Zeus (Contemporary Mythos Book 6)
Zeus: Chapter 1

She didn’t think I heard her slip out of bed in the middle of the night. Didn’t think I saw her nab a twenty from my wallet before ducking out with a light click of the door. At least she had the decency to look at my ass peeking from the sheets before leaving. It was a nice ass.

She also probably didn’t think I remembered her name. Elena.

I didn’t bother locking the door behind her. In fact, it’d be entertaining for someone to barge in and try to kill me. The King of the fucking Gods. It’d been far too long since I’d seen the terrified look on a mortal’s face when they realized who I was. Any attempt to announce it in the modern age…they’d look at me like I was insane. Fucking mockery.

And I know what you’re thinking. This scenario isn’t surprising. Dickhead Zeus sleeps with yet another woman, cheating on his wife. Shocking. There is more to that story, but I digress.

This time…I’m not the asshole. This time, I fucked her fair and square. Hera left me. Gave up her Queendom, sneered at me, and left.

And I let her.

Despite the humiliation. Despite the absolute fury. It hadn’t been the first time she rebelled against me, only this time I didn’t care. Because in a bizarrely fucked up way…I admired it. It grew old and tiresome pretending things were as they’d been all those ages ago. She changed. The world changed. And most importantly, hold onto your asses, I changed.

I shook my head at the notion, rattling away whatever fog clouded my brain.

Besides, I couldn’t remember the last time I was single—a bachelor. She may have unleashed a monster. A short-lived one anyway.

I crawled out of bed, slipping on the boxers I’d haphazardly tossed to the floor earlier, making my way to a back room. Lightly touching the knob, I cracked the door open, greeted by a large wet black nose.

“Come on, boy,” I said to my white Labrador, Levin.

Yes, I did name him after an archaic word for lightning. Shouldn’t be surprising. What may surprise you, however, is that he’s a rescue. I “stole” him from an abusive home and gave him a better one. Think of me what you wish, but beating up innocent beings simply because you can? Not on my fucking watch.

He forced his shoulders into the door, sprinting down the hall, slipping and sliding with each passing step. I smiled to myself, patiently following him. No woman I’d ever brought here deserved to meet Levin. He was the only being in the universe who’d ever seen past all the bullshit, didn’t give a fuck about my past, and loved me unconditionally. When I rounded the corner, he was already making circles on the bed, finding a suitable spot to curl up and sleep for the night.

Before crawling in myself, I paused at the edge, taking his large head in both of my hands, scratching behind his ears. His wide pink tongue flopped to the side of his mouth, panting.

“Good boy.” After turning off the light, I climbed into bed and felt Levin’s furry warm body shoving against my back after only thirty seconds.

Morning seeped through the cracks of the black curtains in my sleek downtown New York apartment, making me grumble. As much sleep as I got, and it never seemed to be enough. Ironic considering I’m a god, right? It’s what happens when you partially hold the entire cosmos on your shoulders—always on your mind. The important thing was to never show it on my face in front of my people. And I hadn’t for millennia.

Ruffling my hair, I shoved my face into the pillow, ignoring the scent of Elena’s shampoo, or fragrance, or whatever the fuck it was she’d left behind. The metal eagle statue in mid-attack protruded from the wall, staring down at me from above my headboard. Levin was sprawled on his back, curled to the side with his legs spread, sleeping away. Slipping out of bed, I paused to stretch my arms to Olympus, gazing at my reflection in the mirror—cut, toned, tanned, and immaculate. A physique that never changed, and I had to do absolutely nothing to maintain—perks of being a Greek god.

My face. The closest semblance I could replicate to the true me. Unless, of course, I enjoyed the sight of each mortal I passed on the streets catching flame. A younger, more ruthless me might have grinned at the thought. But no, I’ve learned to admire the poor bastards. My mortal guise was a version of me that existed before fighting for and earning the right of chief deity. But my eyes…those would never change.

Where was I? Ah yes. My small window of bachelorhood. Thanks to the overpowerful bitch of a grandmother of mine, Gaea…there’s a stipulation to my Kingdom. At all times—there must be a Queen. If the expiration date lapses, I not only lose my title but part of my power to go with it. We couldn’t have that, now, could we? And to be honest, I’d never given the clause much thought. There’d only ever been Hera. I didn’t think she’d give up her crown. At any rate, I’d take the next few nights to “live it up,” so to speak, and then pick the nearest mortal woman who was pleasing to the eyes to be my Queen. Done deal.

Any and all of them would pine over the idea of it. And why wouldn’t they? To become not only a goddess but an immortal Queen? Not to mention I could walk down the street and have any one of them if I so desired. Fuck—if I had a thing for man-ass, I could have that too. The world was my oyster, and I’d shucked my share. But I’d be lying if I said the ease of the conquest on the rarest of occasions never felt…hollow.

