Page 21 of Lies Among Gods

"What kind of food do you eat to stay slim?” another woman shrieked, the question so invasive and loud it felt like a punch.

"Are you and God Asmodeus a couple or is it just a fling?” a male voice yelled, the flash of his camera momentarily blinding her as she flinched.

The relentless pressure became too much. Lyra lowered her head and broke into a full sprint, pushing past the final line of reporters. She almost lost her balance on the curb, stumbling onto the grass of her front lawn, her feet desperately seeking purchase as she raced toward the safety of the front door.

She knew her mom would be upset when she saw the pictures, but something in that male’s eyes made her not want to sneakback in. She burst through the front door, slamming it shut behind her, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Diane was waiting in the hallway, arms crossed, her eyes immediately sweeping over Lyra’s disheveled state—the jeans, the pulled-up hoodie, and the old tennies. The look of disapproval was immediate and cutting, momentarily eclipsing her own fear.

"Lyra Nymphaea! Where have you been, and look at you! You look like you’ve been fighting a stray dog!” her mother hissed, her voice a low, furious whisper so the reporters outside wouldn’t hear. “A goddess-to-be does not wear dirt on her clothes! And ratty jeans! After I spent all morning trying to spin the story to our prayer group about what a blessing you are, you go out looking like that! Do you have any idea how much this appearance hurts the family’s—"

Lyra held up a hand, cutting off the inevitable lecture. “Mom, please. Not now."

"Not now?” Diane gasped before her voice rose, “Lyra, always now! You are on a global stage; every second is a performance! You need to go to your room, take off that ridiculous hoodie, and put on something presentable! We have standards, Lyra! And you will start presenting those standards!"

Lyra sagged against the door, closing her eyes for a brief moment; the image of the male’s unsettling gaze still burned behind her eyelids. The flash of cameras, the invasive questions making her stomach twist in knots. “I’m fine, Mom, thanks for asking. Just tired."

"I don’t care if you’re tired! I care that you’re disrespecting the gods who are about to welcome you into their pantheon!” Diane took a step forward, her voice dropping in pitch. “Now, go change before your father sees you. You will not leave this house again looking like a low-level petition clerk who lost her temple pass again. Do you understand me? And for the love ofthe gods, wipe that frantic look off your face! You’re a goddess, not a scared little girl!"

Chapter nineteen

CHAPTER 14

Even in quiet towns, the march of war was felt. Homes fortified, and children learned to pray not only for life but for approval. Under the watchful eyes of Raios and Thaniel, every action was measured, every word considered, and survival became devotion in its most exacting form.

Snippet from “The Book of Natural History” By Priestess Antonella Killoran

Lyra slid off her bed and padded across the room, quietly throwing a blanket over the mirror. She didn’t want to look at herself in the mirror, didn’t want to see the exhausted, anxiety-ridden girl staring back. Her skin felt raw from the constant scrutiny, and her mother’s anxious energy was a heavy, suffocating blanket. She just wanted the world to stop for a minute so she could catch up and get her bearings.

A loud, insistent knock on the front door echoed down the hall, immediately followed by the distant, muffled sound of her mother’s voice launching into a monologue. Lyra tuned it out, recognizing the frantic, high-pitched tone of a fresh crisis shehoped had nothing to do with her. The door opened and then slammed shut with unnecessary violence.

The door of Lyra’s bedroom crashed open. Lyra’s eyes, already weary, flickered up. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the hallway light, was her mother. The last sliver of hope, the quiet hope of a day hiding from the world, shattered like glass.

"Lyra!" Diane whisper-yelled, her eyes blazing with that familiar mix of pride and frustration. “Get dressed! Now! Put on something nice!"

Lyra sighed. She rubbed her temples, feeling the tension there, a dull ache beneath her fingertips. “Mom, I’m not going anywhere. I’m tired of all the—"

“For once, can you just do as I say without a fight?” Diane hissed.

Lyra huffed out a breath. “Mom, I just want—”

"Asmodeus is here!” Diane cut her off, the name delivered like a sacred pronouncement. “So, you will get dressed properly and attend to our very gracious guest.”

“Can you not just explain that I am not feeling well?” Lyra grumbled.

“Lyra!” Diane’s gaze, sharp and unwavering, locked onto her. “You will go out there and do your duty. You will show proper respect now!”

Lyra’s eyes rolled so hard they almost saw her brain.Of course, he came over on a day I wanted to be alone. The only god who knows how to make a grand entrance at the worst possible time.She walked to her closet, her mother’s dramatic sighs following her like a shadow. Instead of searching, she reached in and grabbed the first piece of fabric her hand landed on—a simple, deep blue wrap dress she’d bought on clearance a year ago. It was not ‘goddess-worthy,’ but it was clean. She yanked it on.

Diane frowned, her gaze already darting toward the collection of approved garments she had set to the right side of the closet yesterday. “Lyra, that dress… It’s entirely too casual! We need to find the—”

"I’m leaving, Mom,” Lyra said, walking past her. She didn’t wait for the inevitable lecture, simply moving with a calm, defiant momentum that surprised even herself.

She walked out into the living room. As always, Asmodeus Hedone was a creature of flawless spectacle. He was wearing a deep burgundy suit jacket over a crisp black shirt, the color a decadent clash against his pale skin and dirty blonde hair. He was leaning against the archway, his baby-blue eyes instantly finding hers, and a slow, genuine smile spread across his lips—the kind that was utterly charming and promised delightful ruin. She felt a gasp catch in her throat, her chest tightening. The sheer intensity of his gaze, a palpable heat, made her heart hammer against her ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm she fought to still.

He straightened, extending a hand to her. It was long, elegant, and soft; Lyra felt the immediate difference between the delicate smoothness of his touch and the rough, calloused grip of Alaios.

"You deserve dinner, wine, and a night full of all the things polite people don’t talk about,” he purred, his voice an invitation and a promise.