I hear Logan’s shouting even before I fully materialize in the doorway of Max’s house. I miss this form of travel. Limos are nice and all, but there’s nothing like teleportation.

I look to my left and see that the door is off its hinges, with what looks to be a shotgun blast blown right through the wood in the center. The lock is in pieces on the floor, with wood chips all over the place.

It looks like he blasted his way in.

What the actual fuck? From what Gotham said, I was expecting there to be a verbal fight. Nothing like this. I knew that Logan was angry, but this is another level entirely.

Another shout comes from the kitchen, and I whip my head toward it. It’s slurred and so muddied that I can’t quite make out the words, but I hear an answering sob.

Max. And I’ve never heard her sound like that. Ever.

I storm through the hallway, closer and closer.

Max, I’m coming.

I hear the words better now as I near them. And I know that I have to tread lightly, or else this could blow up. I doubt that Hades or Zeus would give me a pass to bring back Max from the dead if something terrible were to happen.

“I just want to see my son,” Logan tells her. “You’re keeping my son from me.”

“Because you’re—” Max says, her voice wavering, but Logan cuts her off with a slurred, “Shut up!”

I stop in the doorway, and my breath catches in my throat as I take in the scene before me.

Logan stands in front of Max with a fucking shotgun trained on her chest. She is pale and still as she sits in a chair, her eyes on the twin barrels of the gun. Tears run down her face, but her face is set, hard.

Hector is slumped in the corner of the kitchen, bleeding from a wound on his head. Like Logan had attacked him with the butt of a shotgun.

What a despicable piece of shit.

As I appear in the door to the hallway, both of them turn their heads to look me, Logan in confusion and Max in quiet shock. Her mouth moves, but no words come out. Logan blinks stupidly as if trying to figure out why I’m here.

Isn’t it obvious?

“Let her go,” I say, holding out my hand. “Let Max go, all right? This isn’t the way to do it, Logan.”

Logan’s eyebrows pinch together. “You’re the guy she was fucking,” he says as if putting the pieces together in his state. “Damien Eros.”

Max watches me, begging with her eyes to get out of here. To call the cops. Anything to get out of harm’s way.

But I don’t move. After all, I’m here to save her.

“Put the gun down,” I tell him, waving the motion with my hand. “Put it down, Logan.”

He doesn’t. “You know, I remember seeing that you had cheated on Max.” He snickers. “She is pretty forgettable, isn’t she? There’s always some other piece of ass that’s better, right?”

Max still has her eyes wide but doesn’t say anything.

I keep my eyes on Logan, on that shotgun. “And that’s where you’re so wrong,” I tell him. “There’s never been anyone else like Max. Believe me, I’ve looked.”

I step forward.

An ear-splitting crack shatters through the tight space of the kitchen. Max screams. The idiot shot me. Shot a motherfucking god with a mortal weapon. I almost laugh at the sheer idiocy of it.

The force of the blast makes me stumble slightly, but I keep upright.

I don’t even feel it, except for the metallic pieces being pushed out of my back. I don’t bleed, don’t have a single mark marring my smooth body. One of the perks of being immortal.

He did ruin my shirt, though.

“You really are special, aren’t you?” I growl before I tear off my shirt. I use the motion to pull away my mortal glamour, a technique that I use to keep my glowing godliness from mortal eyes. I glow from the inside out, and I don’t mean with health. I’m my own light source.

In my god form, I’m the perfect specimen. My hair curls at my brow, my muscles bulge with superhuman strength. I’ve changed from my suit to my traditional chiton, with golden clasps holding white fabric over my chest and waist. My expensive dress shoes are replaced with sandals that lace up my calves. I have my bow and quiver at my shoulder, full of arrows meant to make one fall in love or strike them down.

No diapers though. I hate that interpretation of Cupid. It’s just plain insulting.

Logan stares at me in shock, his triumphant call at shooting me stuck in his throat. Max stares at me agape, like she can’t believe her eyes.

I did tell her though, I want to say. I did tell her that I am Eros. Not that she believed me then.

She does now. And this isn’t even my most powerful form. If a mortal were to ever see that, they’d disintegrate.

“What the fuck are you?” Logan breathes.

I round on him, flashing what I know is a dashing smile that makes him cower. “I’m the god who loves Maxine.”

And I merely shove him. The man flies through the wall into the living room like he’d been hit by a wrecking ball. I’d almost forgotten how strong I am in my true form.

I make a mental note to pay for the repairs later.

I step through the wall, straightening to my full height. Somehow, Logan is still conscious and trying to scramble away from me. He looks up at me, terrified, like his whole world has shattered.

All I can think about is how Max’s peace of mind has been shattered for years. He’s been terrorizing them for too long.

“St—stay away from me!” he shouts, holding up a hand, as if it could stop me.

