Chapter 12: Mine (His POV)
Inside, all eleven of them were already there. Perched in their stiff, proper little seats, radiating self-importance like candles dripping wax. Waiting. Watching. Judging. The second I stepped through the doors, an audible sigh rippled across the room. Half exhaustion, half immediate regret. Music to my ears. Naturally, I preened. Smoothed my jacket. Straightened my shoulders. Flashed my grin.
"Oh, my darlings, you look positively miserable without me." From the corner of my eye, Annie hid a smirk. Oh, she was entertained. She'd never admit it, but she was. She is brilliant.
I carried the comically oversized box in both arms, strutting forward like I was presenting the Ark of the Covenant itself. Every step purposeful. Every movement theatrical. When I set it down before Aerion, I positioned it with painstaking care, centered, symmetrical, perfectly placed.
"A gift," I declared with a flourish, "for our fearless leader."
Aerion didn't even look at me first. No, of course not. He went straight for the box. Eyes narrowing, suspicion dripping off him like sweat. "What is this?"
I sighed. Loud. Suffering. The sigh of a man burdened with an idiot. "Aerion, you dense fool, I said it is a gift." I gestured wildly at the package. "You unwrap it. Discover the surprise. That's how this works."
His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. Delicious. "Do I have to open this?"
I gasped. Clutched my chest as though he'd driven a sword through it. "Aerion, yes! What kind of monster refuses a gift?"
The way his temple twitched nearly sent me into hysterics. Gods, he hated me. And gods, it was glorious. Annie stood off to the side, the picture of a woman pretending she wasn't amused. But I saw the glint in her eyes. She liked this. Finally, Aerion gave in. With all the melodrama of a martyr, he tore the paper off, lifted the lid, sifted through the tissue. The whole room watched in silence. Breathless. Suspicious. And then he pulled it out. My masterpiece. A miniature replica of the Pantheon's own formal office, crafted entirely of glue and popsicle sticks. Intricate. Precise. A ridiculous, beautiful waste of my divine time.
Silence. Thick. Absolute. Delicious. Aerion stared at it. Then sighed, pressing his fingers into his temples as though my very existence caused migraines. "What. Is. This?"
I gasped again, clutching at fresh, imaginary wounds. "Aerion, you tragically simple-minded tiny sword polisher, this is your gift! I made this. With my own two hands. Do you like it?" I grinned mischief glittering in my eyes.
He studied it like it might sprout legs and eat his face. "What is wrong with it?" he demanded. "Is it a prank? A trap? Will it explode? Curse my entire bloodline?"
The longer he listed, the wider my grin stretched. Oh, beautiful paranoia, how I love you. "My honorable yet hopelessly dense embodiment of a lecture," I purred, leaning onto the table, "this is just a gift."
His eyes narrowed to slits. "I don't believe you."
I beamed. "You shouldn't." But oh, the truth of it. For once in my eternal, riotous existence… it was just a gift. No frogs. No curses. Just a perfectly detailed popsicle stick model.
Aerion looked at the model. Looked at me. Back at the model. "…Why?"
I shrugged, grin sharp enough to cut marble. "Because I wanted to, Aerion sweet cheeks." A ridiculous waste of my divine time and worth every second for that look on your face."
He stared. Silent. Then dragged his hands down his face like a man resigning himself to death by irritation. "I loath you."
I preened. Glorious. Victorious. "I know."
I strolled to my place at the grand table with every ounce of languid arrogance I could muster. Which, naturally, was all of it. With a snap of my fingers, my chair appeared, no, not a chair. A throne. Plush, upholstered in red so rich it would make mortals weep, grander than anything the rest of these dullards had. I held it out for Annie with a flourish, brows waggling, waiting for my gratitude parade. She rolled her eyes. Sat anyway. Smoothed her cranberry-red dress like the regal little thing she was. I grinned. Already winning.
Turning back to the room, I stretched, arms behind my head like I was bored already. "This is Anastasia," I drawled, waving a hand at her as though she were an accessory. "My sacrifice from the other day." I hated calling her that but it is her official title.
Oh, the faces. That flicker of shock, of judgment. Aerion went very still, calculating. Delicious. "Feel free to chat with her, introduce yourselves," I added lazily. "I won't do it for you."
