Matched by the Gods

The pain hits me out of nowhere, a searing jolt that buckles my knees and steals my breath. I grip the edge of my desk, white-knuckled, as the agony washes over me in blistering waves.

Phoenix breakup. Definitely a phoenix breakup. Fantastic.

I take a shuddering breath, trying to center myself as the worst of the pain subsides. You’d think I’d be used to it by now - the sudden, visceral echo of love gone wrong, courtesy of my oh-so-delightful curse.

But nope. Still hurts like a bitch every single time.

Welcome to the glamorous life of Poppy Martinez, Cupid matchmaker extraordinaire and part-time punching bag for the universe’s sick sense of humor.

“Uh, boss? You okay there?”

I straighten up with a wince, pasting on a smile for the benefit of my assistant, Violet. The dryad hovers in the doorway, her mossy eyes wide with concern.

“Just peachy, Vi. You know how I love starting my mornings with a little existential torment.”

She pulls a face, her leaves rustling in sympathy. “Phoenix again?”

“Got it in one.” I smooth my hair back, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. Or at least remember how to breathe without feeling like I’m inhaling glass. “Remind me to update our ‘No Volatile Exes’ policy. Clearly, the ‘No Combustible Clients’ clause isn’t cutting it anymore.”

Violet nods, making a note on her ever-present clipboard. “Roger that. Oh, and your 11 am just arrived. And he is... whew. Brace yourself, boss. This one’s gonna be a doozy.”

I frown, glancing at my schedule. “11 am? I don’t have an 11 am.”

“You do now.” Violet fans herself, her cheeks flushing a delicate green. “And trust me, you’re gonna want to take this one. It’s Ares. The God of War himself.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. Ares? Here? In my office? I mean, sure, I’ve heard the stories - who hasn’t? The epic battles, the scorched-earth breakups, the trail of broken hearts and PTSD’d exes he leaves in his wake. The guy’s love life is practically a cautionary tale whispered to baby cupids at night.

And now he wants my help? Oh, this ought to be good.

Before I can fully process this development (or maybe start browsing one-way tickets to Bora Bora), the door to my office explodes open, and in he barges, all six feet and change of pure, undiluted assholery.

And by all the gods, is he a sight to behold.

Dark hair, darker eyes, and a jawline that could cut diamonds. He’s dressed head to toe in designer black leather, every inch of him screaming “bad news” and “call your therapist.” I mean, seriously. It should be illegal to look that good while exuding such strong “will probably ruin your life” vibes.

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the way my traitorous libido perks up at the sight of him. Down, girl. I’m a professional, dammit. A love sorceress. I eat gods like him for breakfast.

Or, you know, I would. If I wasn’t worried I’d catch something.

“Poppy Martinez.” It’s not a question. His voice is pure gravel and sex, rough and low and sending shivers places I definitely shouldn’t be feeling shivers. “You’re the matchmaker.”

“Guilty as charged,” I manage, impressed when my voice only shakes a little. “And you’re Ares. God of War, Scourge of Olympus.”

One dark brow wings up. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Kind of hard not to,” I observe dryly, “what with all the mayhem and manwhoring. Thanks for that, by the way. I always wanted a waiting room that smells like brimstone and bad decisions.”

He has the audacity to flash me a panty-dropping grin at that. The jerk. “Sounds like you know how to party.”

“Oh, I party. Pinot grigio, spicy romantasy, the whole shebang. But that’s not what you’re here for, is it?” I cross my arms, fixing him with my best no-B.S. glare. “What do you want, Ares?”

Something flickers in his expression, there and gone too fast to decipher. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say it was hurt. But this is Ares we’re talking about. The guy eats hurt for breakfast, with a side of emotional unavailability.

“Careful, Poppy,” he warns, his voice a rumble of distant thunder. “I’m not known for my patience. Or for asking nicely.”

I raise a brow, unimpressed. “And I’m not known for being easily intimidated. You want my help? Try acting like a semi-civilized deity and not a sentient ball of unresolved childhood trauma. Then we’ll talk.”

He stares at me for a long moment, those fathomless eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to read my damn soul. I stare right back, refusing to so much as blink. I’ll never let him see me sweat.

