Ares (Contemporary Mythos Book 3)

I bounced on the balls of my feet, staring at the grooves of the concrete wall. A new location. A new gym. This one wasn’t much different from the others—a ring in the center, punching bags in each corner, mats scattered every few feet, and any upper body weight system you could imagine. In minutes, I’d be in the cage defending my title for the second time. It felt good to bear the championship title, but at the same time, it added unavoidable stress. The moment defeat came for a champion, the fight offers would dwindle. I didn’t need to be on top, but I did need women still pining to fight me.

“Punching the air will do nothing to condition you. Here. Come on.” Mars held his palms out in front of him.

“What?” I stared at his hands like they were two octopuses.

“You think you’re going to hurt me?” He punched a fist against his opposite palm. “Come on.”

I furrowed my brow, watching his fixed gaze beckoning me—luring me. I threw a punch at half-speed, raising my left hand to shield my face. I’d sought every opportunity to punch him, but now that I had the chance, I wussed out? Huh.

He dropped his hands. “Vlákas, Harm. I’ve swatted mosquitoes with more force. Hit me. Come. On.” He growled his last words, beating his knuckles before opening his palms. He glowered down at me, his hands framing his head.

Priscila’s face shimmered across my brain as she called me out on live television. My jaw shook, and I slammed my fist into his hand with a grunt.

“Good. Again. Harder.”

My chest pumped, and I sent two more punches into his hands with a yell.

“Again. Don’t hold back, Makos.”

I let out a battle cry and slammed my fist into his with such force it hurt my hand, despite wearing gloves. Yet, he barely staggered backward.

“What the hell are you doing, Mars?” I shook my hand with a grimace.

“What you need.”

“What I need?” I guffawed. “And you know what I need?”

“Yes.” He stalked toward me.

I backed up until my ass hit the matted wall.

“I know about the fire inside you. The eternal flame you can never seem to squelch no matter how often you fool yourself into thinking otherwise.”

I dug my nails into the mat behind me. His face dipped, and my eyes dropped to the plumpness of his lips peeking out from his beard.

“You need to recognize the opportunity to let it explode, or it will consume you. I know it. And you know it.”

I concentrated on the bumpy texture pressed against my fingertips, distracting myself from his proximity as his scent twisted my insides. The announcer’s voice echoed over the speakers, calling me to the wings. I let out a haggard breath as Mars stepped away, slipping on his Aviators.

“You ready, Amazon?”

Ready? I wasn’t even sure I could stand upright. Gulping, I secured the French braids on each side of my head and threw on the hood of my sweatshirt. The knuckles of my gloves creaked as I pressed them together. The Wonder Woman theme blared through the arena.

The music. The crowd. Through my tunneled vision, I saw none of it—heard none of it. My focus glued on Priscila’s smug grin as she leaned against the cage with her arms folded, staring me down. I threw jabs as I walked, echoes of swords clanging against shields pounding in my ears—the same sounds of war I’d dreamt the night before. Mars stayed on my heels; his arms stretched to either side. He didn’t hesitate to push anyone back who stepped too close, giving extra oomph to the paparazzi.

After slipping a mouthguard over my teeth, I held my arms behind me to let Mars remove my jacket. His fingers grazed my arms, dragging the sleeves down, littering my skin with goosebumps. I shook my head, refocusing my brain on my opponent and shoving aside the continued mixed feelings I’d been experiencing for my bodyguard.

I climbed into the ring, seething at Priscila, who paced back and forth, pointing at me. The sounds of the cheering audience in the surrounding stadium seating faded away. The blazing lights glaring from all directions further boosted the adrenaline in my veins.

“Harm,” Mars beckoned outside the cage.

I turned to face him.

“She pissed you off. She insulted you.” He lowered his sunglasses, resting them on the tip of his nose, staring at me with a glint in his eye. “Out there—” He gestured behind him. “You’re judged. In here, you’re the executioner. Battles aren’t won at half strength.” His gaze reddened like that time in the gym. “Use it.” He used his forefinger to slide the glasses back over his eyes.

An inferno raged up my spine, and I turned on my heel, glaring daggers into my opponent’s very essence. The ref called us forward, and Priscila and I stood toe-to-toe. The smirk creasing the corner of her lips fed gasoline to my fire.

“If you want to touch gloves, touch gloves now,” the ref said.

Fuck that. I beat my knuckles together as I backed away. She had no idea the beatdown she was about to endure.

We both shuffled forward. No sooner was she in arm’s reach, I threw a right hook, clipping her ear. Her eyes widened, and I curled my arm over her neck, trying to take her down, but she stayed. We circled each other several times, and I backed down for nothing. Every moment she slid into my reach zone, I threw another hook. Prepared for her retaliation, I grabbed her arm when she threw a hook, wrapped mine around it, and secured my hand behind her shoulder. My free hand became a fury of uppercuts and jabs, landing in her gut or face.

