CHAPTER VIII
DIONYSUS
Dionysus waited for Ariadne in the common area.
They were heading to the pleasure district, where they would begin their search for Medusa. It was the last location the maenads had been able to trace her to, and beyond that, she seemed to have disappeared.
“That’s the fifth time you have checked your watch in the last minute,” said Naia. “I do not think it will get her here any faster.”
Dionysus scowled and glared at the maenad who sat in an oversize chair, crocheting. She wasn’t even looking at him.
“She’s late,” he said.
“And you’re never late?” asked Lilaia, who sat opposite Naia, a book propped open in her lap.
“Not when it counts,” Dionysus replied.
Both women scoffed and rolled their eyes.
“You should be siding with me,” he said. “Ariadne has done nothing but make your lives more difficult since she arrived.”
“She might be difficult, but her reasons are not unfounded,” said Naia. “You know we all wish her sister was free of her abuser.”
“I have promised to help,” Dionysus said, frustrated.
“Give her time to trust you, just as you gave us time,” Lilaia said. “You know this does not happen overnight.”
Her words tightened his throat with guilt, which he felt even more keenly as his frustration grew.
He did not have time to wait for her to trust him. Her uncertainty was dangerous. It made her unpredictable, and it put every one of his maenads in danger.
The sound of heels clicking drew his attention, and he turned to watch as Ariadne stepped out of the shadows wearing a short, black dress that barely grazed her thighs and knee-high boots. She looked like she belonged in his bed—and that was where he would like this outfit to stay.
His cock twitched, growing hard at the thought.
“What are you wearing?” Dionysus demanded.
“A dress. What does it look like?” she said, pulling her jacket closed, but it was far too late for that. He’d already noticed the lace over her breast.
Dionysus opened his mouth, but no words came out. He tried again and stumbled over his words. “You cannot wear that to the pleasure district,” he said.
“You cannot tell me what to wear,” Ariadne said.
“I told you to blend in,” Dionysus countered.
“This is blending in!”
“You are not blending!”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not changing.”
“Ariadne,” Dionysus said, a hint of warning in his voice.
“Dionysus,” she challenged just as steadily. “What is so wrong with this outfit? I have been to the pleasure district before. I know how to dress for it.”
“You’ve been before?” he asked, shock washing over him.
“I’m a detective, you idiot. I work on sex crimes. Of course I’ve been.”
He stood opposite her in silence. He wanted to say something, to stand his ground, because he knew the kind of people who wandered those streets, but all he could manage to say was, “Oh.”
Naia and Lilaia giggled quietly.
He glared at them and scowled.
“If we’re going to find out anything about Medusa, one of us has to look the part.”
“Let’s go,” he said and started toward the elevator.
Once inside, Dionysus punched the button for the main floor and then leaned against the cool, metal wall opposite Ariadne. She kept her arms over her chest, on the defense. They stared openly at each other, frustration present in the air between them.
This was a mistake.
“What’s wrong with the dress?” she asked.
Dionysus could feel the heat rushing to his head, roaring in his ears.
“Do you know how many men will look at you tonight?”
“I imagine quite a few,” she said. “Including you.”
He swallowed and looked away. “I did not intend to be disrespectful,” he said, his voice low and gruff, not because he did not wish to apologize but because he was embarrassed.
“I can protect myself, Dionysus,” she said.
Her comment drew his eyes once more, and he could not help letting his gaze drift down her body.
“I am armed.”
“In that dress?”
“Yes, in this dress.”
He raised a brow.
“You don’t believe me,” she said.
“That dress barely covers your ass, Ariadne.”
“It goes well below my ass, Dionysus. Perhaps you need a lesson in anatomy.”
“If you’re willing,” he said.
She glared and then lifted the hem of her dress.
“This is my gun,” she said and bared a brace she’d secured at the height of her thigh. “And this is my ass.” She turned and exposed one firm, round cheek.
What the fuck was happening?
“Ariadne,” Dionysus warned, gripping the bar behind him until his fingers hurt. His dick was hard, and there was no fucking way he would find relief with her dressed like that the entire night. It did not help that he could not stop thinking about how he’d like to punish her. He wanted to smack her ass hard enough to elicit a cry from those full lips and bury his fingers in her wet heat. When she came, he would make her suck those same fingers while he fucked her from behind, his pace set to the sound of her choked cries.
But she was not someone he could ever do that with. She hated him and certainly would not appreciate his dominance.
She lowered her dress and turned to face him again, a smug smile tugging her lips.
“Yes, Dionysus?”
Her gaze skated down his front, catching the bulge of his trousers. Her smile vanished. He waited for her to meet his eyes, and when she did, he spoke in a cool and deliberate tone.
“Do not tease me,” he said.
She shuddered as she swallowed and then looked away.
Everything was worse after that.