Finally, just when I’m starting to worry my eyeballs are going to dry out and fall off, he lets out a rough chuckle. “You’ve got balls, matchmaker. I’ll give you that.”

“Ovaries,” I correct sweetly. “And yeah, they’re made of fucking steel. Which is more than I can say for your emotional maturity.” I lean back against my desk, giving him a slow once-over. “So, I’ll ask again: what do you want, Ares? Because if it’s to waste my time or sexually harass my staff, I’ve got a whole drawer full of hexes with your name on them.”

His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a smile. “Hexes, huh? Kinky. But as much as I’d love to explore that particular avenue with you, I’m actually here on business.” He sobers, something almost vulnerable flickering in his gaze. “I need your help, Poppy. I want... I want to change. To be better. And I hear you’re the best in the biz when it comes to that. The whole... love thing.”

I blink at him, momentarily speechless. Well, then. He actually sounds sincere.

But before I can formulate a response (or maybe just gape at him for a few more hours, because seriously, what the actual fuck), the door to my office swings open yet again.

And in saunters the absolute last person I need to see right now.

“Well, well, well,” drawls a voice like honey and heartbreak. “What do we have here? Don’t tell me the great and terrible Ares has finally gone soft.”

I close my eyes, praying for patience. Or a giant hole to open up in the ground and swallow me whole. Either works.

Because the newcomer? Yeah. It’s Aphrodite. Goddess of Love, Bane of My Existence, Owner of Way Too Many Pink Thongs.

And from the looks of it? She’s got something up her couture sleeves.

Ugh.

“Aphrodite,” I say through gritted teeth, pasting on a smile so fake it probably qualifies as a Barbie accessory. “Always a pleasure”

She laughs, a tinkling sound that sets my nerves on edge. “Oh, Poppy. How I’ve missed that sparkling charm of yours.” She glides into the room like a predator who’s just spotted a particularly juicy bit of prey. Which, let’s be real, is probably an accurate assessment of the situation.

“Spare us the bullshit, Aph,” Ares growls, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “What do you want?”

Aphrodite clutches her chest, her perfectly painted lips forming a moue of wounded innocence. “Want?μου? Why, darling brother, I simply heard you were seeking out dear Poppy’s expertise, and I had to come see for myself.” Her eyes glitter with malicious glee. “After all, it’s not every day the God of War admits he needs help in the romance department. I couldn’t miss the chance to witness such a historic moment.”

Ares’s scowl could strip paint. “I swear to Hades, Aphrodite, if you breathe one word of this--”

“Oh, relax,” she cuts him off with an airy wave. “Your fragile male ego is safe with me. Besides...” Her smile sharpens, turning calculating. “I’m not here to mock, darling. I’m here to offer my assistance.”

I snort, unable to help myself. “Assistance? You?”

Aphrodite levels me with a withering glare. “Careful, Poppycock. Just because you’re the flavor of the month doesn’t mean you’re irreplaceable.” She turns back to Ares, her expression smoothing into a mask of sisterly concern. “Ares, honey, I know you think Poppy here is your best shot at finding love. But let’s be real. She’s a mortal. What does she know about the complexities of divine relationships?”

Ares opens his mouth, but Aphrodite barrels on before he can speak. “Luckily for you, I have a solution. A way to find you the perfect match, while also solidifying your place in the pantheon.” She pauses for effect, clearly savoring our growing dread. “We’re going to find you a wife, darling. On live television.”

Dead silence. You could hear a pin drop. Or my jaw, as it hits the fucking floor.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice strangled. “You want to what now?”

Aphrodite beams, clapping her hands together like a demented toddler. “A reality show, silly! ‘The God of Love’! It’s going to be a smash hit. Ares will be the star, of course. And a bevy of lovely goddesses will compete for his heart. Think of the drama! The romance! The ratings!”

“Think of my fist in your face,” Ares snarls, his power crackling around him like an oncoming storm. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, Aphrodite? I’m not going to be some prancing pony you can trot out for ratings!”

