Of ARES

Six | A Warm Welcome for the Civic Hazard

I was on a powerless power trip.

It lit a flame up my ass every morning to stand up to Ares and deny his invitation. His request for my freedom was flattering; however, he was the one who condemned me to my hold in the first place. I acknowledge my part in remaining. The steel separating us gave me the extra courage I needed to refuse him, day after day. He did not seem all too phased by our interactions nor did he seem angry that I defied him, but how could he not be? He had to be suppressing it, trying to put on a show for the sake of my feelings towards him. An attempt to seem in control. Tough luck, big guy. I already don't fucking like you. Against his wishes and my better judgment, I remained caged within the confines of my reformation cell.

Unfortunately, that meant, for me, that I was still caged within the confines of my reformation cell.

A powerless power trip.

Despite my indifference, Ares stood true to his promise. For five mornings straight, he teased me with the idea of being able to sleep on a bed that wasn't as thick as the padding of my bra. It was an enticing offer that my back begged me to accept. I refused. We made small talk consisting of a few repetitive questions from him and yes or no answers from me. They were the most counterproductive conversations that I have ever been a part of. How has your morning been? Are you cold in here? Any breakfast requests for tomorrow? When our ten minutes of futile communication was over, he left me alone for the remainder of the day, and someone else brought me food and rare company. Then, the cycle repeated.

"Do you know how terrible you look?" There weren't enough words in the English language to explain how flabbergasted I was by the smug son-of-a-bitch staring at me through the steel bars of my enclosure.

"What?" I hesitated, a chunk of bagel wedged into my cheek. Ares crossed his arms over his chest, and his brows raised as if questioning what about his question was difficult to understand. That is exactly what he meant.

"Aren't you ready to take an actual shower, yet?" An anticipated shiver ran down my spine at the thought of finally feeling the stream of a shower cascading down the skin of my back. I was more than ready, but that did not mean I was willing.

"Are you ready to let me go home?" I countered, watching as amusement festered within the pools of liquid gold in his eyes.

"Hm," he hummed thoughtfully. His eyes scanned the air as if the Moon was going to display the correct answer above his head, "not quite yet."

"Then, I'll wait."

I matched Ares' eyes, false patience seeping into my irises. It was a dare on his behalf for me to do something irrational—spit in his face or change my mind or something. For me, it was a matter of keeping my own composure.

Gaining a bit of fluorescence, Ares' eyes undermined the bravado I put up. The brilliance signifying the stepping forward of Ares' wolf causing my already averted one to take a giant step back. Effectively, my gaze wavered, my jaw clenching down on the molars. Though it was a microscopic movement, Ares' intimidation served its purpose. I may have been stubborn, but pure obstinance still would never be enough to stand against the Alpha of Vici, unless I was suicidal.

The corner of his mouth turned upward, and he shook his head, "Stubborn little girl." He was amused, and that I was not.

With a slight curl to my lip, I barked, "I am not a little girl."

"You want to compare age or height?" Silence smoldered over the seconds of avoided communication. Age? Ares was a 120-year-old Alpha-wolf which coincided directly with his height. Tall. At least a whole head taller than my 6'3 father. There was no good way of attacking the question without insulting myself in the process. I was a 5'11 twenty-year-old—a vertically-challenged child compared to the Lycan-god before me. Accepting my silence for a white flag, Ares said, "Sure."