CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR: TORN BETWEEN

Kamaria-

I placed the damp cloth back onto Ogunyemi's forehead, my fingers trembling slightly as I smoothed it out. His chest rose and fell with slow, shallow breaths, and though he wasn't awake, the fact that he was alive was a blessing I clung to. He needed to wake up, to fight, because I couldn't do this alone. I couldn't face this place of gods without him, without his strength.

But it wasn't just the fear of this world pressing down on me. No, there was something else—something that twisted in my chest every time I thought of him, of Ares.

I couldn't help the way my heart fluttered every time I caught a glimpse of him. Every time he was near, it was like everything in me trembled in response. I hated that feeling. Hated that in this place, where survival was all that mattered, I was distracted by something so dangerous, something that could destroy everything I cared about.

Why do I feel this way? I thought, staring down at Ogunyemi. He's my master. I'm a slave, and he's a god. Gods don't feel the way I do, do they?

The shame gnawed at me. How could I feel this way about him, a man who was both my captor and the reason for my captivity? It was stupid. It was dangerous. But still, every time Ares looked at me, every time I heard his voice, there was this pull. This force that I didn't understand. It made me forget myself, even for a moment.

How could I even think of havinh feelings for him? How could I even want him to notice me when I'm nothing more than a healer?

I sighed softly, my breath catching in my throat.

"I'm not even worthy of him," I whispered, more to myself than to Ogunyemi. "And I don't want to be..."

But the truth was, it didn't matter how much I hated myself for it. I couldn't stop my feelings. I couldn't push him out of my thoughts no matter how hard I tried.

I shouldn't be thinking about him. Not when you're here, Ogunyemi. Not when I'm supposed to be caring for you. You're the one who needs me right now.

But the guilt still lingered. How could I be so weak? How could I let myself feel anything for a man like Ares? A man who could destroy me in an instant if it suited him, a man who ruled this place and the lives of all those beneath him?

I swallowed hard and looked down at Ogunyemi again, my hand brushing his hair gently.

"I'm sorry, Ogunyemi," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't focus, not like I should. But I'll stay with you. I'll fight for you. I won't leave you alone in this place, even if I have to carry both of us."

I leaned back, glancing out of the window, the sun now setting over the godly landscape of Olympus. And for just a moment, my thoughts strayed back to Ares. That fleeting warmth, that dangerous pull.

But I can't let it be more than a fleeting thought, I told myself, clenching my fists. I can't let him be a weakness. Not when everything is so uncertain.

Ares-

What the hell is wrong with me?

I slammed my fist into the stone wall, the crack of bone against rock echoing through the chamber. Pain flared—sharp and hot—but it was nothing compared to the storm raging in my chest.

Maria.

That name shouldn't hold weight. That girl shouldn't matter.

But she did.

Her scent still clung to the air— like something innocent that had no place in Olympus. Her touch still lingered on my skin, ghostly soft, like she'd branded me with her care. And those damn eyes—always downcast, always respectful, but hiding something. A quiet storm. A question she was too afraid to voice.

I told her what she was—my personal healer and handmaiden. Nothing more. She was to tend to my wounds, cook, clean, bathe me. A slave, mine to command.

So why did it feel like I was the one being undone?

I paced like a caged beast, dragging a hand through my hair, breath ragged. This isn't supposed to happen. I was a god of war. My heart didn't tremble. My thoughts didn't spiral over some wide-eyed girl with trembling hands and a voice like a whispered hymn.

It was Aphrodite who used to own that space in my mind. Her name once stirred fire in my blood, desire so sharp it turned to rage. But now? I tried—tried to summon her image, her voice, the curve of her lips.

Nothing.

A cold flicker. A shadow.

Her exile should've infuriated me. Father banishing her, casting her away like a discarded trinket—but I didn't feel fury. I felt... indifference. And that terrified me more than anything.

Was Maria replacing her? Was that even possible?

"No," I muttered aloud. "She's a slave. A mortal. She means nothing."

But my voice didn't hold the conviction it should've. It cracked.

I stopped pacing. Clenched my fists until my knuckles ached. What has she done to me?

I hated the answer.

Because the truth was—I didn't know. And that uncertainty was worse than any wound, any loss, any war.

It made me feel weak.

And weakness? Was unforgivable.