Sneering, I turned for my walk-in closet, the light automatically illuminating as I entered. Hundreds of pristinely hung suits lined the walls, dozens of glossed dress shoes resting on matching shelves. Displays held a different Rolex for each day of the week and several shined and glinting pairs of silver and gold cufflinks.

I could conjure clothes with a snap of my fingers, but for as long as I’d roamed the Earth one starts to appreciate the smaller things—things mortals take for granted. A uniquely tailored suit created to fit you like a glove. The feel of it as you slip it on like liquid sex. Even the scent of the fabric calmed me far quicker than any steaming hot shower. And I never wore the same suit twice. Ever.

I donned a light grey ensemble with a white shirt and dark blue tie. And, yes, I did up the tie as well every time. Peering into the full-length mirror, I did the necessary overlapping and pull- through to secure the perfect knot in the silk tie, smoothing it down. I turned my face to the side, running a hand over the light beard on my chin. My godly King form was far less…clean. Ironic that between my brothers and I, Hades’ true self was the only beardless one.

Upon securing the gold Rolex on my left wrist, I attached the gold “Z” cufflink to one sleeve, a lightning bolt on the other, and paused to stare at the New York City skyline through the wall of windows near my king-sized bed. Mortals of all varieties busied the streets, appearing as ants in a structured maze. Chins tilted down, eyes glued to their phone screens, missing half the world around them. It was no wonder they didn’t believe in us anymore. They were far too busy worshipping technology and the media. Eons ago, I may have asked Poseidon to wipe the slate clean by making Earth’s oceans swallow it whole, but I no longer interfered that deep. There was an entire universe to oversee, and if you think the Greek gods are the only deities from “mythology” in existence—you’d be sorely mistaken.

I turned to Levin, who was still snoring, fast asleep on the bed. With a smirk, I snapped my fingers, making raw meat chunks appear in his dog bowl in the kitchen. Levin’s body writhed, and his head shot up, nose sniffing the air. He jumped off the bed and scurried over to me, sitting but shaking, waiting for permission to eat. Crouching, I scratched under his chin and gave a quick kiss to the top of his head.

“Be good. Go on.” I motioned with my head at the kitchen, and with an excited yip, he trotted off to eat.

New York. I’ve lived in many, many places. Aside from Olympus, aside from Greece, New York felt like a kingdom to be ruled—even if they had no idea who walked amongst them. Slipping my hands into my pockets, I made for the elevator and began my daily stroll to the firm’s building. I could’ve had a chauffeur, me knows I could afford it. Could’ve even simply ported there. But there was something about feeding on the energy of mortals—their expressions. Their reactions as pure raw power waltzed right past them. A pity they didn’t believe in the old gods anymore. We could all have so much more fun.

It was time to don the mask. A façade forged through the ages that mortals molded and adapted to fit their own needs. Their own agenda. Same old song and dance. It’d become as much a part of me as the warmth of a perfectly aged scotch settling in my stomach. Could I have taken the time to convince a world there was more to me than the endless parade of women? More than the meddling god-king who cared for nothing or no one else but himself? Sure. But I had an entire fucking kingdom to oversee. Hundreds of gods beneath me and seemingly more even within the last few months. We’ll get to that tiny detail later. There were far more pressing matters to deal with over a reputation I’ve grown to accept. If it gave them comfort to hate me, I’d be their sounding board because I’m a leader. The alpha. A godsdamned admiral.

The Jupiter Bistro. A coffee shop directly below my penthouse apartment. The fucking irony, right? I breezed past the line leading out the door, and they all let me—because they wouldn’t dare otherwise.

The barista, Claire, grinned as she set a steamy paper cup on the counter, slipping a cover on. “Dark roast, black, Z. All ready for you.”

Taking the cup from her hand, making sure to drag my finger over her knuckle, I winked. “Thank you, as always, my dear.”

She bit her lip after letting out a shaky breath. Immediate putty in my hands. Not uncommon in the slightest. But anymore? Almost too easy.

After tapping my card on the reader, I turned with the cup in hand, spying a buxom red-head giving me a sultry smile. Her emerald gaze dropped to the impression of my cock through my pants. Making a piece of paper with my address appear between two of my fingers, I slipped it into her palm as I passed, sending a light current of electric shock against her skin. She gasped, and I exited with a broad smile.

Storm clouds rolled in, and with a quirk of my brow, they froze. I couldn’t walk into the firm looking like a soaked rat. As soon as my feet hit the foyer carpet of the thirty-story building owned by Crane, Crane, and Wallace Law, rain poured down in buckets with another raise of my brow. A satisfying crackle of lightning streaked the sky.

Why is the King of the Gods practicing law, you ask? A part of me might say the power and irony in controlling mortals in such a way intrigues me. Another part of me might say it’s a genius way of keeping badly-behaved mortals in my sights. And an even smaller part of me might say—because I’m fucking bored. Not to mention how much it annoys my brother, Hades. Sure. I keep his ass happy so he does his job, but at the end of the day…I’m going to have a little fun in the process.

