Syria awoke the next morning, an air of happiness and contentment surrounding her. Her thoughts wondered back to the wonderful night she spent with Michael. Mere words could not express how happy he made her. Thoughts of him grazed through her mind, she still felt the caress of his wings on her skin. Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by another yet vision, Ares. A bolt of pain seared through her belly. She fell to her knees crying out in agony.
It was a dream, only a dream.
The recollection of last night scorched a trail of unwanted memories across her mind. She remembered. She remembered it all. Her heart denied what her mind finally grasped as the truth. She had been with Michael that she clearly knew but Ares…he had entered her dreams. In the midst of her joy he broke through, shattered it and taken her.
“Oh God.” She slammed her fist against the floor, she clutched her stomach as another pain ripped through her. “Oh God, no!”
The voice above taunted her as she fought through the pain. Her gaze locked on Ares sprawled across her bed. “Ares, what have you done?”
“What have I done? I have given you the greatest gift of all. That is what I’ve done. I wanted to give you the world and this…this is how you repay me? ”
“It’s not right. The child will be an abomination.”
“Abomination? How dare you speak of our child this way. You created this atrocity by lying with that thing. He’s not even a man.” He jumped from the bed. “He’s not even a woman. He threw backed his head, thunderous laughter filled the room. “As you can see…” he extended his arms and displayed his full glory, “I am more man than he could ever be.”
“Michael will not stand for this!” She gasped in agony.
“Michael? My dear Syria, do you think I fear this—Archangel of yours? I care not what he will or will not stand for; he is of no concern to me. I am the God of war, I fear no one and nothing.”
He raised an eyebrow and exhaled. “Syria I grow tired of this game. I can make the pain stop just submit to me. We will raise this child on Olympus where it belongs or you can continue to suffer.” He held a tightly clutched fist over her head and the throbbing increased.
The spasms ripped through her. When Syria could no longer bear the pain, she fell to the floor and cried out. Tears streamed down her cheeks onto the cold wooden floor.
“Surrender yourself to me Syria!” He yelled, lightning crackled from his fingertips. “I will tolerate this insolence no longer.”
With what little strength she could muster, she answered, “I will not. I would rather die than spend an eternity with you.”
Ares’ anger was beyond control. He drew his sword from its sheath. “Then, my dear Syria, I shall grant you your last request.”
Syria cowered beneath his wrath, as the death blade sliced through the air with great force. She did not plead for her life; she only breathed a silent prayer, “The Sword of Michael protects me. His cloak and shield covers me. The energy of the angels strengthens me. Righteousness and love lights my path.”
She heard the clash of steel meeting steel, sparks flew overhead. The murderous steel did not pierce her mortal flesh. She did not feel as much as a prick. She descried not only Ares’ rapier, but a sword which blazed a brilliant silvery blue flame suspended above her head. She followed the span of the blade to the hands of its owner.
“Syria, I am here.”