The Mortal Olympians

*It's raining; it's pouring; the hourglass is warning.*
She could hear the thunder roll through the upper-east side apartment. She didn't dare move, in fear that she would wake the slight form lying next to her. Jocelyn listened as the rain beat a steady tempo on her bedroom window. It had begun raining right after she got off the phone with Sean. She'd been awake for hours; ever since that damned dream. She had tossed and turned until Kendra had told her if she moved again she would surely lose the feeling in her legs. At the least.
The rage that had coursed so destructively through her veins had subsided, leaving the bitter shell of the woman she had become. She hated herself for being so stupid. She hated him for making her stupid. If she had only guarded better, then everything between them would have been different. Alex wouldn't still be mad at her. Sean, though he tried to hide it, wouldn't feel the resentment in their friendship at times. Her friends would still know the girl she had been before. The free-spirited, sweet, outgoing person she had been before he had destroyed her. And she hadn't even been his to destroy because he would never claim her. She hadn't even felt the destruction until later. When she watched the inner battle in her heart end in the demise of the girl that had fallen for him in the first place. The one that had loved him as he had been with another. The one that would've walked through the fires of hell to see him happy.
She didn't even remember that girl's name now. She wasn't her anymore. She wasn't anyone that was discernible. If rage was tangible, she was the walking, talking, breathing form of it. She was it's personification, and she had no problem with it.
She rolled restlessly from the bed, removing her pants, she grabbed a pair of short gym shorts as she moved toward the door of her bedroom. Stepping silently from her room and into her living room, she put the shorts on, and sat slowly on the couch. Unable to make her mind stop running through memories she had no desire to remember.

*~*~*

Ares had observed the essencing process, he had watched as first Zeus' form dropped to the ground, then Poseidon's. His father and uncle's bodies had lain motionless on the floor. Their wispy essence traveling into the vials that Athena had constructed.
She had explained that there were two different ways to push their essences into the mortals. Through a physical touch from the god or goddess to their vessel, or, Hermes could take their essences to the vessel and they would force their way in. Zeus and Poseidon had chosen to have their essences taken to their vessels. Aphrodite had chosen to meet hers first. Something had gone wrong. Her body hadn't been returned by Hermes yet.
Looking over the clouded walls of Olympia, he watched as a blur approached the gates. He sprinted to the gates, the other gods and goddesses, noticing his manner, followed quickly behind. He wasn't as fast as Hermes, though. By the time he reached the entrance to the Pantheon, Hermes was already walking toward him carrying Aphrodite's body. His senses kicked up a notch as he took in the scent of death and decay on her.
“What happened?” he asked, his boiling point getting closer and closer to the surface.
Hermes stepped around him, ignoring the question. His first and foremost mission from Zeus had been to get the bodies to their private quarters. He had already delivered Poseidon and Zeus' bodies to theirs. Zeus being put away within his quarters at the southern end of the great palace. Poseidon being placed in the same court of private rooms that Hermes headed towards now.
“I have little patience, Hermes,” Ares ground out, following the God of Speed.
“And I have my orders, War God,” Hermes retorted back with barely contained anger.
Ares quarters sat directly across the square court from Aphrodite's, so he veered to the left as Hermes went to the right. He walked into his cache of rooms to make sure all was as it should be for his body's return. Then he stepped back out, and crossed halfway into the courtyard, waiting for Hermes to get Aphrodite's body settled onto her huge bed, so he could lock her safely in her rooms.
Hermes stepped out, and Ares watched as his body set aglow, he was locking the room the way Athena and Poseidon had told them about. The enchantment sprang up, water sliding over the wrought silver door, then froze. Locking the door with the power of Poseidon and the winter of Demeter. This process would be repeated nine more times, including on his own door. If anyone that was not an Olympian approached an enchanted door, Athena's owl would tell her, and if they chose to ignore Athena's warning to step away, icicles resembling Poseidon's trident would shoot from the door and impale whoever the trespasser was. Hera, Demeter, Athena, Hestia, Hephaestus and Dionysus would stay behind to protect the bodies for as long as the other Olympians didn't need them.
Hermes turned around, spotting Ares, he stepped toward him.
“What happened, Hermes?” he asked in a hushed voice, trying not to alarm the god or other Olympians by his sudden killing rage, “Why does she smell like death?”
Ares eyes narrowed on the other god's face as it contorted in thought. “Ares, they had her vessel. I don't know if he knew what we were doing or if it was a terrible coincidence, but when she arrived...” Hermes trailed off.
“You have two seconds, swift god, explain,” Hera said, her voice hard.
“Hades had the young man's heart in his hand. She got there, and Hades had been personally trying to kill him. He was going to taste the man's death as his own, Hades knew that there was something different about the boy, and he was going to find out what it was,” Hermes explained, his words jumbling together, “She was standing toe-to-toe with Hades, and his army, when she summoned me.”
“What did you do with the young man?” Athena asked softly, Ares could tell that she too was getting angry with the god's explanation.
“I took him back to his hotel room in St. Petersberg. Yes, Hades and his army are still in the area, but somehow this melding of vessel and essence was different from Zeus and Poseidon's. The vessels were in pain with the King and his brother, this one was painless. I believe that they are strong together, and I couldn't very well bring him to Olympia, could I?” Hermes asked, getting irritated that they were becoming angry with him.
“No, you couldn't, but to leave them in so close a proximity?” Dionysus' deep voice asked, skeptically.
“No, madness, he did the right thing,” Athena said, taking in the messenger's body, and then turning to Ares, “Don't you have somewhere to be?”
“Yes, sister, I do,” he answered her, shifting toward Hermes, “Should we be off, then?”
Hermes nodded in reply.