Aerion's glare could have scorched marble. Which, of course, only fed me. Gods, I adored that look. If annoyance were wine, I'd be drunk already. Ahyona gave Annie a soft, reverent smile I pretended not to notice. But then Maximus looked at her. Predictable Maximus. Eyes gleaming, already leering, his hunger dripping off him like sweat. He always noticed beauty. Always wanted the rarest thing in the room. And Annie? Oh, of course she caught his gaze. I didn't even bother looking at him. I knew what was coming. The lazy, lewd comments. The shameless appreciation. The wife who didn't bat an eye. Always the same, always pathetic. So I let him. Let him drool. Let him think he was winning. Annie smiled at him. Radiant. Perfect. One of those smiles that could topple kingdoms.
I would have enjoyed it. If I hadn't known the truth. Because that smile wasn't real. It was armor. Polished. Flawless. A mask that hid every scar underneath. I hated that Maximus thought he could touch it.
"If you want to spend time with me," she told him sweetly, "every minute of my time belongs to My Lord and Keeper Malvor, God of Chaos."
Oh. Exquisite. She sounded composed, untouchable. Mine. She gave me the briefest glance, so quick the others missed it. But I caught it. That look told me more than her words ever could. For a heartbeat, I almost dropped the act. Almost let the lazy grin slip. Almost. Instead, I turned to Maximus with my most insufferable smirk. "We can discuss a transaction together," I purred, as if she were a bottle of wine instead of a woman. "But Anastasia is every bit as wonderful, special, and amazing as the priests promised."
Gods, the hunger on Maximus's face. He wanted. Perfect. Exactly where I wanted him. But beneath my smirk, something dangerous curled in my chest. Because he was lucky. Lucky he couldn't touch her without standing. Lucky, because if he laid a single greedy hand on her, I'd shred him apart and smile while doing it. Mine. The word slipped through me before I could stop it. Heavy. Certain. Real.…Mine. I shoved it aside before it rooted too deep.
Aerion cleared his throat, dragging us back into the boring part. Numbers. Profits. Priests. Blah blah balance. Rules. Gods above, kill me now. At some point, they looked to me for input. Fatal mistake. "Yes, yes, terribly important," I said, grinning. "We should invest all excess funds into a floating circus. No! An interdimensional floating circus. Fireworks. Dangerous animals. Mortal acrobat sacrifices."
The silence that followed was worth every second of the scowls.
Ahyona, sweet little Ahyona, clasped her hands like she was praying. "We should help the less fortunate," she said softly. I tuned her out immediately. Compassion. Aid. Yawn. Instead, I slipped my hand under the table. Onto Annie's thigh. Ah. There it was. The smallest stiffening. The tiniest hitch of breath. She didn't move, didn't react outwardly, but her body noticed. Oh, this could be fun. My fingers trailed higher, slow, deliberate, utterly unseen by the others. Only her. Only me. Gods, she let me.
The meeting dragged on, as they always did, until the topic shifted. Another holiday. Another bloody festival. This time? For Luxor. Of course. Golden boy Luxor. The God of Light. The God of Flashy Entrances. I looked up at him, sun-kissed arrogance personified. Long dark hair, slicked back into that perfect little ponytail that showed off the short sides. Golden eyes that burned like a sunrise. Skin that gleamed like polished bronze. Gorgeous. Annoyingly, infuriatingly gorgeous. Then again, we were gods. Gorgeous was practically a job description. Still… I winked at him. He rolled his eyes, utterly unimpressed, which should have been the end of it. But it wasn't. Because my brain decided to take that wink and sprint straight off the cliff of decency.
Suddenly, I was imagining my hand wrapped in that perfect ponytail. Imagining those golden eyes doing something other than glaring at me, something filthy. Those golden eyes looking up at me from his knees. My hand tightened on Annie's thigh. Harder. Higher. Without even realizing it, I was gripping her like she was the anchor keeping me tethered while my mind drowned itself in Luxor.
Luxor kept talking. Probably about light. Or sunshine. Or whatever boring nonsense he thought was important. I didn't hear a word. Thinking about Luxor was easier than thinking about the way she kissed me. Kissing... my thoughts were too loud, replaying that one time with him. Well. Technically two times. But I had been far too wasted the first to remember much. Shame. A real bloody shame. Because Luxor's realm? Gods, it was beautiful. Pyramids and palaces, traps everywhere because he loved to test people, loved to make them prove their worth. I always found the challenge entertaining. Maybe it was time for another trip. Strictly business, obviously. Entirely professional. My grip on Annie's thigh slid higher. Almost where I wanted to be—
Her hand covered mine. A silent pause. Just a touch. Not stopping me, not pulling me back, just… there. Waiting. I leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Annie Princess, you are no fun."
