Fallen (Dark God Saga) (3 page)

“That is too harsh, Hera. Your handmaiden came to my son of her own will.” Nyx pinned the handmaiden with a glare filled with so much devious promise, the handmaiden shivered. “Is that not so, girl?”

Prescipita blanched and nodded slightly.

“Good. Then the punishment must not be severe.”

“I will have to think on it,” Hera announced, before flashing herself from his domain. Zeus raked Thanatos with a grim look and followed his wife. After sending him disapproving glares, Nyx and Erebos did the same. When only Hypnos remained, his twin approached.

Hypnos was his mirror image, just infused with light. Whereas he was tanned, Hypnos looked like he avoided sun as if it were the plague. In place of Thanatos’s dark hair, his twin had golden hair that fell to his shoulders. Their other difference lay in eye color. Thanatos had dark eyes like their mother, a cobalt grey that turned a sinister black while Hypnos’s eyes were those of their father, a swirling blue, meant to hypnotize, or lull into sleep.

“You slept with one of Hera’s virginal handmaidens?” Hypnos asked in confusion, dark blond brows lifting.

“She didn’t say she was Hera’s last night,” Thanatos replied, running a hand through his hair, and simultaneously reviewing the bed play only hours ago. Prescipita had been eager, allowing him to take her in positions no virgin would tolerate. “And she was no virgin.”

“Are you certain you know what a virgin is?” Hypnos retorted, which only served to earn him a glare.

“What? Have you no comeback, brother?” Hypnos asked in mock surprise before sobering. “One thing is certain. Hera can’t ask for your death as you are Death and Death can’t be killed, so at least we know that’s not the punishment.”

Thanatos wished clothing onto his body. It was true. The closest he’d come to death was centuries ago when, young and foolish, he’d pit himself against Cerberus, Cronus’s three headed pet which, according to human lore, resembled a dog. Unless the dog was a big as a dragon, with slimy scales in place of fur, Thanatos knew some deceitful god had whispered that lie. Each of the beast’s heads had bitten him, and the poison had seeped into his blood, regardless of godhood. He’d died that night, his soul laying in wait for...himself. After hours spent lingering, Thanatos learned how to push his soul back into his body by channeling Death. Never again had he allowed death to take him.

“Knowing Hera, my punishment is going to make me wish for it.” He paused, remembering the last time someone had mistakenly
deflowered
one of Hera’s non-virginal handmaidens. Hera had strung him up and had her flock of flesh-eating birds peck at his cock until it was gone. It had been a lesser god, but no man deserved such punishment for doing what was only natural when a woman threw herself at him.

Thanatos shuddered. That would not happen to him. He was willing to take punishment that justified the crime, but he was not about to get his cock nibbled by any creature who wasn’t paying it gentle homage.

“Aphrodite’s here,” Hypnos murmured, and Thanatos looked up to find her approaching him, gown billowing behind her despite the lack of wind. She stopped feet away, passed him a large, satisfied smile, before puckering her lips to blow him a kiss, and disappeared.

He clenched his fists so hard that it hurt. “That bitch!”

“What?” Confused, Hypnos’s brows furrowed.

“Aphrodite set me up! That miserable bitch.”

Thanatos had always thought Aphrodite irritating, but harmless. Today changed everything. If it was as he suspected and she was behind this, he was going to make her suffer! A chilling smile touched his lips as he thought of strapping her to the wall in the sub-chambers of his domain and taking a belt to her. Moments later his frown reappeared. She would probably enjoy that, and it was not his intention to have her enjoy what he intended upon her.

Chapter One

          Simone Randall scanned the contents of the invitation and sighed.
The Monster’s Ball.
The most exclusive Halloween event, ever. She should be more excited than she was now, being that she was one of the few journalists invited, but her journalist excitement level and her regular excitement level were at odds. It was all the way in Virginia but the New York Traveler, a relatively new but successful magazine at which she’d been employed since graduation, was willing to foot the bill for her plane ticket. Simone didn’t have to ask to know that. They’d been trying to get one of their journalists into that place for the last couple of years, when they’d found out about it. Hell, they’d probably upgrade her from economy to first class, pay her hotel bill, and foot the cost of everything else she needed while there.

Even with those thoughts, her personal excitement was still down. It was the twentieth of October, she’d turned twenty-six a week ago, and was still single. Worse yet, she’d never had a relationship that lasted more than two months, and that one had been long distance.

          Clucking her tongue, she walked the short distance from her living room to her bedroom. Her apartment consisted of two bedrooms, a kitchen and dining room combination, a living room, and her writing room, which had been a small bedroom before she’d rented the place. Although she made enough money to get a larger, possibly nicer, place, Simone didn’t need it. Not when she lived alone. Well, except for Misty, her overweight and adorable cat.

Placing the invitation on her dresser, she stared at herself in the attached mirror. She wasn’t bad looking. Simone wouldn’t go as far as to call herself beautiful, or even pretty, but she was passable. Her complexion, a warm caramel brown, was smooth and even, her eyes although a regular dark brown shade, were framed with long, thick lashes that curled up ever so slightly, and she had a cute button of a mouth. Not too full, but thin either. Her nose could only be described as pert, and of course, there was her oddity. Right at the bridge of her nose were a cluster of—
freckles
. When they’d first appeared, when she was well into her teens, she’d dismissed them as moles, but at last, she’d finally started calling them what they were: freckles. Simone did not particularly like them, and covered them with makeup whenever she remembered to before stepping outside.