*~*~*

Alex was standing in the middle of what used to be Athens International Airport or Eleftherios Venizelos, as the locals called it. He looked out on a runway from one of the terminals. A Boeing 777 had crashed on approach, almost hitting four other gigantic jets. Alex could see the pilots' blood spatter on the windshield. The sun was still rising through the sky, it was a little before noon.
Turning back, to walk deeper into the airport, he observed several bodies slumped in their chairs. There was a little girl sitting next to, what he suspected to be, her mother, blood was congealed into the soft curls of her childish little head. They must've been waiting for their plane so they could board, he thought, like any other normal day at the airport; I bet they hadn't expected to die. Quelling the urge to be violently sick, he walked away from the loading terminal.
I have to get out of here, he thought to himself, almost panicking, I have to get back to the states, but how?

*~*~*

Ares stood at the base of a large apartment building, Hermes idling next to him silently.
“Are you going to show me where, Hermes?” he asked mildly, knowing the god would comply. “Yes, I will, come with me,” Hermes replied, walking gracefully to a revolving door several feet away.
Ares followed, he could already feel his blood singing in his veins as they stepped into a metal contraption, and Hermes hit a button that read '8th Floor.'
“You say they are on the top floor?” he asked, Hermes nodded, “Thank the gods I'm not afraid of heights.”
Hermes chuckled. He had never had to ask for a 'ride' to anywhere from Hermes, and after flying from Greece to North America in less than five minutes, he wasn't sure he ever would again. He liked his feet on the ground, with a weapon in his hands, more than he liked that psychotic way of travel. A bell pinged, startling him, and before he knew what was going on, he heard Hermes say, “Put that away, Ares! Are you out of your gods-damned mind!”
“Wha-?” he looked down into his hand, where his spear had appeared, “Oh, sorry, Hermes, didn't mean to scare ya,” he replied with a wolfish grin.
The bronze metal doors opened, stepping out, he looked at the hallway, there were heavy, deep burgundy painted, wooden doors with wrought-iron numbers on them. Skirting the first door, he could tell that what he was looking for was not behind it. With every step he took toward the door at the very end of the hallway, though, his blood sang louder and louder. As he stepped to the door with the number 807 on it, he looked to his left to see a large window cut into one of the walls, it was still dark here. Looking back to the door, he reached out with his right palm and touched the thick oak. Every muscle in his body went taut as his blood thundered through every vein.
“Should I knock or just kick the damned thing in?” he asked, not really caring what the answer would be.
“Her anger rivals your own, Enyalius,” Hermes replied, “I would knock.”
Ares grunted in disbelief, but complied.

