DOMINION Bentley Little (accelerated reader books .TXT) 📖

tainted them, and gave her the unsettling feeling of having no control over her life, having no free will.

Dion would have understood this, though, if she had been able to talk to him about it, and maybe the fact that they were both aware of the situation would have enabled them to bypass the pitfalls and maneuver around the barriers that had been placed in their path.

She found herself thinking of the way he’d looked when she’d first seen him in that cafeteria line. Awkward and nervous, but appealingly so.

Attractive. She remembered how frightened she’d been when he passed out at the fair, the feeling of panic that had shot through her as he’d collapsed, and the way she’d wanted to tend to him and care for him when he’d been lying helplessly there on the ground. She thought of the way his voice had sounded, the way his skin had felt.

She began to cry.

She tried to steer her mind toward something else, but she thought of her home, the place she had been born and raised, now burned to the ground, and she cried even more.

There was movement in the darkness, and then a hand was stroking her forehead, Kevin’s soft voice was whispering in her ear. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”

She rolled over, reached out, and put her arms around him, hugging him, and he was there for her, hugging her back, letting her cry into his shoulder.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s all right.”

They remained like that for a while, until her tears had died and then after. They were still holding each other when she fell asleep.

In her dream, she was in the meadow, on her back in front of Dionysus, legs spread in the air. He was enormous, and she felt as though she was being ripped apart as he entered her, but it felt good too, and she bucked against him, trying to force him deeper inside her.

His orgasm was a violent explosion of molten semen that burned inside her like acid.

A half-human ant creature burst forth from her stomach.

She awoke screaming.

17

He needed Zeus.

He had never thought it would be difficult to rule. He had often chafed under Zeus’ rules and restrictions, had often suffered as a result of Hera’s caprices, and more than once he had wished that he was in charge of Olympus, that he was the one calling the shots and making the decisions.

But he didn’t have a head for organization or administration. Olympus had always been a loose confederation of free individuals, but he could not seem to abide order to even that extent. He was constitutionally unable to act rationally or logically, to behave responsibly. It was simply not in him.

The strain was starting to show. He felt tired, and the I headaches would not go away. He had killed anything that moved, had fucked everything that walked, had consumed enough wine to poison an army, but nothing had made him feel any better. The responsibility of ruling still hung heavily over his head. And now his stash of wine had been destroyed.

The maenads would make more wine, but that would take a while. For now they were out of the nectar. Other wine had been brought in, and he had downed a casket of it, but it was not his wine and it was not the same. It did not give him the same kick, it did not possess the same power.

He needed to bring the others back.

Yes, that was at the heart of the matter. He had tried to I make a go of it on his own and had failed. Zeus would probably punish him for that, Hera would probably bitch about it for eternity and forever sabotage his romantic entanglements, but it would be worth it to have them back.

And the other gods as well.

But how was he to resurrect them? Penelope? Penelope didn’t want him.

She had wanted him Before. He had had her Before. But that was when he had not yet been himself. Now she hated him, was afraid of him, wanted to kill him.

He could force her. He could take her and rape her, fill her up with godsperm until she was overflowing. But he did not want to do that.

He was filled with a deep and aching sense of loss.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. This was not the way it was supposed to work out.

He looked up into the sky. Dionysus in love? It wasn’t possible. For thousands of years he had not formed an emotional attachment to any of the women he had had.

But this attachment was not his.

It was his.

He looked down. A woman was parading herself before him. When she saw that she had his attention, she bent over and offered herself to him.

He took her, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her onto him.

He began thrusting.

And the woman started to change.

He reveled in what he was doing, he savored every scream, every tortured nuance of her transformation, but he was at the same time horrified by his own cruelty, by his complete lack of feeling for the woman. She was a goat by the time he was through, and he yanked her off him and split her open, letting the hot blood rain down on his hair and course over his forehead and cheeks.

But try as he might, he could not fully enjoy it. Even blood didn’t make him feel any better.

18

In the morning she felt… better.

It was an odd sensation, but the bleak pessimism of the night before had fled, replaced by a cautious optimism. It was as if the tears of last night had washed away her doubts and fears.

And had brought new insight.

Penelope sat up. Kevin was still asleep, having crawled back to his own bed sometime during the night, and she crept out of bed and over to the window, where she lifted one of the blinds and peeked outside. The morning clear, sunny,