16. Baby Brother

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Flick Knife Boy whimpered. Ezekiel growled angrily, his fist slamming once more into the lad's face. There was a crunch of cartilage and blood spurted out, fat droplets dripping from the Mad Dog's knuckles.

The nose was definitely broken. Flick Knife Boy staggered back and it was his friends who kept him standing. Ezekiel had brought them all back to the gang's HQ – so that he could punish them away from curious eyes.

"We just wanted to collect the protection fees!" One of the lad's protested, his friend's blood speckles across his face like freckles.

Ezekiel's expression was unsympathetic.

"That shop is off limits."

"Yes boss!"

"We'll never go there again!"

Ezekiel grunted and pulled back, allowing Flick Knife Boy and his friends to run away. He wiped his hands on his jeans, the blood blending into the dark material.

Catching the very end of this encounter was Skelrun. He didn't alert Ezekiel to his presence, instead he silently watched the Mad Dog roll down his sleeves. Skelrun pursed his thin lips. 'Yes Boss' – that was what he'd heard and what had grabbed his attention. Because there could only be one boss.

And that was supposed to be Skelrun.

**

"Would you stop staring at me. It's like you're trying to burn a hole into the back of my head." Sage hissed as she passed Ares' table.

"How long have you known him?"

Sage sighed – frustrated. All afternoon Ares had been pestering her with questions. 'How close was she to Ezekiel?' 'What did she think of him?'

"Enough, no more questions." But she read Ares' troubled expression and knew that this wasn't the end. "Why can't you let it go?"

"The love arrow was intended to make you fall in love with him."

"But I didn't get hit by it." Sage pointed out. She moved to clear the next table and Ares' possessive gaze followed her.

There was something between those two mortals, he was sure of it. Ares' golden eyes flashed dangerously. As Sage walked past, he caught her wrist to stop her.

"I won't share you, Sage." He warned.

"You shared Aphrodite with your brother," Sage muttered sullenly. She hadn't said it loudly, but Ares heard her. He released her - his expression startled.

Sage didn't wait to see if he was mad at her – she fled to the kitchen.

"Sage?" Cesar questioned, seeing her dramatic entrance into the cafe's cramped preparation area. Sage clamped a hand over her mouth. "Is there another moth?"

Sage hit her lips, not hearing Cesar's question.

Usually she was so good at keeping her temper, at acting sweet.... Why did Ares get under her skin?

**

'You shared Aphrodite with your brother.'

Ares left the café. The wind ruffled his tawny hair as he flew up into the sprawling blue sky. The sun caught in his hair, making the tips shine gold. He was a vision of beauty – a handsome god – far more powerful than any of the mortals passing obliviously below him. Ares soared high, the world beneath him. The ground couldn't anchor him.

But his heart could. And it ached.

A long time ago,

"Lady mother," young Ares lisped, running into his mother's room. Hera, queen of the gods, was lying in bed – her hair loose around her shoulders, her face calm with only a slight weariness in her eyes. She was a vision of loveliness, despite her ordeal. Ares rushed past the attendants and jumped up onto the bed. The maids flapped, concerned, but Hera smiled indulgently.

Ares kissed her cheek, surprised by how damp and cold Hera's skin felt.

"Enyalius," she gently guided him to settle so that he didn't crush her.

"Is it over now?"

"Yes Enyalius. You have a new baby brother."

Young Ares looked around, expecting to see another child. "He's sleeping in the basinet." Curious, Ares jumped down from the bed and approached the high basinet. He had to go onto his tip toes to see inside.

"He's so small," Ares exclaimed – disappointed. "How will he play with me?"

"He'll grow."

Ares stared at the baby, puzzled. He wasn't sure growing would be enough. Ares reached out and poked by the baby's cheek. Baby Hephaestus gurgled – his eyes large and uncertain. Young Ares smiled. Perhaps he wasn't so bad...

"Where is my husband? Why hasn't he come?" Hera asked an attendant. The maid lowered her gaze awkwardly, her lips trembling. "Answer me."

"The Thunderer is... unavailable." The maid's voice was as soft as a raindrop.

"Unavailable? I have just given birth to his son – how is he unavailable?" Hera's gaze narrowed. "Is he with that mortal?"

The attendant nodded wretchedly. Hera eyes flashed silver.

Zeus had never been faithful to her. Many times, his gaze had wondered – flitting from one lover to another. It hurt. Each time added another knife to Hera's heart. But one thing at least had remained, he recognised who his wife was. Always, he'd returned to her. Always he respected her as his queen. But this – this was a grave insult.

An insult she would not forgive.

Hera screamed. Glass in the mirror and windows shattered and the curtains around the bed flapped violently – as if caught in a storm. Young Ares clamped his hands over his ears and cowered down. He watched his mother rise from her bed, her skin was glowing and her hair was moving wildly – like a nest of writhing snakes. "He chose that mortal, over me and his son. Even on this night!"

The attendants dropped to their knees – begging their mistress to be calm. But Hera would not be calmed. No goddess took being insulted lightly. A goddess had to demand respect – and had to be vigilant and cruel to keep it. "I will make him suffer. I will not weep alone."

Ares crawled and hid under the bed. He watched his mother pick up his baby brother from his crib, her cold gaze staring determinedly outward and not resting on the infant. The attendants sobbed as Hera carried the baby out into her palace's courtyard.

Snow spiralled down from the lilac sky, catching in Hera's hair and on the baby's eyelashes, as she walked with slow deliberation to Olympus' edge.

"Please, don't do it!" The attendants begged and wailed.

Ares ran out from under the bed. He rushed across the courtyard and caught Hera's dress in his little fist. He pulled on it, trying to stop her. But it wasn't enough. With perfect grace, Hera tossed the baby. Ares stared at the awful sight, watching Hephaestus fall – his blankets unfurling.

The baby's piercing cries cut across the night as Hephaestus fell through the clouds.

He would not die, though this was not known until many years later. His immortal blood would save him. But he would be broken when he hit the Earth. Unlike the beautiful gods and goddesses of Olympus – Hephaestus would always be hideous.

Hera dropped to her knees. She sobbed and clawed at the ground. Ares kept a hold of his mother's dress – not wanting to let her go. He saw that blood was dripping from her broken nails and staining the snow gold. Eventually, Hera stopped tearing at the ground and she slumped – laying down upon the blanket of snow – her sobs making her slender body shake. Ares snuggled up close to his mother and buried his face in her soft hair.

Present day,

"I didn't share Aphrodite with my brother."

Sage jumped in surprise, startled to find Ares suddenly standing beside her in the store cupboard. She glanced around, though of course they were alone.

"What?" She asked, not immediately following. She placed a hand over her chest – checking that her heart hadn't fallen out.

"I didn't share Aphrodite with my brother. I tried to steal her from him."

Sage frowned, disarmed by Ares' sombre gaze. Where had this confession sprung from? Ares lowered his head, his hair falling in front of his eyes. "We were never brothers like we should have been."

"Whose fault was that?"

"Mine. I failed him." There was a raw edge to his words.

Sage's brow puckered. Ares reached out and tenderly caressed Sage's cheek.

"I have never protected or cherished what I should have. Until now."

Sage's heart beat wildly. Don't fall for him, she reminded herself sternly. Don't fall for this lonely god.