*~*~*

*An awakened whim, and the rage set in; and blood-lust filled her morning.*
Tired. The word described nothing of the exhaustion wracking her mind and body as she sat on the couch in her living room. Every time the rage took it's course it left her feeling like an empty shell. Her muscles tightening in response to the need for violence. Her mind overrun with sadistic thoughts and terrible memories. She wanted to crawl into a hole and hide after one of her submissions to it; forget the things her heart wouldn't, couldn't, let go. She couldn't let him go. She wanted to, but for some reason her heart wouldn't allow her to love another man the way she had loved him. She wanted to forget she ever met him. The night he decided to walk into her life and demolish all of the boundaries it had taken years to build up. The first time he kissed her, and she felt herself melt into him... She wanted to forget he ever existed as anything more than a peon in this universe. Damn him, she thought to herself, damn him for everything he's put me through; damn him for being what I want and will never have.
It was building, Jocelyn could feel the anger rising up in her like a vicious beast. She could feel it howling into the night, begging her to unleash it's full prowess. She gave it a little slack, putting a few links between her control and her temper. Letting it slip, she felt the heat fill her limbs as she heard her blood thundering in her ears. Her sense telling her not to lose it in her living room, again. Not to start breaking the things that meant so much to her.
Fuck it, she thought, letting it slide just a little further. His face filled her mind then, his dark hair, the roman nose, and chocolate brown eyes. She wanted to punch him as hard as she could. Beat him, let the pain rapture him. She wanted to make him hurt just as much as she had. Somewhere, in the distance of her mind, she felt her fingers curl as her hands balled into fists. Her muscles began to grow tight, her breathing more rapid. She could feel the tears; burning, molten drops, start to form.
And just before she let go completely, she heard knocking at her front door. Deep thuds as heavy hands hit the thick oak. Who the fuck would be here at three-thirty in the goddamn morning, she thought irritably.
Grabbing the baseball bat she kept at the front door, she raised the blind on the peephole. Two men were standing a few feet away on the other side, one had his palm pressed to the door lightly. The taller of the two had dark, almost black, brown hair, his eyes so deep she thought she would fall into them through the thick wooden door. His facial features were perfect, even as she saw concentration lined into the exotic planes of his expression. The other was just a few inches shorter, with shaggy blond hair, and light blue eyes. This one looked almost amused. The darker one took his hand from the door and began knocking again. Thud, thud, thud.
“I don't give a shit what you want, go away, it's three-thirty in the fucking morning,” she said, just loud enough for them to hear, but not loud enough to wake Kendra. She watched the man's head cock to the side, as if bemused.
“I would really like to have a word with you, miss,” he said, his deep voice rolling over her politely.
“Well, I don't give a damn, go away,” she replied, putting emphasis on the last two words. She could see his puzzled expression change to mild annoyance.
“Could you please open the door and speak with us for a few moments?” he asked tartly. She recoiled as she watched his hand drop and she saw the corded muscle beneath the tanned skin. He looked to be wearing some kind of armor, but she couldn't quite tell.
“I don't think so, bub, you need to go the hell away,” she retorted sarcastically.
“Open the damn door, Jocelyn,” he said, his voice roiling with annoyance, “or I'll kick the damned thing in with you standing on the other side staring at me in your short, little shorts and all.”
“How in the fuck do you know my name?” she asked, shocked, and somewhere in the back of her mind she asked herself, and how the fucking hell does he know what I'm wearing?
“Open the door, and I'll tell you, little girl,” was all he said.
Gripping the baseball bat firmly in one hand, she pushed away from the door, and catching the doorknob in the other hand she opened it slightly. They looked like they'd just walked out of a costume party. The tall, dark one wearing battle armor, and the other in a robe. She stomped down the urge to laugh in their faces, instead she just stared at them. Not knowing exactly what to say, they were two of the most attractive men she'd ever seen in her life.
“May we come in?” the blond asked, nicely.
“Uhm, well, that's a big no. I don't even know your names, and if you've forgotten, this is New York City. You're not getting anywhere near the inside of this apartment.” she answered acidly.
The man in battle armor shifted his weight to the other foot impatiently, then said, “Will you come out then? So we don't wake your... sister?” he asked, putting emphasis on the last word, as if unsure.
Jocelyn stared at him intently. There was no possible explanation for this stranger knowing that Kendra was sleeping just a room away, or that he had known what she was wearing through the door. Letting the inner battle come to a close in her mind, she took a wary step into the hallway. She had too many questions for this curious stranger, not to want to get some of them answered.
The men stepped back as the door clicked to a close behind her. The man with dark hair started to say something, but she held up her hand to silence him.
“First, I want names. Now, or I am going to turn around, and pretend that this never happened. You first,” she said, pointing to the tanned man. She looked him over. He stood at a little over six-and-a-half feet, at the least, his bare arms were as big as her legs, probably bigger, she thought to herself. His obviously muscled chest was concealed behind what looked to be Greek battle armor, and sprawled on the black armor were two silver, giant dogs, facing each other, their mouths twisted into silent snarls. Inlaid were, what looked to be, orange jewels as their angry set eyes. She watched as he thoughtlessly reached up and touched the armor.
For some reason, after stepping into the hallway, she felt utterly... safe. As if nothing could hurt her, the man's eyes were on her face, as she realized that the feeling radiated from him. The closer she got to him, the more at ease she felt.

