13. Mildly on Fire

It was early morning and Jaz was up and working, whilst most of the city continued to snooze. He mopped the floors contentedly – using enough bleach to sink a ship.

"Morning," rumbled a deep voice.

"Morning Zorg." Jaz greeted – making no comment on the locked door Ares had just come through. "How's the wooing going?"

Ares sat down heavily at one of the tables.

"Terrible." He picked up a heart shaped napkin and began absentmindedly tearing it into little pieces, his expression sulky.

"I'll make you some tea."

"Coffee." Ares interjected – without a word of thanks.

Jaz made them both a coffee and took the seat opposite from Ares – though he scooted his chair further back to subtly widen the distance.

"Please," Jaz winced – his pained gaze on Ares, "use a coaster." He edged the pink coaster delicately across the table. Ares grunted but complied.

The war god's gaze scanned the rest of the table, noticing the perfect right angles of the mats and millimetre precision of the cutlery.

"You like things neat."

Jaz nodded. "Do you iron the napkins?"

"Yes." Jaz watched Ares drink his coffee, waiting for him to stop stalling. He was certain that Ares hadn't come to the shop just for a coffee.

"How do you know Eros?" Ares asked at last. Jaz didn't blink. He wasn't surprised by the question. Idly, he stroked the rim of his drink.

"We're old friends."

"Do you know why he tried to hit Sage with an arrow?"

"No," a small frown puckered Jaz's forehead. "But if he missed the first time, he will try again."

Ares growled. Sage wasn't going to look at any man other then him.

"Why did you pretend not to know what I am?"

"At first it was for Sage's benefit. I didn't want her... involved. When gods and mortals meet-  it never ends well, and it's the mortal that suffers the most."

Ares couldn't argue with that. The gods had left the mortal realm for this reason.

"I won't let her suffer."

Jaz's lips twitched.

"Can you really promise that? You have a lot of enemies, war god."

Ares made no reply, but Jaz thought he saw his jaw clench.

Time crawled by and Jaz listened to the distant sounds of morning traffic. He pretended not to be watching Ares – but from the corner of his eye he saw how Ares' gaze kept flickering to the murals on the walls. A wry smile flickered on Jaz's face as he guessed what Ares was trying to do. The war god was feeling out Jaz's aura – trying to work out what he was.

"You make a good brew." Ares commented at last, breaking the silence.

"So I've been told."

Ares furtive attempts at figuring Jaz out were, so far, unsuccessful. Leaving him frustrated, but he couldn't waste any more of the morning pondering. He had somewhere else he wanted to be. He'd steadily learnt Sage's morning routine and his favourite part was coming up soon.

Ares rose to his feet, making to leave but he hesitated – inspiration flashing across his face.

"Have we met before, Bellgrade?"

Jaz bowed his head, busy with tidying away their mugs.

"In a past life, perhaps." There was an edge to Jaz's voice.

"Hmm..." Ares vanished, disappearing into mist and Jaz released the breath he'd been holding. Just how close to the truth had Ares' thoughts gone? Jaz clicked his tongue unhappily.

Sage stepped out of the shower, her wet hair dripping down her back and onto the floor mat.

"Stunning," a male voice purred. Sage cried out in surprise – horrified to see Ares. She grabbed a towel from the rail and wrapped it hastily around herself.

"What are you doing here?!"

Ares' gaze was wide and innocent – feigning confusion. "Here – in my bathroom!" She clarified.

"I wanted to watch you wash." He replied, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

Sage grabbed a shampoo bottle and threw it at his head.

"You absolute bloody pervert!"

"Spartan woman used to exercise naked."

"And I'm sure the spartan woman were fine with you invading their home-"

"Not really."

"But I'm not a spartan!"

"You're beautiful when you're angry."

Sage rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"Good god!"

"Not really."

"No, I didn't mean..." Sage exhaled through her nose. She could almost feel her blood pressure rising.

"How about if I'm naked. Fairer?" And Ares' clothes suddenly poofed out of existence. Sage's face turned tomato red.

"GET OUT!"

Ares paced the roof. He growled in frustration and hit his head. It was torture. He couldn't stop thinking about her. More specifically, he couldn't stop thinking about how not in love with him she was. He just wanted to be with Sage all the time – to hold her, watch her and know everything about her. He threw back his head and bellowed to the sky, the thick muscles bulging beneath his tight clothing.

"I'm a fucking god!" Why had he been reduced to something as pathetic as the pining lover of a mortal? If he found Eros, he'd rip out the brat's liver. Ares' senses tugged at his mind, coaxing his attention and reminding him that Sage was due to finish work soon. He needed to make sure she made it home alright. Ares hung his head and pouted petulantly. Roaring at the heavens wouldn't change things. He was chained to this woman – his heart bound by her existence. Things would be better if she would at least be reasonable – and fall helplessly in love with him.

