Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
It takes me a moment, actually, to realize that it was a dream and I am now awake.
And then I breathe through the residual fear until that too withers.
It’s not what’s happening in the dream that frightens me, which is the destruction of Vinca. The utter demolition of it. Buildings cracking in half. Boulevards flooded by the engorged river. Humans and chimera screaming as fireballs come hurling down from the sky, blowing them into bits.
I knew all that happened. Well, I knew Vinca was destroyed. The particulars were left up to my imagination.
No. The frightening part is the face of that destruction.
A bull god. Golden and black. Terrifying and destructive.
Not just any bull god, either, but the bull god.
The Apis bull.
In my time as queen there was no bull god. He was destroyed—dismembered, actually—thousands of years ago, his individual body parts sealed inside jars that were then taken to the far corners of the realm and hidden away so he might never incarnate again.
So what could this dream mean?
I get up from bed, naked, and go downstairs to the bar. It’s empty, but the jukebox is playing that stupid song about a ball and chain that Eros loves so much.
I grab a bottle of whiskey from the shelf and take it back upstairs. Then I climb out the window and carefully navigate the rickety and rusty stairs to the roof.
This is where I find Eros. He turns to study me, looking moody, and volatile, and handsome, of course, with his giant black bat wings contrasting sharply with his blond hair and green eyes. He’s standing on the edge of the building, looking down, perhaps contemplating suicide. More likely not, though. More likely he is just wondering how the hell he got here like all the rest of us.
He watches me approach with narrowed eyes. “What are you doing up here?”
His strange Pennsylvania accent intrigues me, but I ignore him, walk to the edge of the roof, and then sit down with my feet dangling over the edge. Then I tip the bottle to my mouth and take a long drink.
I sputter a little bit when I pause to wipe my mouth, then take another.
“Hel-looo? Are you deaf?”
“Which do you think is more likely, god of nothing? I am suddenly and inexplicably unable to hear you? Or I am ignoring you?”
“Well, well, well. She talks.”
“Of course I talk. I talk every day. I have never pretended to not talk.”
“So you say. But the only thing I’ve ever heard come out of that mouth of yours, aside from moaning, of course”—he stops here, and I find him grinning down at me when I look up—“is that whole spiel about calling you queen.”
I look away and take another drink of my whiskey, saying nothing in response.
“Do you realize you’re naked?”
I huff. “No. Eros. I’m a literal idiot who can’t tell if she is wearing clothes or not. Thank you for letting me know.”
“You’re so fucking weird.”
I say nothing. Just continue to gaze out across the low rooftops of the little town, focusing on the tops of trees and the foggy sky in the distance.
“If you just want to ignore me then why did you come up here?”
I sigh, already tired of him. “Because I had a bad dream and I need some air. But I didn’t realize you’d be up here, so it was probably the wrong choice.”
“Bullshit. You knew I would be here.” I don’t look up at him but I can tell he’s smirking. The unfortunate thing about Eros is, smirk or smile, he is always alluring.
He’s also correct. Unfortunately. And I don’t have the energy to lie to him right now, so I just admit it. “I wanted some company.”
“I’m not really the best choice when it comes to company.”
“No, you are not. But I had a nightmare.”
Eros sits down, dangling his booted feet over the side of the building as well. He’s not very close, but he takes up a lot of space with those wings. And as the right one brushes up against my bare shoulder, I shudder. Chills run up my spine and little bumps burst out all over my naked body.
“Do ya wanna tell me about the nightmare?”
“Not particularly.”
“Do ya… want me to shut up and just make ya feel safe?”
“That sounds acceptable.”
“Can I have some?” When I look at him, he’s pointing to my bottle of whiskey, so I hand it over. He studies the label. “The Busker. Never heard of it.”
“Are you a whiskey aficionado?”
“Not particularly, but we get all kinds through here. Almost never the same thing twice. And this one is new.”
I study him as he takes a sip, then lets out a breath. “Well?”
He shrugs. “Seems fine to me.” He hands back the bottle.
For an outcast god who has been shit on his entire life and therefore should have several addictions as well as a personality disorder, he doesn’t often partake in the drinking. Not the way the satyrs do. He doesn’t spend a lot of time in the bar with the people and chimera, preferring to keep to himself most of the time, giving off an air of… ‘heavy is the head.’