The hall is filled with music and laughter, the air thick with wine and smoke. You stand amidst it all, a shining star among the gods, eyes alight and head held high. And they can’t stop looking at you.

Ares watches from the shadows, jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed as yet another god steps too close. He’s seen it all night — the way they hover around you like vultures, eyes lingering on the curve of your neck, the softness of your lips. They grin too wide, lean in too close, their words dripping with false charm.

But you? You don’t waver.

Ares’ chest tightens as he watches you tilt your chin up, eyes sharp as you pull your hand away from yet another god’s grasp. You step back, shaking your head, your voice cool and firm as you deny him. The god’s expression falls, and Ares’ lips twitch in a dark, satisfied smirk.

You’re loyal. You’re his. You’ve never given him a reason to doubt it.

But that doesn’t mean they get to touch you.

Ares steps forward, the crowd parting like waves before him. The room goes quiet as he approaches, his presence heavy, dark, a storm rolling in. He stops beside you, his hand sliding around your waist, fingers splaying possessively against your hip. The god before you stiffens, eyes darting from Ares’ hand to his face.

“You deaf?” Ares drawls, his voice low and dangerous. “She said no.”

The god swallows, tries to speak, but the words stick in his throat. Ares leans in, his grin all sharp teeth and lethal intent. “Or do you need me to make it clearer?”

The god shakes his head quickly, stumbling back, his gaze dropping to the floor. Ares watches him go, a low growl rumbling in his chest. When the room finally resumes its noisy chatter, Ares turns to you, his hand still firm on your waist.

“You shouldn’t have to do that, to remind them not to touch you,” he says, voice rough, his thumb tracing slow circles against your hip. “But I love it when you do.”

His other hand rises, fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek, his eyes dark as they search your face. “Still…” Ares’ gaze flicks to the retreating god, his jaw tightening. “I won’t have them looking at you like that. Not when they know who you belong to.”

His grip tightens, pulling you closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp. “And they need to remember that.”