The elevator ride seemed to last forever, and Dionysus felt like he couldn’t breathe, because if he did, he’d only smell Ariadne, and then he would never be rid of this aching in his groin.
“Finally,” he scowled when the doors opened, bolting from the small space into his garage where he kept a number of pristine vehicles.
He did not wait for Ariadne to follow; he knew she trailed along after him because those fucking boots clicked as she walked.
“Aren’t you a god?” she asked.
“Do you really have to ask that question?” he asked.
“I thought you could teleport,” she said.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not like other gods,” he said.
He liked cars, fast ones, and preferred that method of travel over any other, even teleportation.
“I’m sure that’s what you all think,” she said.
Dionysus rounded a corner of the garage and approached his favorite ride—a custom black chariot motorcycle. He took the helmet where it hung on the handlebar and held it out to Ariadne.
“Put this on,” he said.
“Put this on?” she repeated. “I can’t ride that!”
“You can,” he said and swung his leg over the seat, settling on the bike. “You will.”
Ariadne yelled over the roar of the motorcycle as Dionysus started the engine. “I am not dressed for this!”
He shrugged. “I tried to warn you.”
She glared at him, and he let her do it for as long as she needed. Finally she relented and approached, slipping onto the back of the motorcycle and pulling on the helmet he had given her.
He glanced back at her.
“Hold on,” he said. As he took off, Ariadne’s arms tightened around his waist and her thighs pressed in on his, which amused him at first and then quickly became the only thing he could focus on as he left his garage and sped down the streets of New Athens toward the pleasure district.
He leaned forward on his bike and Ariadne leaned with him, her head resting against his back and her hands splayed across his chest. He warmed where she touched him, despite the cold that slammed into his body as he zipped in and out of traffic, heading for the coast.
There was a point, however, as he crested a hill and could look down on the glimmering district, with its red-tinged aura and phallic symbols, that made him feel dread, and it was because he was about to put Ariadne in a situation he did not like. It was not the district itself he minded; it was where they were going within it. It was one thing to choose to engage in prostitution, another to be forced.
Michail, the man they were going to see, forced—men, women, children.
Dionysus and the maenads had been working for years to slowly take down parts of his extensive operation, and part of that involved establishing a relationship with the mortal. By this point, Dionysus knew him pretty well and hated him thoroughly, but if he was going to save the numerous women the mortal had sent across New Greece and to the islands beyond, he would have to endure.
He arrived, parking on the street about a mile from the district, which was located down a sloping hill. Ariadne slipped off the bike and pulled off the helmet, shaking out her hair. Dionysus looked away quickly, still suffering a nearly painful erection from her mere presence.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“The maenads tell me Medusa lived at Maiden House. We do not know where she’s gone, since this brothel owner does not keep physical records of anyone who enters their doors, even their workers.”
“That isn’t legal,” Ariadne said.
“I know,” Dionysus said.
Legal sex work was not frowned on within New Athens, and a lot had been done to protect sex workers’ rights. Unfortunately, the fight for those rights had led to an increase in sex trafficking and brothels like Maiden House.
Her mouth tightened.
“How did she end up at Maiden House?” Ariadne asked. “Do we know?”
“We think she was pulled off the street.”
It wasn’t a simple process either. Someone had gotten to know her, gained her trust, and then betrayed her.
Ariadne did not respond, likely because she also knew how this worked.
They made their way into the thick of the district, fusing with the crowd. Dionysus was not so worried about blending in, given he was usually sighted here and a god they heavily worshipped. Every year during Apokries and the Dionysia, he held a celebration in the district’s courtyard where people came from all over New Greece to fuck each other in public.
What he was far more aware of was Ariadne, who also knew of those celebrations and the revelry he encouraged.
They came to the courtyard where a golden pillar was erected, carved with erotic scenes. Beneath it was the throne upon which he sat and cast his magic.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “You use your magic to conduct orgies in this square, and yet outside this, you—”
Dionysus gave her a harsh look, warning her not to finish that sentence. All he needed was this mouthy detective to ruin everything he’d worked hard to establish here.
“Why?”
“Consensual sex is not unwilling. You of all people should know that. Those who come to this square, they want to fuck, and they don’t care with who.”
“I do not come here to fuck,” she said.
“Perhaps you should,” he said. “You might be a little more bearable.”
She glared at him, her mouth tightening, but her silence did not last long.
“Do you participate?” she asked.
Dionysus looked at her. “Why?”
“I just wondered,” she said, looking away quickly.
“I suppose that depends on your definition of participate.”
“What other definition is there?”
“In reference to the festival, you could be asking me anything. Do I dance? Do I sing? Do I—”
“Do you fuck strangers, Dionysus?” Ariadne snapped, clearly fed up with him.
He smirked in triumph, but it only lasted a moment, because he soon realized just how frustrated she was.
“No,” he said finally. “Or at least…not in a long time.”
A strange and awkward silence descended between them, and they did not speak until they reached Maiden House, a sleek, two-story building with no windows.