Aphrodite pouts, unfazed by his fury. “But darling, think of the exposure! This could launch you from bad boy to husband material overnight! And with me guiding you...” She sighs dreamily. “Plus, just imagine how jealous Poppy will be, watching you woo all those gorgeous goddesses. The sexual tension will be delicious.”

“Jealous?” I yelp, my cheeks flaming. “Of that walking venereal disease? Please.” I cross my arms, glaring daggers at her. “I’m not interested in your bimbo brigade or your STD swapping contests. I’m a matchmaker, not a pimp. Find somebody else for this circus.”

Aphrodite’s eyes flash, her smile turning brittle. “Oh, I could. There’s no shortage of matchmakers out there, you know. Younger ones. Prettier ones. Ones that share my...vision.” She examines her nails, her tone deceptively casual. “But I’d hate for you to miss your moment, Poppy darling. After all, if Ares finds his soulmate on another matchmaker’s watch, well... There goes your fifteen minutes of fame. Not to mention your client list.”

My blood runs cold. The bitch just threatened my business. My reputation. The tattered remnants of my not-completely-horrible life.

Oh, it’s on now.

I step forward, getting right up in her flawless face. “Listen up, Aphrodite. I’ve spent years building my client base. I’ve matched the most miserable, toxic, supernaturally messed-up beings on this plane or any other. I am good at what I do. And if you think you can waltz in here and steal my clients, my business, my life’s work?” I bare my teeth in a feral grin. “Bring it on, bitch. We’ll see who’s the last goddess standing.”

For a second, genuine shock flares in Aphrodite’s eyes. Then it’s gone, replaced by a glittering malevolence that sends ice skittering down my spine. “Careful what you wish for, Poppycock,” she hisses, soft and deadly as a viper. “You just might get it.”

And with a final, venomous smile, she turns on her stiletto and stalks out, slamming the door behind her.

Leaving me and Ares staring after her, shellshocked and seething.

“Well,” I say, my voice a bit unsteady. “That was fun. And by fun, I mean I think I need to go boil myself in bleach.”

Ares scrubs a hand over his face, looking as tired as I feel. “I’m sorry, Poppy. I had no idea she was going to pull that shit.”

I wave him off, too drained to hold onto my anger. “Not your fault. Your sister’s a grade-A psycho. You can’t control that any more than I can control my gag reflex around her.”

He huffs out a laugh, but sobers quickly. “Listen, about what I said before... about wanting to change. Needing your help.” He looks away, his jaw tight. “Just forget it, okay? I shouldn’t have come here. Shouldn’t have dragged you into my drama.”

Something in my chest twinges at that. At the defeat in his voice. The self-loathing. It’s a feeling I know all too well, being the black sheep of my own pantheon.

Dammit. I’m going to regret this. I just know it.

“Ares,” I say quietly, waiting until he meets my gaze. “Did you mean it? What you said about wanting to change? About wanting... love?”

He stares at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. For what, I don’t know. But whatever he finds there seems to steady him. Strengthen his resolve.

“Yes,” he says, his voice rough. “I meant it.”

The God of War has a heart after all. A damaged, twisted, duct-taped-together heart...but still. It’s more than I thought he had. More than I ever dared hope.

“Okay then,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this. Let’s find you a match. A real one, not some reality show bullshit. But I’m warning you now, Ares...” I pin him with my fiercest glare. “This won’t be easy. You’ve got a lot of baggage to unpack. A lot of growing to do. And I won’t go easy on you just because you’re a god.”

His lips quirk, a glimmer of amusement softening the harsh lines of his face. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Poppy.” He holds out a hand, his gaze intense. “Partners?”

I eye his hand warily. This is it. The moment of truth. The point of no return.

Once I shake that hand, there’s no going back. No backing out. I’ll be in this for the long haul, come Hades or high water.

Gods help me.

“Partners,” I agree, clasping his hand in mine. A shock runs through me at the contact, like a live wire straight to my core. From the way Ares stiffens, his eyes widening, I know he feels it too.

Oh boy. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

But there’s no time to dwell on that now. Not with Aphrodite’s threat hanging over our heads, and a love life to rehabilitate.

It’s time for Ares to meet his match. And me?

I’m going to be the one to find it for him.

Even if it kills me.

Which, let’s be real?

It totally could.