Page 8 of Lies Among Gods

"Ah, but youdidcall upon me tonight, didn’t you? You wanted to escape, to be desired, to feel powerful. You reached for Lust, and I answered.” He picked up her glass and held it, turning it slowly. The light, a warm, golden hue, danced and glinted off the amber liquid within. “I want to show you exactly why you were denied and why you are destined to be one of us. And more importantly, I want to show you what it feels like to truly, utterlywantand be wanted without consequence."

He pushed the glass back toward her hand, her fingers locking around the cup of their own accord. As his fingers left the rim, she felt a lingering, electric warmth. “Finish your drink and let’s go, Lyra. I’m taking you somewhere you belong."

She stared deeply into those baby-blue eyes, feeling a pull as if they physically tugged at her. His eyes drifted to her lips, and for a moment she thought he would kiss her. She felt the heat rise and her core tighten.

His husky voice, like gravel shifting, urged, “Drink up.”

She lifted the cool glass, its condensation slick against her fingers, and swallowed. The amber liquid burned a fiery path down her throat.

He stood up, extending his hand once again. “Come,” he commanded.

She rested her hand in his, and he tugged her up, dragging her from the bar. He walked into the street without looking for traffic. Her eyes darted around, looking to see if a car was speeding towards them.

He didn’t break stride, simply pulling her hand and then swinging her up into his arms as they hit the middle of the road. She let out a gasp of surprise, the city lights blurring as they spun once, twice, a giddy, dizzying rush that stole her breath. When he set her down, her feet barely touched the pavement before a profound, startling stillness fell. Every single hair on herbody seemed to stand on end, a sudden, powerful charge arcing through her skin.

Then, a blinding, pure white light erupted around them, instantaneous and all-consuming. It wasn’t painful, but overwhelming—a pressure that felt like being submerged in pure energy. Lyra felt weightless, the sounds of the city vanishing entirely, replaced by a dull roar in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the disorientation.

When she dared to open them again, the world had been completely remade. She was standing on solid, shimmering ground, but the air felt like liquid silk. They were inside a vast cathedral of white—pure, unblemished white that somehow contained infinite depth and light without being harsh. The walls didn’t look solid; they seemed to shimmer and move, flowing like heavy, illuminated water, their edges constantly reforming into vague arches and columns. Everything was almost dreamy, ethereal, as if the entire structure were woven from moonlight and mist.

Asmodeus looked down at her, his baby-blue eyes blazing with a mix of triumph and indulgence. His perfect smile was the only thing that seemed truly stable in the fluid space.

“Welcome,” he murmured, his voice echoing softly despite the hall’s size, “to the Hall of Ascendance. Where the court of the gods is held.”

Chapter eleven

CHAPTER 6

When devotion failed to quiet desire, the God of Lust, Asmodeus Hedone, descended, and want was given a name we could no longer ignore. He was sent not to corrupt, but to reveal what restraint had failed to erase in our souls.

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

Lyra stared at the ceiling, processing the events of last night. She had only been in the Hall of Ascendance for maybe a few minutes before Asmodeus said they needed to leave before anyone caught her there. As they touched down on Earth, he winked at her, a playful glint in his eye. “Our secret,” he whispered before turning and disappearing, leaving only the lingering scent of ozone and a flutter in her chest.

Could I really be destined to be a goddess? It just seems so absurd. I am a nobody, nothing in the eyes of people. Even my own parents are disappointed in my existence. So why would whatever fates were out there decide I was to be something more? I can’t even hold down a job.

Rolling out of bed, she threw on sweatpants and a tank top. Too tired to care what she looked like. Her fingers ghosted over her hair, a gentle attempt to smooth it. In the mirror, dark smudges bloomed beneath her eyes, like faint bruises against the pale skin. They were a stark, smudged reminder of last night’s makeup, a greasy film she had forgotten to remove. She rubbed at it with her fingertips, only deepening the shadowy smear. She took a deep breath before opening her door. She knew her mom would start the ‘dress for the life you want to lead’ speech, but she didn’t care.

The floor felt cool beneath her bare feet as she padded down the hallway towards the kitchen. A rich, savory scent of frying bacon tickled her nose, her stomach growled, a reminder of her lack of dinner the night before. Her ears perked up hearing a soft tune. The closer she got, the clearer the sound became: her mother’s gentle, cheerful humming, a warm melody filling the air.

Lyra froze in the hallway, the smell of bacon and coffee wafting from the kitchen like an irresistible siren song. She desperately hoped the silence meant there were no guests, but the sheer quantity of food she could glimpse through the doorway suggested otherwise. A loud, embarrassing growl from her stomach betrayed her presence and her gnawing hunger. The thought of last night’s nonexistent dinner quickly overruled any shame over her sweatpants and tank top. A full stomach, she decided, was worth a lecture on sloppiness.

A sudden chill prickled her skin as she entered the room, and she froze. A low groan rumbled in her throat, echoing slightly in the room, as her eyes swept over the room. The table held heaps of food, a chaotic, colorful feast.

“Who’s coming over for breakfast, and do I have to get dressed up?” Lyra sighed as her shoulders slumped.

I just wanted to relax and eat breakfast. Now it looks like we are going to have an army over here to eat.

“Oh, you,” Diane walked over and smoothed down Lyra’s hair. Her hands came down to cup Lyra’s cheeks gently. “You have always been my pretty little pebble. I just wish you took better care of yourself.”

“Okay.” Lyra rolled her eyes. “I now know for sure this is gonna be bad. Have you sold me off to some rich old man, and this is my farewell breakfast?”

“It’s just brunch since you slept in late,” Diane laughed. “If we were going to sell you, we would have done it years ago. Though I am not sure who we would sell you to.”

“Just sit down and make a plate,” Pollo grumbled.

She glanced at her father. His gaze met hers, and a slow, warm smile bloomed across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. With a gentle nudge of his worn leather shoe, he scooted the wooden chair beside him. She sank onto it, a sense of bewildered warmth settling in as she tried to decipher the infectious cheer that filled the air.

“Did I miss the memo on something?” Lyra asked, piling food onto her plate.