A snorting sound made Ares look up suddenly and firelight bathed his anguished face. "Hello, old friend." He greeted – his tone softening. "Have you come to visit me?"

Thrax bowed his solemn head in assent. Ares' eyes brightened. "I'll bring Sage to meet you. She's my woman here." The idea of introducing his closest companion and Sage improved his mood considerably.

"I think my human is broken." Ares despaired.

"It's not me – it's you." Sage retorted, hitting his arm. "You're the freak."

Ares shook his head. He'd only wanted her to get to know his war horse, Thrax, but she was throwing a fit.

"Most people don't swear at gods - or insult them."

"Not to their faces maybe," Sage muttered under her breath.

"Just come and say hello to Thrax."

"He's on fire!" Sage protested – alarmed.

"Mildly. He breathes fire." Ares reached out for her hand, wanting to guide her across the roof to where Thrax was restlessly standing. Sage planted her feet.

"Hell no am I going near that thing!"

A comparison flashed briefly across Ares' mind. Aphrodite had never liked Thrax either.

"Filthy beast," she'd once called him – her delicate nose scrunching in disgust. She'd hated that when Ares returned from war, smelling of blood and sweat, he'd always taken care of Thrax first. Aphrodite would want a passionate reunion. But Ares, even in the throes of hopeless devotion to the goddess of love, had never relented on this one priority. He owed his life to Thrax.

'What about Aphrodite?' Ares knew that he hadn't properly responded to Sage's question. What about Aphrodite? She was his complicated past. She was still a complication.

A husband, a string of lovers, the adoration of Olympus – Aphrodite had it all. But the world had never been enough. Aphrodite needed everyone to love her. What would she do if she found out about Sage? Obviously, Aphrodite no longer loved him, but Ares suspected that whilst her feelings had ended – she would never allow him to stop loving her. Ares closed his eyes, his troubled head aching. He wished that he'd never met the beautiful parasite.

The day Aphrodite had come to court had been his last day of peace. He'd been entranced. No other goddess was like Aphrodite. She giggled, smiling radiantly with shining eyes. The other goddesses of Olympus were dignified – cold as the statue's mortals made of them. Aphrodite wasn't cold. She was restless – determined to run rather then walk. If she was pleased, everyone had to know. She'd rush up and kiss a person without ceremony if that was what she wanted. It was what had bewitched him. But there were two sides to the coin, and the dark side of Aphrodite ... was terrible.

Ares stroked the back of Sage's hand, returning to the present. Sage was nothing like Aphrodite – and that was a relief. Hopefully, the goddess of love would be preoccupied for the next fifty years – and would never learn about his mortal lover. He'd protect Sage from Aphrodite's cruelty. Ares opened his mouth, ready to relent and tell Sage that they'd return downstairs, but Sage surprised him.

Sage stretched out her hand nervously toward the war horse. Thrax, moving with care so as not to startle her, edged closer and lowered his massive head so that her hand touched his nose. Sage's lips parted in surprise. He felt warm, not burning hot like she'd been expecting. He snorted – much like a normal horse – and Sage smiled. Ares watched as Sage's confidence grew and she stroked Thrax – her eyes wide and admiring.

"He likes you," Ares commented.

"Really?" Sage smiled happily. Once she'd gotten over the size of Thrax (and the flames) he really was a beautiful creature. Sage's attention was on Thrax so she couldn't see Ares' expression. The war god was gazing at her – his chest swelling with pride.

"Would you like to ride him?" He suggested excitedly.

Sage bit her lip – curious but still a little wary. Ares' head snapped around suddenly, and he moved closer to Sage - putting a protective hand around her waist. "Perhaps another time," he muttered. With a hand on her back, Ares urged Sage back across the vast roof. Sage twisted to look over her shoulder, wanting a last look at Thrax.

"Wow," she exclaimed, seeing fiery wings extend from Thrax's back. "He flies!?"

Ares didn't respond. Registering his tense posture, Sage looked up at his face. His stern brow was furrowed into a fierce scowl. "Is something wrong?" What had happened to piss off the war god so badly? They came to the maintenance door that would lead them downstairs, but Ares stopped abruptly. Two words were painted on the door – words that hadn't been there earlier.

Sage frowned, noticing the glistening wetness of the paint. "Ares, what's going on?" Had they been seen? Was this message for him? What did it mean? Ares' gaze was wild, and he tightened his grip around Sage.

The words were indeed meant for him and they were a threat.

Remember Adonis.