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Amell shrugs. “I’m saying he won’t get over it easily. But I also just watched you flex some serious determination muscles, so what do I know? If you want him it’s going to take work.”
A bit of anger hits me. “Who says I want him?”
“I do,” Amell replies with certainty. “But that’s for another day. If you don’t need me, I’m going home to Nyssa.”
Reaching out, I place a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for helping.”
“I should be thanking you,” he replies, covering my hand with his own. “I’ve been wanting to destroy that bug Ariman for centuries. I’m a happy king right now.”
Without waiting for a reply, Amell bends distance back to the Underworld.
Turning toward the cages, I see Onyx is helping Veda out of hers. Circe and Cato are still unconscious. Heaving a sigh, I head their way, knowing that at least one of my duties is to help my brethren.
And, I’m sure, answering for my temerity in bringing Maddox back from the dead.
CHAPTER 22
Maddox
The jungle isthick and I could easily use my powers to blast away the dense undergrowth. But expelling physical energy has been the only thing keeping me from insanity.
I’m currently in Honduras at my request to be sent somewhere to fight. I asked Onyx, the god of War, but she denied me. So I went to Veda.
Many would think the god of Humanity would be all about love and not violence, but in truth, she likes to meddle in violent conflicts as much as Onyx does.
Veda comes at it from a place of care for the human race and she threw me down in Honduras to help protect the refugees fleeing drug lords. It’s the dead of night and I’m trying to find a circuitous way around a dangerous camp of gun-toting assholes who would rape the women and force the children into their gang.
Because ever since Zora brought me back to life, I seem to have more power and pent-up energy than before. So I find engaging in vigorous endeavors to be the best way to release the nastiness inside me.
It’s been a week since we battled Rune and he almost destroyed me with the Blood Stone. I’m not sure the specifics of what went down but I know I couldn’t match his power when he aimed that jewel at me. He latched hold of my life force and started sucking it out and I was completely impotent to stop it. While he was not a god, he had the power of one, and one of the last things I remember was an innate sorrow that everyone there with me was going to die too.
And then… I wasn’t dead and Zora was hovering over me with such relief in her eyes, I actually recoiled. All my bitterness came roaring back, stronger than ever. It was so vile that I needed to put distance between us and I got the hell out of there.
Since then, I’ve come to understand that I came back different. Whatever Zora did to me, it didn’t only change the color of my hair.
It changed me. I’m stronger, more powerful, and I feel like I could conquer the world.
I also feel things more acutely, so the rancor I had toward her because of her rejection has increased. This should be a good thing, meaning I don’t pine for her anymore, but fuck if that emotion isn’t still there and more potent than ever.
I’d hoped it would diminish over time, but it seems to want to share equal footing with my enmity.
My arm swings back and forth, cutting thick fronds and vines. It would take a mortal man ten slices with a sharp machete to cut one branch when I can cut a two-foot section with only my palm as I make the swiping motions. I’ll work through the night since I don’t need sleep and then I’ll lead my little band of refugee humans, who think I’m nothing but an eccentric missionary here to guide them to the promised land.
Whatever it takes to get them to follow me.
The dark jungle is amazingly quiet, given the variety of animals that thrive here. Every once in a while, I hear the rumble of a jaguar in the distance, but otherwise it’s only the steady thwack of my arm knocking down foliage. My eyes have immense power and I see as well in the dark as in the light. I can also hear the softest of sounds, which is why I turn quickly when I hear the singular crack of a dried frond behind me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Carrick, my tone flat with displeasure.
Granted, I expected the visit sooner or later, but I’m not ready for it now. Still way too much shit swirling inside me.
“I like what you’ve done with your hair,” Carrick says, the hint of amusement annoying me.
He’s referring to the dark mud I’ve used to make dreadlocks because the infernal silvery-white hair Zora left me with is like a fucking beacon. And no matter how I’ve tried to change the color, my powers won’t reverse it. “It’s camouflage,” I grumble.
“You could shave it off,” Carrick suggests as I continue to cut at the undergrowth.
Yeah, I know I could.
