Chapter 2
The battle began like any other, the Scourge's battle-hardened men pushing back the inexperienced rabble from Thebes…But then she felt a shift somewhere in the middle. Her men were no longer pushing but merely holding their ground. On the right flank, she could even see her men being the ones pushed back. This was an unwelcome novelty for her and them but failure was not an option. They would not retreat.
After an hour or so of steady fighting, the battlefield thinned out and the Scourge saw why this battle was not so easily won as the others. She recognized him instantly: Hercules, her god's half-brother. While she admired his good works and renowned prowess on the battlefield, she needed him out of the equation. As soon as she finished off her opponent, she made for him. Her attempt to slash his neck was avoided by a twist of his that ended in a stab at her leg. She jumped to evade him and vainly slashed at his midsection. 'All the rumours of his fighting skills are true,' Hercules and the Scourge thought.
They were so well-matched they fought til midday. They had been fighting for almost 2 hours and to her surprise, the Scourge was tiring. She refused to show weakness but the sun and her fatigued body had other ideas. She and Hercules were circling each other when a wave of lightheadedness stopped her in her tracks. It had barely passed when a second, stronger wave drove her to her knees. With the third came a blackness that enveloped her like a blanket.
When Hercules saw his opponent fall, his first reaction was to stay on his guard. Ares was not the most honest of the gods and his disciples would be no different. After a while though, his heart got the better of him and he knelt to see what was wrong with the man. Grey clouds started to in fast from the east and Hercules knew they couldn't stay there much longer. He slowly lifted off the mask. The shock of gazing upon a woman's face kept him frozen there until Iolaus shouted for him. A thunderstorm had rolled in unnaturally quickly. Seeing their leader fallen, the Scourge's men retreated to the forest. The villagers returned to their homes. Hercules threw the Scourge over his shoulder and walked with Iolaus back to Thebes.
The mortals could not then know that every clap of thunder was a roar from Ares. The thunderstorm echoed with his displeasure at seeing the Scourge defeated. Every bolt of lightening was infused with his rage at seeing his half-brother ride away with his Scourge. For years, Hercules had taken his father's love and attention. He would be damned if he got his Scourge.
The blackness of the Scourge's unconsciousness did not stay black for long. The memories danced and flickered through it like fireflies through dusk. She remembered the tornado that had taken her to Ares' palace. She remembered the years of long, arduous training sessions; sword-fighting, hand-to-hand, the spear, the bow-and-arrow, everything Ares insisted she master. She remembered all the conversations they had, about war and other things. One memory though pushed through all the rest to assert itself and was the most vivid of them all. Just over a month ago, she and Ares had been celebrating a massive triumph for her campaign. Ares had left a dress in her room he insisted she wear. It was black, of course, with a simple but flattering cut. It was off-the-shoulder and hugged her chest and midsection but flowed gently down to her feet. She thought it strange at the time but had acquiesced. They had eaten on the balcony outside his chambers. The balcony was in the clouds. It had been so beautiful to look out into the night sky. When dinner was over, she excused herself and was making her way past his bed to the hallway when she was stopped. He had caught her arm. When she looked back, he pulled her closer. She had never been embraced before and her confusion caused her to instinctively pull away. He wouldn't let her though. She had barely opened her mouth to ask him what was going on when he said, "Your devotion to me is unsurpassed and you know that I believe in rewarding those who please me. Reward, not punish. Trust me now. Trust me. Not another word."
He leaned in and kissed her softly on the neck. His fingers deftly opened the back of her dress and began to slide it down. She felt anxious and strange, as if she should stop it. But one did not defy the Great God Ares. One did not. Ever. Her dress hit the floor. He pushed her back gently onto the bed and lowered himself above her. He tilted her chin up so she was forced to look into his eyes. Ares' eyes had always reminded her of an oncoming storm, she could see his anger, his strength, his will, his sheer determination and the fuming rage he kept in check just barely, all swirling in those deep, brown eyes. As soon as she had lost herself in them, he pressed his lips against hers. He pulled off his vest, letting his lips leave hers for just that one moment. When his lips met hers again, there was more force. His tongue pushed past her lips to tease hers. All the while, his hands stroked their way down her neck to her breasts. As he lowered himself fully onto her and settled between her legs, he kneaded her breasts with his palms. Underneath the confusion, it did feel nice to be touched like that, she thought.
His lips dropped a soft peck on her chin before treating her neck and chest similarly. His tongue teased her nipples into hardened peaks while the tip of his forefinger massaged her clit. She was beginning to accustom to his ministrations when she felt a pressure between her legs. She felt a slow, steady push into herself. She didn't gasp in surprise, she didn't groan in pain. She lay there and looked over his shoulder and told herself he had a reason for doing this. He buried himself in her again and again at a steady pace, not too fast, she was thankful for. There was a reason. There had to be a reason.
Hercules studied the sleeping figure on his bed. He had had to sneak her into his home for fear that the villagers would, at the least, imprison her. He watched the rise and fall of her chest underneath the bare underclothes she wore. He had undressed her to attend to her battle wounds but there had only been a few bruises. Not only did he not know why she had collapsed, he wondered what he would do with her when she woke up. But the question that kept re-asserting itself was, How did this young girl end up doing Ares' dirty work?