She slipped her hand around the back of my head. I ducked and shoved my forearm into her chest, sending her toppling backward on her ass. She scrambled to her feet, and I launched forward. My vision turned crimson, and she held her arms up, preparing for the hits she knew were coming. I threw left hook after right hook repeatedly, clipping the side of her head and chin with each swing. A left punch landed square against her cheek, and I switched to kneeing her in the side. As her defense faltered, concentrating on my lower half, I went in for the devastating blow. A right hook straight across her face, sending spit, blood, and her mouthguard flying.

She fell to her knees in a slump, head falling to the ground. The inferno still boiled, and I moved over her, pulling my hand back. The ref hugged me from behind. Despite my protests, clawing at his hands, he forced me away. I yanked my mouthpiece and blew out a harsh breath, sucking air through my nose. Adrenaline pumped through my system, making my vision blur.

“Amazon,” Mars yelled.

I ran to him, trying to tame the beast with each step. He latched onto my arm, leading me through the sea of people flanking the walkway. The repeated flashes from surrounding cameras irritated me more than usual. Once we reached the locker room, Mars locked the door behind us.

Controlled breathing wasn’t working. There was an itch far from being scratched, and it drove me crazy. I bit my nails, walking back and forth between the rows of lockers.

“How did it feel?” Mars slipped off his glasses, hanging them from the front pocket of his suit jacket.

“Are you kidding? It had to be a record knock-out for me. But it—it wasn’t enough.”

“Because you pulled several of your punches, gatáki.” He twirled the large silver ring on his middle finger with his thumb.

“It’s the MMA, Mars. A thirty-second takedown is bad enough. They want a show.” My legs kept moving, propelling me from one side of the small room to the other. The muscles in my biceps twitched as if begging me for more.

“Who gives a shit what they want. You do this for you.”

The raging boil inside turned downright aggressive. The AC in the overhead vents kicked on, sending a waft of leather, oil, and burnt wood. I closed my eyes before bursting them open and leaping across the room, curling my arms around Mars’s neck. His back slammed into a nearby locker, denting it. My mouth crashed against his, the taste of smoke and whiskey coating my tongue. He hesitated at first but slid his lips over mine and snaked his arms around my waist, pulling me against him.

A flash of my dream with him between my legs in the battlefield tent jarred me. I peeled away, shoving my palms into his chest, and pushing away. He threw his hands out at each side as if to show me there was no foul play. The tip of his tongue dragged over his lower lip, his chest heaving. He peered at me from across the room.

“Are we chalking this up to the adrenaline?” He let one arm relax and dabbed the corner of his mouth with a thumb.

My chest tightened. “Yes. Yes, we are.”

A strand of dark hair fell over his eyes. I wanted to reach forward and slip it over his ear. Instead, I put my hands on my hips.

“Thought so,” he said with a smirk.

I rapped my fingers against my hip bones, counting the tiles on the floor.

“Food?” Mars brushed past.

Grazing right over it. Alright. I sniffed, letting it roll off my shoulders. But it didn’t roll—it didn’t even crawl.

Giving a curt nod, I threw my hoodie back on. “Absolutely.”

He slipped his sunglasses from his jacket and motioned for me to go ahead of him. I flipped the hood up, took a deep breath, and threw open the door. Dozens of paparazzi crowded the exit. Mars appeared at my side, shoving his forearm into one man who’d gotten so close I could feel his breath on my cheek. The man tripped backward, falling into several of the others.

“What the hell, man? I’m just doing my job,” the fallen man said, still pressing the shutter repeatedly.

Mars bent forward. “Stay out of her face, and I won’t have to do it again, man.”

The color drained from the man’s cheeks. He took one last shot, a close up of Mars’s face, and pushed through the crowd of people and cameras to escape. Mars took the lead, and I grabbed the back of his jacket so I could keep my head down. Once we reached the room, I face-planted onto the nearest bed.

Mars went through his ritualistic “de-bodyguarding” routine, tossing his sunglasses and watch on the desk, followed by slipping the tie and jacket off.

“Greek good with you?”

I lifted my head long enough to answer. “Sure. I could go for a gyro.”

Pronunciation: JIE-row.

Mars sat on the opposite bed, grabbing a list of restaurants from the nightstand. “It’s pronounced gyros.”

Pronunciation: YEE-ros.

Ignoring the flip my stomach made at his accent, I buried my face back into the comforter. “Same thing.”

“You know there are better Greek dishes than gyros. I could order you something else.”

I sighed and pushed up on my elbows. “I haven’t had anything else. I wouldn’t know what I like. Gyro is fine. I’ll live.”

He’d lifted the phone receiver but paused mid-way to his ear. “You’re full-blooded Greek, and you’ve never had anything but gyros?”

I never told him I was full-blooded.