          She smiled deprecatingly into the mirror and shook her head. There was, however, one feature about herself that she adored: her hair. Before her mother passed from cancer, Hyacinth had confided in her then teenage daughter that her hair had been her pride and joy before it fell out. Simone felt her nose burn as she remembered her mother, cancer ridden with a shiny head and a pasty complexion, staring longingly at Simone’s thick mass of jet black hair. From then on, Simone had never seen washing, drying, blow-drying, and straightening it as a burden. She never cut it except for the occasional trim, and had no intention of changing her hairdresser since acquiring one who treated her hair well.

          But, she was still alone. Despite her crowning glory, she was alone. Her last relationship had been with Tyler Jones, a sports journalist with ESPN who’d only been interested in getting into her pants. In fact, he’d had a
very childish
bet going that he would be in her panties in a week. When she’d found out from a friend who worked with Tyler, she’d dumped him, just short of their two week mark, and all he’d gotten was an unwilling feel of her ass.

          Her lips cracked into a smile. Tyler Jones was a jackass. Any twenty-eight year old man who acted like he was still a freshman in high school was just that, a huge jackass. 

          The shrill sound of the phone pulled her from her thoughts and she dived into her comforter, searching for the hidden object. When she finally found it, Simone was winded.

          “Yea?”

          “Ooh, what are you doing to sound so breathless, and if it’s not what I’m thinking, why are you home on a Friday night?”

          An unconscious twinge tugged at her lips as she gradually regained her breath. Janet Collins was the sibling she’d never had. Simone had met the bold, curvaceous beauty in high school, and while she had thought her a bit over the top at first, she’d come to realize that Janet was the definition of a friend. When her mother had been dying, Janet made copies of all her notes, and brought them over to Simone’s house. She’d also brought bowls of her mother’s Guyanese cooking for Simone, stating that “hospital food might be healthy, but unhealthy macaroni pie and baked chicken tastes much better.” While Simone’s aunt had stayed on as her guardian, Janet had been the one to keep her grounded, to remind her that life would still continue without her mother. Samantha had done her best, and Simone loved her for it, but Hyacinth’s younger sister hadn’t really a clue on how to parent a grieving child.

          “No, I’m not doing what you’re thinking, and I’m home on a Friday because I’m tired after a long week of work.”

          “Right,” Janet drew out the word, and Simone could almost see her friend rolling her eyes. “Do you really want to end up a miserable old cat lady?”

          Simone tugged the phone away from her ear and smirked at it. “I have
one
cat.”

          “One now, thirteen in five years. Miserable. Cat. Lady. But that’s why you have me, Sims. Take a shower, shave your bits, and put on some skimpy lingerie under a really sexy dress. The one I gave you for your birthday, the red one with the open back. It’s classy and slutty, which makes it perfect. We’re going out.”

          Simone shook her head, eyes glued to her cream colored walls. Why hadn’t she noticed before now how empty the space was? She wasn’t much a photographer, but she could at least set up some paintings in the place. Old photos she had with her mother, when Hyacinth was still healthy.

          Remembering Janet was still on the line, she responded, “No. Last time we went out, I ended up getting pawed by two guys, Janet.”

          A hoot of laughter greeted that statement and Simone found herself smiling. “It’s not funny. Unlike you, I don’t like being groped by strange men.”

          “You should make an exception when you’re single and the strange men in question were two Greek hotties trying to get into your panties. Shoot, I was jealous, Simone, and then you turned them down. You’ve got issues. Not to worry, we’re going to a nice restaurant tonight.”

          Simone’s brows furrowed. Janet had a habit of changing subjects like she did men, very quickly. And who wouldn’t when they looked like Janet?  Whenever she stood next to her friend, Simone felt either underdressed, awkward, or just plain ugly. Janet was probably every guy’s wet dream. She was built like a Coca-Cola bottle, quite literally, with breasts that were double D’s, a waist that was tiny and flat, and hips that rounded out over round, firm buttocks. And she didn’t only have the body, she had the face to match. She was some shades lighter than Simone,
a Café au lait shade,
with hazel-green eyes, full lips, and a sultry, come-hither smile.

          “I’m not hungry—.”

          “Whaddaya mean ‘you’re not hungry?’” Janet’s voice had taken on a whiny quality that clearly told Simone she was mocking her. “I don’t care. That’s why restaurants serve salads, so non-hungry friends can sit opposite hungry friends and pick at the cow food, while watching their hungry friends eat. Pick you up in thirty minutes, best friend. And please,
please
, if you’re not going to wear the red dress, don’t wear jeans or your work clothes. Wear something semi-formal, with heels, and some makeup, definitely some eye shadow and blush, and let your hair down. I spend so much time keeping it healthy and you wear it in a bun. All the time.”

          “Do you want me to come or not?”

          “Okay, fine. Wear whatever you want. Style your hair like a sweaty track star. See if I care. Just know that this is a pretty ritzy restaurant and your bosses might be there, and what would happen if they saw you, well-known New York Traveler columnist, looking like a hobo, when they pay you in excess of—.”

          “I get it. I get it.” Simone sighed and pushed to her feet. She was beginning to regret telling her friend her salary range. “By the way, how did you get reservations at this ritzy restaurant?” Not that Janet didn’t make enough money to do so, her friend obviously did. As soon as they’d graduated college, Janet had taken the money her father put into a trust for her and opened a hair salon. At the time, her friend hadn’t known the first thing about hair, but she’d had a strong business head and a spanking degree to go along with it. Eventually, Janet went to beauty school, on the money the salon made in its first year, and found another niche. In addition to being business savvy, Janet’s hands were miracle workers when it came to hair. That, and her exclusive employees, was why in only four years, JJ’s Hair Salon was a healthily blooming business with openings in various parts of Manhattan.