Azrael's Nemesis

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Nemesis POV

I glance Ares up and down, raising a questioning brow.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said hit me,” he repeats, a devilish smile curving his mouth.

“What? No! You’re the god of war!”

Ares’s gaze sharpens, his massive frame towering over me, every inch radiating intensity.

“I am very well aware of what I am, Nemesis. Now, be aware that I am only on Olympus for you. I am taking time away from my otherwise busy life to train you. Not many get that privilege. So I’ll say it one last time—hit me. Show me what you’ve got.”

“I’m just a mortal compared to you. How can you expect me to actually land a hit?”

In a flash, Ares closes the space between us, but instead of grabbing me, he stops close enough that I feel the press of his presence, like a wall of power. His eyes bore into mine.

“I’m not in the mood for games. Take this seriously.”

“Ares, that’s enough.”

The voice behind me makes me spin. Zeus steps onto the training field, calm but commanding.

I’ve met most of the gods on Olympus since waking up—everyone except Athena and Hermes. They’re in North America handling something important, or so I was told, too busy to meet their daughter.

“Ares, the Fates are asking for you,” Zeus says evenly. “Go. Now.”

At that, Ares perks up, eyes sparking with excitement. “Where are they?”

“In the First Temple.”

Without hesitation, Ares strides away, leaving Zeus and me alone.

Zeus studies me for a moment, gaze steady. “The gods haven’t had the chance to spend real time with you yet. That will change during your training and free hours.”

I bow my head slightly out of instinct, but Zeus chuckles.

“Child, we are equals. No need to bow.”

I lift my eyes to his and nod. “Thank you.”

“I apologize for Ares’s behavior. He doesn’t have a mate, and the absence eats at him. His temper has grown worse because of it. I’ll reassign your combat training to Artemis. She’s just as skilled, and more measured.”

I nod, relieved.

“Meanwhile,” Zeus adds, “there are two who are eager to see you. Come.”

Anticipation floods me as I follow him off the training field. I know who he means. My parents. Athena and Hermes.

We stop in front of a mansion, grand but warmer than the palaces I’ve seen here.

“Go on in,” Zeus encourages.

I freeze. My parents. The ones who gave me life, then left me behind. The ones my heart aches for even when my head tells me not to.

With a deep breath, I step inside. The foyer is open and elegant, and I move forward slowly, each step heavier than the last.

In the living room, two figures wait.

Hermes looks younger than I expected, almost boyish, with quick, restless energy. Athena is regal, with dark waves of hair and piercing eyes that could cut or comfort.

We stare at one another. My throat tightens.

“Mother? Father?”