“Bad,” Aron restates, interrupting. It’s a question, I’m pretty sure.

I plunge ahead. “We can maybe get some money and clothes on the sly in the morning. Get some food. We won’t tell anyone what we’re doing and tomorrow night, maybe we leave this place for somewhere more god-friendly. I’m not sure where that would be, but I bet we can ask around—”

“Silence, human.” Aron’s voice is almost as angry as his expression. The torches in the room flicker as if a gust of wind just shot through, even though the chamber’s sealed. My skin prickles with a hint of alarm.

I’m silent. I might be mouthy, but I’m not stupid.

“We stay here. This is my temple. They would not think to do anything I do not tell them to,” Aron tells me arrogantly. “I am a god. I am their god. Do you understand?”

I don’t know whether to be irritated, frustrated, or full of pity for the guy. I can’t shake the bad feeling I’ve got in my gut, and I keep thinking of the sneaky, evil looks that the prelate and my old owner were sharing. Those were not trustworthy men. But I’m helpless to make Aron listen to me. I’m a stranger here, and I’ve got nothing to my name except a skirt.

I shrug and lie back down on the blankets. “Can we at least get clothes in the morning?”

“We shall see.” He’s back to being completely imperious and irritating.

I bite back my groan of irritation and lie down again, punching my pillow and wishing it was Aron’s handsome smug face. Arrogant prick.

I really hope for both our sakes that I’m wrong.

OceanofPDF.com

10

I sleep so deeply that when I hear the banging, at first I think it’s in my dreams. That the annoying, incessant drumming has invaded my sleep. But then thunder rumbles overhead so loudly that I feel the floor under me shake with the vibration, and I jerk awake, blinking my eyes.

Something pounds at the walls again, and the torches are flickering and sputtering on their last legs, the room dim. I look around and Aron is out of his bed, hands on his hips and staring at the statue and chest I put in front of one portion of the wall. As I watch, it shakes.

I gasp, jumping to my feet. That’s the secret door. “Someone’s trying to come in.”

Aron gestures at the door, annoyed. “Then let them in.”

“No,” I breathe, rushing to his side. God, the man is still naked. What the hell is wrong with him? “Are you high? Think—why are they trying to beat the door down in the middle of the night? A secret door?”

He frowns, his perfect features creasing. It’s clear he has no answer.

“Aron, this isn’t good. Please, we need to reinforce the door. Better yet, we need to get out of here.” I tug on his arm, ignoring the shock that jolts through me at the touch and hoping that my frightened expression tells him how serious this is. My heart’s hammering with fear and I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared—not even when I landed in this strange place.

The doors shake again, and it sounds like they’ve got a battering ram of some kind. I suck in a breath and look to Aron. “What do we do?”

The god looks around the room and then his gaze lands on the gigantic, ornamental axe on the wall over the bed. It’s mounted to a wood plaque that’s just as fussy and ornamental as the axe itself, but that doesn’t stop Aron. He climbs the bed with quick, agile grace and pulls the axe from the wall—kind of. More like he pulls the entire thing, plaque and all, down. He frowns as he holds the axe by the handle and shakes it, as if he can dislodge the wood from the axehead, and upon closer inspection, the entire thing seems fake. I don’t even think the blades are sharp. When the secret door splinters, though, he just hefts the entire thing to his shoulder and goes to stand in the center of the room.

I wring my hands. “What should I do?”

He points to the far wall. “Stay out of my way.”

“Right. I can do that.” I race over to the far side of the room, dumping the uneaten food on the floor and clutching the tray to my chest as a shield. I hate that there’s nothing useful weapon-wise in this room, but maybe that’s deliberate. It’s also a big stinking hint that the prelate’s up to no good.

The door falls apart and two of the armored soldiers step in, swords in hand. Behind them are four more, and then a familiar face—the pear-shaped meathead of my old owner.

Sinon. That bastard.

“My Lord of Storms,” he says, bringing his dagger to his brow and tapping it there in a strange sort of salute. “You are not yourself. Forgive me for what I am about to do.”

I suck in a breath. I was right. This is an assassination. I thought this jerk was pious, but it seems that when he has to choose between the prelate and Aron, he’s picking the prelate.

“I forgive nothing,” Aron says in a cold voice, lifting the axe from his shoulder and swinging it slowly, testing the unbalanced heft of it. “That is another god entirely.”

My owner nods. “Men,” he says, lowering his dagger. “Get her.”

Wait, what? Get me?

I let out a terrified squeak as the men try to rush past Aron and move to me. With a roar of outrage, Aron swings the axe—plaque and all—over his head as if it weighs nothing. It moves in a wide circle and then slams into one of the soldiers, knocking him into his buddy. Just like that, two men are down.

Of course, the other four are still coming for me. Frantic, I race across the room, heading for Aron’s bed. One of the men tries to grab me and ends up snatching the end of my skirt, and then the fabric rips from my body, knocking me off balance. I slam into the bed, face first.

Somewhere above me, there’s a furious roar. Weapons clang and the bed shakes. I roll onto my back, scooting backward even as Aron wades into the men attacking me, swinging the decorative axe like the world’s biggest club. His eyes blaze with unholy light and thunder rages above like it’s his own personal battle soundtrack. One man is flung aside with such force that he slams into the opposite wall, cracking the stone. Another flies over Aron’s head and soars through the air, landing with a crunch. As another reaches for me, sword in hand, the gigantic decorative battleaxe swings over Aron’s head and whirls through the air, then smashes into him, knocking him flat before he can reach me.

It’s both poetic and brutal how quickly and efficiently Aron works his way through the men. I watch one go down and another pick himself up, flinging his weight at Aron with a cry. The god smiles, baring his teeth, and it’s almost like he’s enjoying this little assassination attempt.

Something wrenches my head backward and hot pain shoots through my scalp. I scream, clutching at my hair, and find that someone else’s hand is there. My owner. His face looms over mine and he brings the dagger closer to my throat.

In the space between one breath and the next, something big and shiny launches through the air. He’s knocked backward and my hair feels as if it’s ripping out of my scalp. I nearly black out at the intense pain, moaning. I cringe, waiting for the knife to cut my throat, but there’s nothing.

After a moment, I sit up, clutching at my burning scalp. Aron stands, shoulders heaving, his pale skin gleaming with sweat. His hands are empty and covered in red spatters, and as I get to my feet, I see that the men on the floor are scattered and lying in pools of blood. I turn and see my old owner, the knife flung to the floor near his hand. His other still has a handful of my blonde hair in his fingers. There’s a big sloppy mess where his face used to be, thanks to the gigantic axe that’s even now sliding off of his front.