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He was used to it—the sounds, the smells, the sex. It was part of the culture that had formed around his cult, one he had led with his maenads from town to town, leaving a trail of blood in his wake, and while he had long abandoned that life, he would never quite be free of the madness Hera had stricken him with.
Now and then, he could still feel it. It was a subtle tremor that consumed his body, and as it spread, it was warm and made him feel pierced through with pins and needles. It made it impossible to sit still, impossible to rest.
Just the thought made his fingers shake. He curled them into fists and held his breath, hoping to quell the feeling before it moved up his spine and into his veins, before it consumed him again, but as he focused, he became aware of a sound coming from somewhere inside his suite.
It was a panting moan.
He turned from the window overlooking the floor of this club and peered into the darkness but saw no one.
The sound grew in rhythm and was accompanied now by a knock.
Dionysus crossed the room toward a storage closet behind the bar. He pressed his ear to the door, which was soft, covered in the same black velvet that lined the walls. When he was certain the sounds came from there, he opened it.
Inside were Silenus and a woman he did not recognize. The satyr leaned against one side of the closet while the woman rode him, her legs wrapped around his waist.
“Fuck!” Silenus said, and they froze.
“Gods-dammit, Dad,” Dionysus snapped.
Silenus laughed, breathless. “Oh, Dionysus. It’s just you.”
It was not as if this was the first time he had caught Silenus engaging in sexual acts. The satyr had become part of his cult after he was cursed to wander the earth. They’d spent days at the center of orgies, giving and receiving pleasure, as was his way of worship. Still, over the years, it had become something Dionysus wished to see less and less from a man he’d come to view as his father figure.
He closed the door with a sharp snap and then plucked a bottle of wine from the selection at the bar and poured a glass. As he took his first sip, the door opened again, and the woman stumbled out.
She cleared her throat and pushed her hair behind her ear.
“I am so sorry, Lord Dionysus. I did not mean—”
“Nothing to be sorry for,” he said quickly, not looking at her. He took another sip of wine. “Go.”
She bowed her head and stumbled away. A slice of bright light from the hallway cut through the dark as she left.
Behind him, Silenus emerged. “I was not aware you had returned,” he said. Though Dionysus was not turned toward him, he could hear the clink of his belt as he secured it.
“How long have you been in that closet?” he asked.
The satyr paused. “I don’t actually know.”
Dionysus lifted a brow and glanced at his foster father. “Then how did you know I left at all?”
“I always know when you leave,” Silenus said. “Because I feel like I can breathe again.”
“Fucking rude,” Dionysus said as Silenus elbowed his way beside him at the bar. The satyr was a head shorter than him but taller than any satyr he had ever met. It was likely because Silenus was not just a nature spirit. He was a nature god. He even looked different from others of his kind. Dionysus had seen satyrs with horse or goat feet and tails, but Silenus had the long ears of a donkey and a tail to match. Though it was a form he kept hidden mostly by his glamour.
“You have never faulted me for honesty before,” said Silenus as he poured a glass of wine, only to down it like water. It was typical of him—he was the God of Drunkenness, which was why they had paired so well for so long, their lives revolving only around revelry.
“Should I start today?”
Silenus finished the last few gulps of wine before setting the glass aside with a clank. “Dionysus, even you know of what I speak,” he said.
“If you are going to spout wisdom, you need to be far more drunk.”
“This isn’t wisdom. It is true. You have become unbearable.”
“Why? Because I don’t party with you anymore?”
“Well that isareason,” the satyr said. “But it’s more than that. You know it is.”