I stop and bare my teeth at him. “Like Max told you to stay away from her? Like the court ordered you to stay away from her and her family?”

“I—I—”

I take him by the throat and easily lift him with one hand against the wall. His feet leave the floor. He gags, scrabbling at my hand holding him. My grip is like a vice, though, and I consider the possibility of never letting him go again.

“You’re pathetic and use fear to get your way,” I tell him coolly. “You’re scum. You’re the reason why humans can’t govern themselves.”

Logan’s eyes bulge, but I’m not done yet. I let another level of my power shine through, allowing a little of my glow to burn into his retinas and fry his addled brain. He struggles some more like a cornered beast.

Yes, it’s scary what we gods are capable of. But what he wrought onto Max is even worse.

I lean into Logan, and I whisper in his ear, “Logan Barber, may you never find happiness. May you never be in love with yourself or your situation. May you loathe yourself so much, you can’t even bring yourself to end it.”

These aren’t idle threats. They’re promises. I’m telling the whole universe to ignore this mortal in front of me for the rest of his miserable life and into his eternity.

His body goes limp in my hand. I toss him aside in disgust. He won’t hurt anyone now or ever again. When he wakes up, he’ll have gaps in his memory about what he saw. But I’ll be haunting his nightmares for years to come.

He won’t be bothering Max anymore.

I hear someone stumble in the rubble, and I look up to see Max staring at me. She holds onto the sides of the walls for support as she huffs, looking at me.

I immediately put my mortal glamour back on, so as to not overpower her brain with my true form. I also use my magic to repair my destroyed shirt, so that it wouldn’t attract unwanted attention. The sudden change and darkness in the living room make her blink multiple times as if she’s adjusting her eyes.

“Are you okay?” I finally ask.

A stupid question, since it’s obvious that she isn’t all right.

“You…” Her voice trails off as she looks at me, shaking her head.

“Gotham called me,” I say. “I came as fast as I could.”

I feel the need to explain myself, to let her know that I wouldn’t come over to her house uninvited. After all, she had basically just broken up with me. I don’t want to betray her trust any more than I have. I don’t want her thinking that I come anywhere close to Logan’s level.

“It’s true,” she whispers. “You’re…”

I nod. “I am Eros.”

A swirl of emotions flits across her face as she takes this in. She crosses her arms, considering everything. “So this whole thing…”

I nod again. “Was to get me to fall in love with love again. And you helped me, Max.” I give a dry chuckle and comb my hand through my hair. “You’re the one who taught the god of love how to love. I’d nearly forgotten after everything that happened with Psyche.”

“And Nadya—Psyche—” she corrects, trying out the different names on her lips.

I shake my head. “Psyche actually pretended to be a whole bunch of my…mistakes. Before you, Max. Please.” I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Please believe me.”

She only watches me.

Sirens break us out of our stupor, and we both turn to look at the open front door. A sob escapes Max’s throat.

“Dad!” she cries, ducking back into the kitchen to check on Hector.

I follow and kneel beside her as she checks on her father’s condition. He’s still unconscious and has a huge knot on his head from where Logan struck him with the shotgun, but he’ll live.

“Go check on Gotham,” I tell Max. “He’s in Hector’s room. I’ll make sure that the old man’s all right.”

She meets my eyes before she glances at my lips, and then runs to bedroom, shouting her son’s name.

I sigh and sit back as the police come into the kitchen. They have their pistols trained on me as they approach. “He’s in the living room, officers,” I say, gesturing with my head. “We’ll need some paramedics for him though,” I add, nodding to Hector, who groans.

At least the old man is hard to kill.

They’re frowning as they glance at the man-sized hole in the wall, before checking out Logan’s crumpled body.

I feel very tired as I watch them work around me. Like I’m beyond their help.

A few minutes later, Max comes out with Gotham in her arms. I rise to my feet on instinct, showing Max the chivalrous side of me.

“Mr. Arrows!” the boy calls out. “You came!”

He seems shaken, but no worse for wear. Max, however, may have some more trouble recovering after this. She watches me warily, like she’s afraid to get too close to me.

I guess that’s warranted.

“Hey, buddy,” I say. “Thanks for calling me. And for calling the cops.”

He wipes away tears from underneath his glasses. “I didn’t know what to do.

“You did fine.” I meet Max’s eyes, and repeat it, just for her benefit, hoping she hears it down to her soul. “You did just fine.”

With one hand, she reaches up and wraps me up in a hug while still holding Gotham. Her scent is in my head, and I can’t believe how much I’ve missed her over the past week. I close my eyes and sigh into her.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” she whispers.

“I know.” I nod toward the police that are now scouring the scene. A paramedic is checking Hector for wounds. “But later.”

She pulls back and frowns. Finally, she nods. “Okay. Later.”