Of ARES

Eight | Like the Fallen Queen

A cold shower was not for the faint of heart.

It was a tactic that my mother introduced into my life as a way to counteract my deviance.

'Just take a cold shower,' she would say when I was feeling out-of-rank, her kind way of saying, defiant towards those above me.

I'd always hated it. She was such a stickler for the sworn cure from some half-cracked healer that, for many years, she would sit on the bathroom floor as I showered, watching for any signs of hot steam to emerge from beyond the curtains.

As time went on, I'd found solace in the way that the cold crept into my skin, sinking into my bones and freezing the hot blood within my veins. Time stopped, or at least, slowed down for those twenty-or-so minutes. It, quite literally, chilled me the fuck out and let me think.

There had to be a way out. There was no way there wasn't. The thought peppered every cortex of my mind as I scrubbed the familiar scent of lemony-vanilla into my skin. My golden undertone was eaten away by an irritated, red rash that formed from my neurotic cleanse, as if I could wipe myself from the face of the Realm if I tried hard enough. There had to be someone to call. Someone with enough power and derangement that defying Alpha Conte of Vici did not sound so bad. Surely, there were more than enough options in the Deep, but very few in the rest of the Dark had the insanity needed to disregard the sadistic nature of Ares.

My best bet was to contact the Fallen Queen and beg.

Unfortunately, I wasn't aware of the Fallen Queen having any preferred methods of communication. Perhaps, I could have tried to summon her, but I doubted that Ares kept summoning salt and a witch at his disposal.

Likewise, I was not certain on the Queen's vacation status, whether or not she was still exiled for all of eternity to the most sinister part of the Dark Realm.

The cold stream washed away the suds that coated my arms like sleeves. Had the constant reminder of what Ares had done not been repeatedly bludgeoning itself into the forefront of my thoughts, maybe I would have considered thanking him for requesting my belongings be transferred to the High Pack House. Nevertheless, as I looked toward my usual bottles of shampoo, body wash, and conditioner, it became increasingly clear that I could be having this shower in my own apartment, my own bathroom, my own shower.

With that in mind, I ripped the dial to a halt, silencing the stream from the showerhead.

I treasured the way it felt to wear fresh clothes—fresh underwear. No longer did I have to fall asleep, taking in the smell of my own sweat. It was a dream that I had been yearning for, for what felt like weeks. To finally put on deodorant, to finally brush my teeth. It was a small victory that made traitorously giving into the desires of Alpha Conte kind of worth it.

I no longer had to stubbornly wallow in my own filth and boredom, and Ares could no longer leisurely spy on me as I did so.

I was still a prisoner, but, in some illusionary way, I felt liberated.

Perhaps, being mated to Ares would not be much different than dating Alden.

The thought crashed down on me, weighing on my chest and closing in on my lungs. Of course, it would be different; it would be worse.

Alden was a Delta that devoted his life to the protection of myself and my family. He may have been a sexist brute, but he was a sexist brute that did not rip apart my pack, separating families and kidnapping me in the process. I could handle Alden's past and present because they were ones of protection and justice.

Ares was and always would be a dangerous threat to the Wolfdom. A man with not a single morsel of empathy or compassion for anyone but himself. A wolf with enough hot, viscous arrogance that, if liquified, it could replace the blood in his body and fuel him for eternity. An Alpha with no reasons behind his brutality beyond pure power.