“You heard about my mom. Think she paused between coke binges to make Greek cuisine for me?”

He frowned. “Grandmother?”

“Nope.” I flopped on my back, staring at the ceiling. “Only thing my mom ever told me was she died when I was a kid in Greece.”

Mars cleared his throat, not asking any more questions. He pressed the phone to his ear and dialed.

“Kalispéra,” he said to whoever answered. He continued talking in Greek. The only word I picked up on was “gyros.”

Once he hung up, I slid off the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Good.” He rested his elbows atop his thighs. “You stink.”

I tossed him a glare, biting back a smile before slipping into the bathroom. The door handle was in my hand. All I had to do was shut it again in defiance. So why did I stop it a few inches from closing? I rolled my eyes, turned the shower on as hot as it’d let me, and waited for the steam to fog up the mirror. Satisfied the room looked like walking through a cloud, I undressed and slipped in, wincing as the scalding water hit my back.

When I stepped out, I wrapped my body and hair in towels. Damn it all to hell. I forgot to bring in fresh clothes. Did my fight attire smell that bad? I scrunched my nose, scooped them up, and snuck into the room.

Mars stood in the middle of the open space between the beds and TV, holding an imaginary sword, performing striking patterns. Each move made his forearms bulge. When he heard me, he stood straight and dropped his hand at his sides like I’d caught him jacking off or something.

“What uh—what were you doing?” I made a circle in the air with a single finger.

His face softened, those dark eyes dropping to my chest. “Combinations I don’t want to forget.” His eyes lingered on the towel like he had x-ray vision.

After tossing my clothes into my suitcase, I pressed my forearms over my boobs.

A knock sounded at the door. We both stiffened.

He pointed. “I’m going to get that.”

“Right.” I scampered to my suitcase to grab new clothes before whisking into the bathroom.

When I came back out, he’d displayed our food on the table and tossed a plastic utensils package by my gyro. A glorious smell filled the air, and I closed my eyes, inhaling it.

“What is that smell?”

He peeled the foil on his food. “Not your gyros.”

“What is that?” I stared at his delicious-looking meal as I took a seat—a lamb shank, potatoes, and rosemary sprigs.

“Kleftiko.”

I mouthed the word to myself, shifting my eyes between my plain gyro and his food. His eyes dropped to my lips before cutting the lamb into several chunks. Saliva collected between my bottom lip and teeth, and I tried to suck it back discreetly.

“Would you—” He hesitated. “—like to try some?”

I bit my lip. “Yes. Before you get your spit all over it.” Ripping the plastic, I yanked my fork out and stabbed it into a piece of potato, followed by a bite of lamb.

“Pretty sure if you were going to catch something from my spit, it happened about thirty minutes ago.” His gaze turned wicked, a corner of his lip lifting.

I paused with my mouth open. Nope. I still planned to graze over it. Garlic, olive oil, onion, lamb, and feta cheese flavors burst across my tongue. I pinched my eyes shut, stifling a moan.

“So many complex flavors and so very, very good.” I groaned.

He chuckled, slipping a bite into his mouth. “Glad you approve.”

I opened my gyro with a sigh. It wasn’t as if gyros tasted terrible. They simply paled in comparison to what I’d just experienced.

We ate in silence for the next few minutes with only the idle sounds of chewing, paper rustling, and swallowing as ambient noise.

“So, do you have any siblings?” My knee bounced underneath the table.

“A few.” His eyes shifted. “You?”

“Nope.”

We both nodded.

Silence.

Mars coughed. “Nice weather today, huh?”

“Little chilly.” I tore pieces from my aluminum wrapper.

Mars dragged a napkin over his mouth and beard before leaning back.

“We suck at this whole small talk thing, don’t we?”

He half-smiled. “Completely.”

“Why do your eyes turn red?” I snapped my gaze to his.

“Hm?”

“Your eyes. They flash red. I’ve seen it several times.”

He waved his hand in the air. “My eyes get dry. Bloodshot more than likely.”

“I know what bloodshot eyes look like. Yours turn completely red, Mars.”

He gritted his teeth, making his jaw pop at the corners. “I’m tired.” He leaped up, his chair toppling over.

“Wha—”

Did I say something wrong?

He balled up his garbage, reached across the table for mine, and tossed them in the can across the room.

“Mars, what the hell?” I slapped my hand on the table, standing up.

“I’m going to sleep,” he growled, yanking off his pants. He crawled into bed in only his boxers and tank top, pulling the comforter over his head.

Moving to my bed, I clucked my tongue against my teeth. “Vlákas,” I said under my breath.

His head shot up with a glare.

“What? You deserved it.” I slipped under the covers.

He grunted and shoved his head back under the comforter.

I curled the blankets under my chin. My question irritated him. It was as if he couldn’t answer or didn’t know how to respond. Little did he know, answering me would’ve been far easier on him. Now, I was a hound with a fox.