Ares-
I watched her as she knelt beside me, her hands steady as she worked. The soft, practiced movements of her fingers against the wound in my side... It was strange, this kind of tenderness, coming from someone who wasn't yet hardened by Olympus. She wasn't like the other mortals I'd enslaved or broken. Kamaria—Maria, now, as I'd chosen to call her—had something I couldn't quite place, something untouched, fragile, but undeniably strong.
Her dark, soulful eyes never left the cloth as she wiped at the blood. The delicate touch, the calmness in her, even with the tension in the air, struck me. She's a healer, I thought, but it wasn't just her hands that worked on me—it was something more. I could sense it, even if she hadn't told me. There was power in her. Hidden. Locked away beneath that sweetness and soft submission.
Her quiet obedience was irritating, but something about it held me captive. The way she listened without hesitation. The way she responded with just enough resistance to make me interested. She didn't cower, not fully. But she didn't fight either. It was strange... she looked naïve, yes, but I could see she wasn't stupid. And I wasn't sure if that was more dangerous or alluring.
She had no idea how powerful she could be—how much potential she had to make even the gods bow to her. The way her skin shimmered in the sun, the scent of roses and honey, that delicate grace... But I couldn't allow anyone here to see that. Not yet. Not until I could control it.
I leaned back slightly, watching as she moved over me, tending to me like I was some fragile thing—like I was someone worthy of care. It felt wrong. I was Ares, the God of War. Gods didn't need healing, didn't need someone like her. Yet, here I was, caught in the strange, gnawing ache that only a mortal could inflict.
"You will be my personal healer," I told her, my voice rough with something I didn't want to admit. "You will tend to me—heal my wounds, cook, clean, bathe me when necessary. Everything. And No one in Olympus must know about your powers."
I let the weight of that statement settle between us. She was mine now, whether she liked it or not. My personal slave. No more running, no more hiding. She would serve me. No one would question me. Not even her.
Her eyes flickered, just for a moment. But she didn't protest. Of course, she wouldn't. She couldn't.
I didn't care if she wanted it or not. I'd made her mine.
I stood slowly, making her rise with me, my gaze never leaving her face. She was so quiet, so compliant. But something in me warned to keep her close. This girl—Maria—was different.
And that scared me.
But I didn't let it show. Not yet.
Kamaria-
The moment he spoke, my hands froze on the cloth. My breath caught in my chest as his words sank in. Personal healer and handmaiden. His words felt heavy, like chains around my wrists. I wasn't sure whether to feel grateful for the opportunity or terrified by it. I had no choice. It was an order, not a request.
I could still feel the weight of his gaze on me, though I couldn't bring myself to meet his eyes. His presence was suffocating, like standing in the eye of a gathering storm—too still, too loud, too full of thunder I couldn't hear yet. I had never been this close to him, never stood so near the god who had swept me from everything I knew. My heart raced. The proximity was too much, too overwhelming. His scent lingered in the air, and I could feel his body heat even though there was space between us. I was acutely aware of him, every movement he made, the faint sound of his breathing.
The damp cloth in my hands felt like the only thing keeping me grounded, my fingers gripping it tightly as if it could somehow shield me from what was happening. I couldn't look up, couldn't meet his eyes. The power radiating off him made me small, made me feel insignificant. And yet, something about him... something about the way he spoke to me made my heart flutter in fear, excitement, and something else I didn't quite understand.
I didn't want to be his. Not like this. But what choice did I have? If I resisted, if I defied him, there would be consequences. I knew this. And yet, a part of me wanted to escape—wanted to run back to the simplicity of my village, to the life I once knew.
But I had a feeling I was already in too deep, too tangled in his world. The chains I feared were already around my wrists, invisible but real.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breathing. I couldn't let him see how shaken I was, how terrified I felt. He'd already decided for me. And what was I to do but obey?
"I understand," I whispered, though I wasn't sure I truly did. My voice was quiet, barely audible, as I finally allowed my gaze to drop to the floor. I was scared—more scared than I had ever been in my life. The thought of serving him like this... being so close to him... made me feel both helpless and powerless. But what else could I do?
I was just a slave now. His. And I had no say in the matter.
I felt the heat of his stare on me again, but I couldn't look up. It was too much. I feared that if I did, I would see something in his eyes that would shatter whatever fragile peace I had left.
He was a god. I was the girl he'd taken. And if I forgot that for even a second, I would break.