Vespole: Marked By Wrath

Louie Vespole-known as "V"-isn't just another demigod. He's the son of Ares nobody saw coming: five-foot-something of raw muscle, dark skin etched with battle scars, dreads tied back like he's ready to snap at any second. One jagged mark under his right eye, another slashing diagonally across the left. Quiet. Controlled. But when the switch flips, the violence is cold, surgical, and absolute. Camp Half-Blood doesn't know what to do with him-except fear him.
Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares and undisputed queen of the arena, sees a threat the moment he steps across the boundary line. Another war brat stealing her spotlight? Not on her watch. She meets his silence with venom, his calm with fists and barbed words. They clash like steel on steel-sparring matches that leave bruises and egos bleeding, patrols that end in shouted insults, and glares that could start fires.
But the gods have a sick sense of humor.
When a prophecy drops like a bomb-something ancient and hungry stirring beneath the earth, demanding blood and loyalty from Ares' line-they're forced together. Partners. Rivals chained by fate. Every mission drags them closer: shared watches under starless skies, wounds bandaged in tense silence, bodies pressed too tight in narrow escapes. Hate should be easy. It's familiar. Safe.
Except hate starts feeling like hunger.
The line between fury and want blurs with every collision. Every time she shoves him against a tree and he doesn't shove back-just stares, breathing hard, eyes dark with something dangerous. Every time he pins her in the dirt during training and she laughs low instead of swinging. Loyalty. Bloodshed. And a slow, inevitable burn that neither of them can outrun.
In a world where gods play games with mortal hearts, two children of war are about to discover the most brutal truth of all: sometimes the person who makes you bleed is the only one who can make you feel alive.
Enemies. Warriors.
And maybe-gods help them-something more.