Blinking, Jenna realized that she had told Deimos everything.

What the hell? For all she knew, he was real and really learning a lot about how to hurt her. But, as she looked into his blue eyes, she felt... trust. He had asked sincere questions. He showed heart felt sorrow at her pains. He flashed rage as learning the details of her experience as a prisoner of war.

You are seriously delusional! Is this some weird, freaky Stockholm thing? Some brute of a man barges into your dream, trying to scare you while you are being held captive, tortured and raped. And you trust him? Ugh!

Yet, there was something so real to him. There was something gentle and warm. His deep accented voice was soothing and his wit comforted her. For the first time, she realized just how lonely it was in her dreams. And at this point in her life, she desperately needed the comfort and support of someone else. Whether he was real or created by her own subconscious, the only rational thing to do was cling on to that life line and hope that it helps save her sanity.

Even at that moment, she felt walls long built as a child starting to crumble inside of her. She did not know what it was, but her control was starting to wane. She needed him with her to help her find her strength again.

Looking down at the chess board, her lips slid up in a smirk. "Check mate!"

"What? How? You distracted me!"

Jenna could not hold back the laughter at his whining any longer. That had been the third time she beat him in a row. And the last time, he had even tried to cheat. To cheat!

The look on his face showed a definitive hatred at loosing. She would hate to be someone he did not like to loose to. Yet, when he looked at her, he reigned himself in and mumbled in frustration. How could the god of dread pout so much like a little boy?

They had been talking and playing chess for what felt like hours. Time was never the same in dreams as in the real world. What felt like hours could have been only 20 minutes. Or what felt like 20 minutes could have been 2 hours. Soon, it would end. She had no doubt of that since those bastards, that held her captive, typically did not let her sleep long. Usually, it was to wake to the pain and coldness of their fucking power spray. It was a surprise that things had lasted this long. Maybe they all fell asleep too.

Trying to keep her peace as long as she could, Jenna settled into the cushions and breathed in the air and listened to the waves as they lapped at the shore near them. It was only here that she could listen to the sounds without the constant vibrations against her skin. And they were soothing. This Greek styled scene really was perfection.

Deimos had never met a woman like Jenna. She had a will power that could crumble entire cities to the ground. She faced her life and her job with decisive strategy and cool control. It was only the most subtle of shadows that showed her pain and anger as she spoke of her losses, of her loneliness, of her horrors.

Giving up on setting the board again, he glanced at Jenna, contented in her personal paradise.

She was so enthralling. How could she be so relaxed here? With him? Especially given everything that faced her when she woke. Deimos is a personification of dread, fear and terror. He affect everyone. Except for this beautiful woman that sat across from him. It seemed so impossible.

"Jenna?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are you not scared of me?" She rolled her head across the pillow to look in his eyes. Then her beautiful hazel eyes darted around him in that intense study way she had.

"Your aura." Then she turned back to close her eyes. With her eyes closed, she then questioned him.

"Are you really a god?" She emphasized the one word.

"Yes" Deimos mimicked her emphasis.

Jenna looked at him again. "What about the red demon look you had? That does not strike me as a Greek god."

"Not typically. It is a bit complicated. But, suffice it to say, I am not a demon. I only look like that when I fight in dreams, and even then, not always."

"Are those demons real?"

"Yes, and they are dangerous. I don't know how they have found access to your dreams. But, they could kidnap, torture, or kill you while in your dreams. Do you know why they have been coming here?"

"Nope. They showed up a couple days before you did."

"You really don't have any fear of them do you?"

Jenna screwed up her face. "What is up with your obsession over my lack of fear?"

The chuckle came low in his throat, "Well, I am a god of dread terror, remember?"

She pondered it. "If I remember the stories right, you are more of a weapon, sent by the fates to punish or kill those that transgressed." Her mother told her stories of the Greek gods when Jenna was a girl. Her mother loved her Greek heritage. Even her father continued to tell her of the Greek gods after her mother died.

"Indeed. But, I don't think you want to know about all of that right now."

She sighed. "I was just wondering, was there ever anyone that did not fear you in some way?"

Her question pierced through his soul. "Only my brother Phobos." She struck right to thoughts that had plagued him since his capture and torture in Azmodea. It re-opened the wounds that Isa had left. It was the loneliness, the loss. There was no one who would cry if he died. And no one to comfort him when he returned. As much as he loved Phobos, he was not going to seek a comforting hug in the late hours of the night from him. The torture, that he could take, Ares made sure that he learned that lesson. And he healed fast since he was a god. But, this pain cut deep and lingered.