She looked at me, cool, composed, unreadable. Then let go. Just like that. That ruined it. Completely. Because if I continued, it wouldn't be a game anymore. No resistance, no pushback, no reaction? What was the point? Gods damn her! She knew. She knew exactly what she'd done, and the smirk tugging at her mouth proved it. My fingers squeezed her thigh once more, retaliation, before I pulled away and slapped both hands dramatically onto the table. Fine. Fine.
My eyes drifted over the rest of the Pantheon. All perfect. Every last one of them flawless, symmetrical, immortal dolls. And then there was Annie. Beautiful, yes. But flawed. She had hair. Not head hair, everyone had that, styled into divine waves and braids. No, Annie had arm hair. Leg hair. Probably more places, if I went looking. My own arms were smooth, unmarked. Had they always been?
I squinted at her forearm. No, it wasn't gross. Just… mortal. Normal. Different.
My mind spiraled. My own appearance, had it changed? Hadn't I had chest hair in the 70s? Gods above, I had. Because chest hair had been fashionable. I actually shuddered, remembering my ridiculous haircut back then. What was I thinking? Did I choose it, or had my form just… shifted? Adjusted to mortal trends? Oh no. Did I change myself subconsciously to match whatever mortals found desirable?
Of course I did. We all did. All the gods shifted, subtle tweaks here and there. Broad shoulders when warriors were in vogue, softer lines when beauty demanded delicacy. Hadn't I always been the epitome of mortal lust? I stared at my own hands like they were guilty of a cosmic crime. Yes. I changed. All the time. But Annie… Annie didn't.
I tilted my head, looking closer. She had lines. Little ones. Barely there. Creases at the corners of her eyes when she squinted in suspicion. A faint dip in her brow when she was unimpressed, far too often, thanks to me. Were those… laugh lines? Had she laughed enough in her life to earn them?
Her skin wasn't porcelain smooth, like the goddesses with their airbrushed perfection. It had texture. History. Character. Real. Gods, she was real. If I pressed my thumb beneath her eye, would the line smooth away? Or would it stay? Was she still aging, just… slower? Would she keep aging? Would she-- oh gods. That thought was hilarious. Would she get old woman hands?
Mortal hands aged in a very specific way. Veiny. Bony. Papery. Would Annie, Another thought hit me so hard I snorted. Grannie Annie. The name alone was so damn funny I burst out laughing, loud and sudden.
Aerion turned immediately, face twisted in annoyance. "Something funny, Malvor?"
I tilted my head back, still chuckling, and purred, "Oh, just your face when you speak. Like an overcooked potato trying to lecture a room full of people who don't give a single shit."
He sighed, long and suffering, and returned to his tedious agenda. I grinned, leaning back. Oh yes. Grannie Annie. That one was never leaving.
The meeting finally ended. Thank every god for that. Including me. Twice.
As the others began filing out, Yara made her entrance. Flowed, really. Always so bloody theatrical, liquid grace and half-naked arrogance. Blue hair tumbling like waves, bright eyes sparkling like she'd swallowed the sea itself. She was all water and attention, and she knew how to use both. She zeroed in on me, then flicked her gaze to Annie. Assessing. Curious. Oh… was that jealousy? Delicious.
"Yara, my starfish," I purred, hand to my heart, "you look positively dripping today."
Water pun. Predictable. Annie made some horrid sound behind me, halfway between exhaustion and despair. Yara, though, beamed like I'd given her a crown. Gods, she thrived on this. And I'd always enjoyed her. Had considered more than enjoyment once or twice. But she was too much like her oceans: wild, untamable, impossible to keep. No, Yara was not for me. But she was fun. When was the last time we had fun? Uh, last week I think. Was that before Annie? Hmm. Yeah. Damn I hadn't gotten laid in...
She pressed against me, fingers bold and wandering beneath my shirt. I let her play. Why not? It was Yara. But my attention wasn't on her. It was on Annie. Who, predictably, gave me nothing. No flinch. No glare. Not even an eye-roll. She was marble. And I knew she would be. Yara kept at it, purring, teasing, flirting until, oh? She shifted. Her focus angled toward Annie. Her fingers reached out, exploratory.
And mine snapped around her wrist before she touched. "That's mine." I said it lazily, smirk curving my lips, voice all velvet and tease. But I meant it. Meant it with a heat I rarely let out.
"Yara," I went on, smooth as honey, "we don't touch other people's toys without their permission."