Before they entered, Dionysus turned to Ariadne.
“I need to know if you’re going to be okay,” he said. “If I…can touch you.”
She studied his face. “If it means finding Medusa and getting my sister back, I can do anything.”
He gave a sharp nod.
They entered the brothel and were immediately thrust into darkness. Already, Dionysus found himself reaching for Ariadne, his arm snaking around her waist. He pulled her against him, his mouth near her ear.
“As badly as you may want to,” he said, “don’t open your mouth.”
He could just imagine the look she was giving him. He could feel her anger, but he was surprised when she didn’t shove him away. She did, however, dig her nails into his arm.
“Dionysus! The god of the hour!” Michail said as he approached, pristine in appearance. He was an older man with thinning hair he kept smoothed back to hide an obvious shining bald spot.
Dionysus shook his hand and offered a one-armed embrace.
“And who is this…lovely creature?” Michail asked.
Dionysus turned to look at Ariadne. He expected to see her scowl at being called a creature, but she’d transformed and plastered a sweet smile on her face.
“This is…Phaedra,” he said, immediately regretting the choice of name, especially as he noticed Ariadne’s smile falter for a second.
“Phaedra,” Michail purred. “Aren’t you a beauty? I did not know you hired hetairai, Dionysus.”
“I don’t,” Dionysus said.
“Oh,” Michail said. “Then—”
“He doesn’t have to pay me,” Ariadne said. “I simply…enjoy his company.”
Michail smiled. “Lucky you. Come, come. The show is about to begin.”
When Michail turned, Dionysus glanced back at Ariadne. He wanted to snap at her, What did I say?
But she returned an even harsher look that said, I know what to do.
Michail took them into the main part of his club but kept to the outside of the floor until they reached the stairs, which spiraled up to the second-floor balcony where there were several individual boxes. They were multipurpose—occupants could watch the show on the floor below or pay for their own private ones. The inside of the box was luxurious—mostly dark, save for a faux fire that danced within a marble wall. There were two large leather chairs and a table between them.
Dionysus felt a lump form in his chest as Michail took a seat, knowing that Ariadne would have to sit in his lap.
His dick was going to fall off at the end of the night.
He lowered into the chair and looked up at Ariadne, meeting her gaze before he placed his hands on her hips and helped her sit. It was as much a show for Michail as it was practical for him. He’d like to avoid having her experience the hardness of his cock, especially knowing she did not see him that way, but that was near impossible. Her eyes had already fallen to it, and when she sat, her thigh pressed against him, a constant pressure that made his head spin.
Fuck me.
“It’s been a few weeks since I saw you last,” Michail said.
Dionysus could barely focus on his words as Ariadne drew an arm around his neck, her breast pressing against his chest.
“I had an unfortunate visit from the God of the Dead,” he said.
“Oh? Did someone die?” Michail asked.
“No,” Dionysus said. “Hades likes to accuse me of things he knows nothing about.”
As he spoke, he felt Ariadne’s eyes on him, burning a hole through his chest. He wondered if she was just as aware of his presence—of the way his fingers splayed against her skin. Could she feel the heat rising between them?
Michail chuckled around a cigar he’d just placed in his mouth. “I have heard he is here this evening.”
For a moment, the God of Wine thought he’d misheard, which was quite possible since Ariadne had begun to trace circles on the back of his neck.
“What?” Dionysus asked, surprised.
“Oh yes,” Michail said as he lit the cigar. A burst of sweet spice dispersed through the air. “They tell me he’s at Erotas. I wonder who he’s visiting.”
Dionysus wondered too, because Hades certainly wasn’t there for sex.
The door to their box opened, and a young man entered carrying a tray. He was practically naked aside from a bedazzled loincloth. He set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table between Dionysus and Michail. Dionysus noted there was no third glass for Ariadne, which was typical of Michail. He was not inclined to entertain the women or men brought along by his guests. To him, they existed for pleasure and entertainment only.
Michail did not acknowledge the young man, and he soon left. The mortal leaned forward and poured two glasses.
“Hope you will approve,” he said. “This is from my private vineyard.”
Dionysus took the glass.
“Would you like to taste?” he asked Ariadne.
He felt it only right to offer, but he was not prepared for what she did with it. She wrapped her hand around his and brought the glass to her lips for a sip—and then she kissed him with the taste of wine on her tongue.
He tried hard not to react, but that only looked like digging his fingers into her skin to keep from pulling her closer and grinding against her. When she pulled away, she let her mouth drift over his jaw to his ear, drawing the cartilage into his mouth.
He ground his teeth and Michail chuckled.
“You clearly have your hands full with her,” the mortal said, taking a drag of his cigar. “What can I do for you, Dionysus?”
The question was posed with a note of suspicion Dionysus did not miss.
“Do you not trust that I merely wished to catch up with an old friend?”