In battle, he craved the fear, the dread. On Olympus, you survived through power and threat, especially in regards to dealing with his parents. Those that he fought with had respected him as a leader, yet would never dream of crossing him. The women on Olympus were manipulative bitches that he would never trust to have more than a simple fling with. And they, were even nervous around him. Human women, well, he had had his share of lustful trysts with women that tempted their fears. Yet, he could still feel the terror they felt and tried to hide.

His one and only attempt at a connection was Isa. And he still carried the physical and emotional scars from that.

The only women that Deimos enjoyed talking to were the dream goddesses, and that was because Zeus cursed them with no emotions for centuries. Without emotions, they did not have the same fears or selfish needs as others. Of course, without emotions, they also did not get aroused. So, where is the fun in that? They now have their emotions once again, but, its hard to change the relationships formed.

There was no one that gave him comfort. It has been five thousand years since he even tried.

It was for the best. His mother and her sisters were adamant that the Dolophoni never have a relationship. The risk of love weakening them was too great. It is just not the life of an assassin. Still, since his imprisonment in Azmodea, it was a topic that kept returning to his mind. More so, when he saw Jericho and Delphine around the Vanishing Isle. It was foolishness. He needed to move passed it.

"What a pair, you and I." her words roused him from his contemplation. He just looked at her, he loved the sounds of her warm voice and the implications that she made.

"What do you mean?"

"We are both untrusting people, alone." she paused. "Yet, for some reason that I can't fully explain, I trust you."

His heart melted at her words. Her softness penetrated him like a spear straight through his core. They had only really been introduced several hours earlier.

Still, despite the short time frame, he knew her more deeply than anyone else alive. He knew that. She showed him a side to herself that was open, honest, and warm. She never would show this to her men let alone her superiors. She was a controlled officer of the Marine Corps. She could not jeopardize her career or the trust she had earned by being so soft and feminine with them. Especially as a woman who had to fight so hard for the respect others were given easily.

He was touched by her stories of being so alone, not trusting men, no friends… yet she trusted him.

Then an obvious question rushed into his head as he realized what she had been saying. Or more to the point, what she had not said. He scowled on the full weight of it.

"Jenna, did you ever have a boyfriend?"

"Nope. Never even been kissed." She was flippant about it. But, it inflamed his rage all the more.

"They took your virginity while you were unconscious!?"

She just shrugged, "I am glad I was unconscious, I don't have to carry that particular memory."

"How could any man do that? How can you not be ripping apart everything here in absolute rage?" he roared.

She sat up, moved toward him and placed a gentle hand on his face. "I did, the first day or two. But, I knew that if I was going to hold my defenses when they interrogated me, I had to regain my peace. So, I put it in a box and hid it away. The rage does not help me survive, and it sure as hell does not help me get out. Only my strength can do that. I need that strength. I had no other choice than to temper my anger." One small tear rolled down her cheek. Before he could stop himself, Deimos reached up to catch it and smooth away her pain. Her hazel eyes held back the others that wanted to fall as well.

He just sat there staring into her beautiful face, amazed that no man had ever kissed those perfect lips. He tried hard not to look too long at any part of her, for fear that he would make her re-live what those bastards had done to her.

"One day, you will find a man that can treat you gently." Deimos's words hung in the air until she reached for the hand that he had placed on her cheek. She took it into her hands and nuzzled at his palm before giving his hand the softest kiss he had ever known.

"I might be certifiably crazy, but I think that I already have."

With her words, Deimos's heart broke and he gently pulled her into his arms. His heart gripped at the combined strength and warm tenderness that this women displayed. She was impossibly perfect in every way.

Jenna was brilliant, beautiful, masterfully trained, exhibited the control of an ancient warrior, and the gentle acceptance of reason that could rival Athena herself. It was easy to see why Acheron showed interest in her. As a Dark Hunter, she could stand up to even the best of them all. It was that side of her that he respected. Yet, there was so much more to her. It was her soft pain, her warm spirit, the bright smile that played across her lips that caught his breath. She could not become a Dark Hunter. He could not bear the thought of her warmth dying in the curse of being a Dark Hunter.

Deimos had only known her for a few hours, yet she flooded his very soul as if he would no longer be able to live without her there. He was desperate to protect her, in this life and from the next.

They cuddled like that for several minutes before she disappeared and he was pulled back to his room.