She tilted her head at me, all sultry defiance. "Oh, Mal, you should let me play with your new toy. I'm sure you have. She looks so fun. The priest spoke so highly of her."
I raised a brow. Oh? Hadn't bothered to read the priest's promises. Didn't care. But now? Now I was listening. "And what exactly piqued your interest, my little Octopus?" I stopped myself before I added the 'sy' to the end of that.
Yara smirked, twirling a blue strand around her finger. "She was trained to please. By the best of the best."
Not a suggestion. A statement. I hummed, flicking a glance at Annie. Calm. Listening. Unmoved. Always unmoved. "Oh yes, very pleasing," I drawled, waving a hand. "No complaints."
But inside? My gut turned. Trained. To please. Of course she had been. And I hadn't touched her for that very reason. Because I didn't take what wasn't given. Not when it came to desire. That was the whole point. I want to be wanted. If it was just duty, just expectation, then what was the game worth? Nothing.
Yara kept yammering about her latest lovers, her tide of words endless. Men, women, nobles, all collected like seashells. "You should join me, Mal," she purred. "We could have such fun together. Just like old times."
I smirked. "Not today, Yara, angelfish. Though the blonde does sound delightful."
Neither of us knew her name. And that was exactly why I wasn't interested. I remembered names. Always. It made them easier to play with, easier to bend. I steered her back. "Yara, what did you bid for our lovely sacrifice?"
She grinned, hair flipping over her shoulder like a wave. "Several beaches, a few lakes… even a lake house. That lake house. The one we've been to several times."
I smirked, tilting my head, feigning nostalgia. "Ah, I do love that lake house."
She laughed. Perfect. I tugged more from her with little nudges, and she spilled scraps of the bidding war. Never anything worth a damn, but enough. Then she sighed dramatically, as though remembering the grand tragedy of the decade. "I still cannot believe you won. Ten years of no pranks. I even voted yes! You won unanimously. What will you do without it?"
I beamed. "Oh, I have my workarounds."
Her eyes narrowed. "You promised no pranks."
Hand to chest, feigning deep offense, I gasped. "And I am a god of my word, Yara-pearl." Then, with a wicked little glint-- "I never said Anastasia wouldn't prank you."
Yara blinked, then laughed, eyes sliding toward Annie with sharp, glittering interest. "Of course. You always find your loopholes."
I smirked. "Oh, my little mermaid, you know I do."
Satisfied, she prattled on, her voice washing over me like tide on stone. Pretty. Predictable. Always the same. At last, with a flirtatious giggle, she kissed both my cheeks before flowing away, all waves and glitter. Exhausting. I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. And Annie, damn woman, smiled at me. Knowing. Coy. My eyes narrowed instantly. Suspicious. Always suspicious. I saw Maximus heading our way. Absolutely not. I would rather be smote.
Without hesitation, I grabbed Annie, snapped my fingers, and gone. The Pantheon blinked out of existence, replaced by the warm, comfortable chaos of my realm. My shoulders dropped as I let her go, dragging a frustrated hand through my hair.
"I was not in the mood for his crap," I muttered, pacing like a caged lion. "He would've flirted with you or me, or both. And gods, Annie, from experience, don't do it."
Her brows arched. "From experience?"
I threw up both hands. "As free-loving as he claims to be, he is needy. Needy. Always inviting me to his realm, to the mortal realm, to party, to indulge." I spun, gesturing as if reenacting the sheer torment of it. "And I love indulgence, Annie. I am indulgence. But he? He is too much sometimes, even for me."
I let out a loud, dramatic sigh and collapsed onto the nearest couch. Like I was Atlas who had carried the burdens of the world on his broad, flawless shoulders. One arm flung across the back, the other over my forehead, the very picture of godly suffering. "And that, my dear Annie, is saying something."
I sprawled across the cushions, stretching like a cat, perfectly posed in my own exhaustion. "Now, if you don't mind, I am going to nap. Heroically."
She snorted. "Drama king."
I cracked one eye open, smirking at her from beneath my arm. "Always."
She turned toward the kitchen, tossing over her shoulder, "I'm going to get some food. Do you want anything, Malvor, Warden of My Existence?" She even bowed, the cheeky little minx.
I grinned into the cushion. "Ooooh, I like that title. Say it again, slower." It was an excellent title for me. She rolled her eyes, vanishing into the kitchen. I chuckled to myself, closed my eyes, and sank into the sweetest, most deserved nap in history.