Ravenous Revenge

Chapter Eight-Ares

I pull my Maserati from the alley, the engine roaring to life as I peel away from the curb and speed toward home. The adrenaline from the encounter hums beneath my skin like a restless storm. I pull out my phone and dial my best tracker, Enzo. As expected, he answers before the second ring.

"Wassup, Boss!"

He's annoyingly cheerful for 3 a.m., but I let it slide.

"I need you to track this phone number and give me a location," I say, my voice clipped.

"Right away, sir. May I ask what for?"

"Nope." I hang up without waiting for a response.

The tires crunch against gravel as I drive up the compound's long, winding driveway. The towering line of trees on either side sways gently, casting fragmented shadows under the pale moonlight. Once, this place felt like home—a sanctuary full of love and laughter. Now it's nothing more than a prison. A hollow shell that holds my demons and the ghost of my mother's memory.

The gate comes into view, flanked by two willow trees my mother adored. She always said they symbolized immortality and rebirth. She planted them herself, insisting they would protect the family as much as they represented us.

When I was a kid, those trees were a playground. A swing used to hang between them, and I'd spend hours there, laughing, carefree, oblivious. After she died, I tore that swing down. Almost burned the trees too. But I couldn't. Destroying them felt like destroying her completely, and I wasn't ready for that. Not then. Not now.

Her words echo as I pass through the gates:

"O yios mou, never underestimate the endurance of love. For even death can't separate us. Love is eternal, the closest to immortality humans can get. And with that, love is also the closest thing we get to being reborn—to experiencing life anew in the embrace of eternal affection. That is what these trees represent."

She lied.

I loved her more deeply than I've ever loved anything in this world, and she still died. The hole she left has never been filled, and I haven't felt love since. It wasn't long after her passing that my demons came for me, dragging me into the abyss. The beast was born in that darkness—out of blood, pain, and secrets too vile to speak of in daylight.

I don't remember much of that time. I remember being taken. I remember some of the trauma, but a lot of it is dark and locked away. I never wanted to access it and never tried to. The beast inside me guards those memories fiercely, keeping them hidden. He must've taken over during my captivity, because all I remember after that is meeting Leo and being rescued.

As I pull up to the mansion—a sprawling structure that's housed my family for generations—I stare up at its grand façade. Cold, imposing, lifeless. Just like me.

This place hasn't been a home since my mother died.

I scoff. Her words cut through my thoughts. She was wrong. Love isn't eternal. It's fleeting, a shadow of our mortality. And when it's gone, it leaves nothing but emptiness.

I step out of the car; the crunch of gravel underfoot grounds me. My mother believed love could heal and transform. I pity her for that. Love didn't save me.

I was reborn, yes—but not through love. I was forged in hatred, vengeance, and the blood of my enemies.

And that, I think, is the closest thing to immortality I'll ever know.

The ringtone breaks the silence as I walk into my prison—shrill and insistent. Enzo. He works fast; he knows better than to make me wait. I answer with a flick of my thumb.

"She's in the city," he says, clipped but confident. "An upscale penthouse near—"

"I don't care about the details," I cut him off, my voice low and sharp. "Send me the address."

"Already did, boss," Enzo replies quickly.

I hang up without another word and shove the phone in my pocket.

And then it happens.

A familiar heat blooms in my chest, spreading like wildfire. It's not anger—anger is controlled, almost human. This is something else entirely. This is rage. Pure, primal, unrelenting.

The beast stirs.

My breathing slows, deep and deliberate, but each inhale feels heavier, like drawing in smoke. The world narrows to a single point: her. Lyssa. The woman who dared to play games with me. The woman who thinks she can outmaneuver me.

I stomp back to my car, each step heavier than the last. My vision blurs at the edges; the pulse in my ears grows louder. Walking becomes a challenge—my body tenses, too tight, like a cord pulled to its breaking point.

The beast claws at the surface, relentless and unyielding.

It doesn't care about strategy. It does not care about reason. It only wants one thing: to hunt.

The sound of my footsteps fades under the pounding in my head. My fists clench and unclench at my sides, fingers itching for action. My breathing grows shallow; I can feel the shift. The barrier that was already razor-thin dissolves.

Find her. Confront her. Destroy her.

The words echo in my mind like a drumbeat—primal and consuming.

A low growl rumbles in my throat, escaping before I can stop it. It's involuntary, guttural. My chest feels like it's burning, the fire spreading outward, tightening my muscles.

I yank the car door open, hands trembling as I throw myself into the driver's seat. The beast isn't waiting anymore. It's here—fully awake, fully in control.

I grip the steering wheel hard enough to make the leather creak. The world outside feels distant and unimportant. The beast has only one focus now: her.

With a snarl, I slam the car into gear and peel out of the driveway, tires screeching. The hunt has begun.