushy, or is this just your godly charm?” Lyra asked, folding her arms across her chest, the fabric of her tight black dress rustling with the movement. The pose was meant to be defiant, but instead, the constricting material pressed her breasts upward.

Asmodeus chuckled, a low, rich sound that promised both luxury and ruin as his eyes went to her cleavage. He let his hand drop slowly, his baby-blue eyes coming back to hers. “I just wanted to meet the future goddess, presenting her with my seraphic presence. And here I find a woman who doesn’t want to admit she will soon join us as one of the divine. It’s a terrible waste to deny both.” He slid into the booth and took Marcus’s vacated seat, settling in with a grace that felt entirelytoo intimate for the dingy bar. The scent of vetiver and jasmine, clean yet deeply sensual, displaced the stale beer smell.

"You’re still on that ‘goddess’ lie?” Lyra scoffed. “What’s the endgame here? You and the God of Strife swapping notes on how to mess with the lonely, pathetic human? Is this how you guys keep yourselves entertained? I would have thought you both were a little too old for such childish antics."

Asmodeus leaned back, one arm resting along the top of the booth, his posture radiating careless power. “Alaios is a bore. He prefers his suffering to be earned. My philosophy is far simpler: Why waste time on strife when you can luxuriate in pleasure?” He paused, his gaze sweeping down her body and back up, slow and thorough. "He tells you the truth to inflict pain. I tell you the truth because it’s the most desirable thing you’ve heard all year. Not a single part of it is a lie.”

“The most desirable thing I’ve heard all year was that I’m not legally required to apologize for existing,” Lyra retorted. “So, if you’re trying to tempt me, you’re failing."

He laughed again, a genuine burst of amusement this time. “You lie with the practiced ease of one of my dedicated worshippers, little goddess. But you’re not built for mediocrity, which is why they all rejected you. You’re too much. Too vibrant for Peace, too bright for Shadow, too unruly for Sun or Earth.” He gestured toward the eyes watching them. “Too beautiful for this crowd of gawkers. And you’re certainly too much for a fire-artisan whose biggest fear is messing up his next sculpture."

A hot flush crept up her neck and bloomed across her cheeks, a visible wave of warmth spreading across her skin. “So, what do you want me to say? I lied about worshipping you. I’m a joke. The one girl everyone denies, even the God of Strife. I just wanted a night out without being hated. Happy? I confessed my sins."