Let us not forget that besides my kingly status, I also oversee law and justice. Defending a known criminal may not exactly be viewed as justifiable. Still, my status as chief deity of the Greeks not only meant sovereignty over the gods but a responsibility to humankind as well. Such is the role of any chief deity—Greek or otherwise. And I’d learned through time, the best way to help mortals is to witness them at their absolute worst.

Removing the lid from the coffee cup, I tossed it into the trash, blowing on the hot liquid as I made my way through the bullpen.

“I swear this piece of shit gives me a blue screen every other month. Can’t the firm spring for new computers?” An intern, Larry, with far more humility to learn and a set of balls to grow, spat from a nearby cubicle.

With an idle sway of my hand, I sent an electric pulse into the device, rejuvenating its life for precisely another two months. At some point, he’d finally break down and humbly ask one of the partners’ assistants to request a new computer. Until then, I entertained myself watching him prolong his own misery.

My assistant, Ruth, came trotting from around the corner, sporting her usual attire of a modest skirt that went to her mid-shins, flats, and a cardigan sweater. Her cropped brown hair bounced as she ran, a pen resting on her ear, notepad clutched to her chest. She adjusted her squared glasses as she stopped in front of me. When she smiled, it extenuated the mole above her lip. At a petite five-foot even, she had to crane her neck back to look me in the face.

“Mr. Vrontí, there’s a new case file for you to review,” she said, her hazel eyes beaming.

I caught her gaze over the rim of my cup as I sipped. “Ruth, you can call me Zane or Z. We’ve been over this, sweetheart.”

“Yes. Of course, Mr. Vron—I mean—” A nervous, shrilled bout of laughter poured from her throat.

Smirking, I pointed toward my office. After a tiny jump, she turned on her heel and power-walked.

I’d never slept with my assistant. Not because I didn’t want to—Tartarus, no. I always did love the small ones you could toss around in the bedroom. No. It was due to us seeing each other several days a week for hours. I couldn’t risk her becoming…attached. And it’s not as if she never tried with her varying moments of brushing her tits against my arm or undoing several buttons on her blouse to give me a view as she bent over to place paperwork on my desk.

I sat in my leather-back rolling chair, resting the coffee on a mahogany coaster. I’d kept my workspace simple and clutter-free. Aside from my gold nameplate, a desktop calendar, computer, pen holder, and stapler, nothing that would hint at my electric personality nor anything from my personal life was displayed.

Whose photo would I put on my desk anyway? Apollo? Sure, if I wanted every other client to start probing about my son being the rockstar “Ace.” Athena? A woman in ancient Greek armor could look strange. She was one of the few who didn’t bother to show herself to mortals. No. I preferred keeping that part of my life completely separate from the mortal lawyer. It made things far easier to deal with—to pretend for several hours a day I didn’t carry an invisible boulder on my back like fucking Atlas himself.

Without disappointing, Ruth “discreetly” adjusted the collar of her shirt before trotting over to me with a folder. She leaned forward, squeezing her tits together, and dropped the papers in front of me with a flourish. Obliging her, I stole a glance at her cleavage before scooping the folder into my hand.

She smiled, chewing on the end of her pen before standing straight. “Murder case.”

“Oh?” I flipped through the papers, eyeballing mugshots, receipts, internet history printouts.

“Killed her husband.” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ꜰindNʘvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Ah, the ancient tale of a wife murdering her husband for one of a dozen reasons. And this one didn’t look much different.

“Shoved him in a tub of acid.”

Without looking up, I continued to shuffle through more digital evidence paperwork in the folder. “To dispose of the body?”

Ruth cleared her throat and squeaked before saying, “Alive.”

I paused, shooting my gaze to hers. “Fuck.”

“Right?” Ruth lifted her hand and dropped it, slapping her thigh.

Well, now things just got far more interesting.

I picked up the paper with the accused woman’s mugshot. A portly woman with curly hair and a glare that could curl the paint from a fence. “Have they announced the lead prosecutor yet?”

“Yes. Keira Bazin.” Looking away, Ruth scratched the back of her head with the pen.

A woman. This would be a first.

I tossed the paper to the stack. “Why have I heard that name before?”

Ruth snorted. “You should have. She’s never lost a case. I’ve heard some other lawyers call her ‘The Bulldog.’”

After a quick Google search, I pulled up several full-body photos taken by the media. Starting at her tanned, toned legs peeking from her skirt, I panned up to her perfectly rounded ass, and landed on a gorgeous face with bright blue eyes, plump red lips and a head of very light blonde hair.

A conquest if I ever saw one.

After raising my coffee in a cheers gesture to Ruth, I said, “This’ll be far too easy.”

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