Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 95(@200wpm)___ 76(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 95(@200wpm)___ 76(@250wpm)___ 63(@300wpm)
Instead, I gave a weak, “Thank you.”
Sloan kissed the side of my head and took another bite before adding, “And I’d love to see many musicals and operas with you.”
“You like them too?” I asked in surprise. Sloan was blowing my mind; he was a hulking mound of muscle who could easily be a killing machine, but he spoke properly and enjoyed operas and animated movies. He was tearing apart any preconceived notion I had about fighters. That’s what I got for judging a book by its cover.
“Oh, yes. They were very popular where I came from. Musical theater originated in Greece, you know.” I smiled and nodded; I’d learned a lot during my time traveling with my mother. “Of course, such activities were only allowed at special times, like holidays. All other time was reserved for training.”
“To fight?” I assumed, and Sloan nodded. “Were there a lot of fighters where you came from?”
Sloan huffed a laugh. “Everyone was a fighter. It’s the way all my father’s children were raised. From the time we could walk, we began training. Every day for hours, we were taught form and technique. I had countless brothers, and we were always pitted against one another. If we lost a fight, we were severely punished. If we won, we were rewarded. That fueled resentment and jealousy, which only made the fights more intense.”
Holy shit. “Was your home country at war?” It was the only reason I could think of to explain why a father might push his children that way; for protection.
“No, nothing like that,” he answered with a shake of his head. “My father’s training isn’t for safety; there has never been a war between the holy lands. The main purpose is status. My father wants the bragging rights of having the biggest, most powerful army, and to him, nothing demands more respect than hand-to-hand combat.”
Though our stories were very different, they had one thing in common; our parents shaped our destiny. My mother veered me away from following my dreams, while Sloan’s father pushed his dream onto his son. I wondered if Sloan even enjoyed fighting, or if he only did it to appease his dad. Perhaps that was why he didn’t seem to fit the boxer mold.
He continued, “My father’s sister Athena shares the same mindset. She trains her children to be cunning and formidable. The siblings often choose fighters to go head-to-head to battle for their land’s honor. Losing brings shame, while victory brings celebration and feasts.
“To ensure the fighters are deserving, when they come of age, they are cast out of his land and sent to Earth to continue to hone their skills. Only when they are considered worthy will they be allowed back amongst their people.”
My mouth went dry as my mind spun with everything he said; Greeks, Athena being his aunt, the holy lands, being sent to Earth, telling Christos he hoped he wasn't here tomorrow…it all added up to an impossible conclusion. Holy hell, his boxing name is The Deity… but it can't be.
I took a shaky breath before asking, “What is your father's name?”
“Ares.”
Fuck. “And where did you grow up?”
“On a far corner of Mount Olympus.”
Double fuck. “Sweetheart, I think that headshot from Marco got you messed up. We should get you to a hospital; you might have a concussion.” As I spoke the words, they didn't feel right on my tongue. Somehow I knew Sloan was telling the truth, as wild as it sounded. My heart believed him, but my brain was having trouble accepting everything.
Sloan lowered his lips to my ear, and I shivered when his breath caressed my skin as he spoke, “I would never lie to you. My father is Ares, god of war, spirit of battle. My very name means warrior; it was what I was bred to become.”
Chapter Four
Sloan
Lyric's skin paled as he mulled over my words. I didn't mean to put everything on him at once, but he made conversation so easy. And when the opportunity presented itself, I wouldn't hide anything from my mate. Not only did I want him to know my story, I needed him to, given my plans for the night.
I held my breath, waiting for him to say something, hoping he would embrace our bond and trust what I had told him. I grew worried when he was silent for several moments, but he finally whispered, “I need some air.”
“Of course.” I withdrew some money from my wallet and placed it on the table to pay for our meal before helping Lyric out of the booth and leading him outside.
Lyric paced back and forth in the parking lot, which was mostly empty. It was closing time for Grecian Garden, and we were the last diners to leave. The only other people at the restaurant were the employees, who were taking curious peeks out of the blinds, but didn’t come out to ask questions. I gave my mate space to sort through his thoughts, but I was close by when he needed me.