*~*~*

Ares observed the woman, her brown hair with it's onyx undertone, as she stepped into the hallway with them, naming her first demand. The closer she got to him, the harder it was to resist the urge to reach out and touch her. His blood was singing to this woman as if she were a siren, as if she had all of the answers he desperately needed to know. Her brown eyes roved over him, resting on his armor. He watched her eyes settle on the giant mastiffs, his mastiffs, Parideimos and Dalphobos. They never left him, he could feel their presence even now, as they sat just feet from where he stood. The giant black mastiffs' fiery eyes were locked on Jocelyn as she studied them on his armor. He knew she couldn't see them sitting so close to her. They were his creatures, the creatures of a god were unseen due to the fact that they were woven so deeply with divine loyalty that each god protected they're animals faultlessly. Though, a god could be seen by mortals, if he willed it so, the animals could not.
It took him a minute to realize he hadn't answered her, and he also realized that she was inching ever so slowly toward him, as if he had a gravitational pull, that only this mortal woman could feel.
“My name, dear Jocelyn,” he spoke the words, as if he had been created to say them, “is Enyalius.” He felt Hermes stiffen next to him, as he gave her the name that only the Olympians had called him for eons. Hermes shifted his weight to look at her then, “I am Hermes,” he said softly.
That caught her off guard, he could see her muscles tightening below her naturally tanned skin, he watched as her eyes held recognition of the name, and then slipped to anger.
“Is this some kind of joke?” she asked, unable to control the acid seeping into her voice, “Did Malex or Sean put you up to this?”
That's when he felt it, the anger... the rage, just beneath her. He'd never felt such a thing roll from a single mortal with such strength that even his divine senses were telling him to calm her. It was awing, even to the God of Rage himself. Hermes had been right, for a mortal, her anger did rival his own. Not that she could ever take him down, but the sheer force of her rage was impressive, and she was merely tapping the surface right now. He wondered to himself, how far down does the well of her rage run?
“No, Jocelyn, this is not a joke,” he said, snapping her attention from Hermes to himself. He could see, as though it were mirrored to him for the first time, the rage on the surface, but he could also see deep within, hidden behind the powerful anger, the pain. It was heart-shattering to look into her eyes and see his pain reflected so perfectly. The planes of her face were drawn back into a grimace of anger, as she looked at him, and then to Hermes.
“What are you playing at then?” she asked, skeptically.
He cocked his head to the side, thinking over her words, “Playing at?”
“Yes, playing at, is this some kind of joke?” she asked, he could taste the acid of her words. She was still inching minutely toward him, even though her anger was warring her to keep her distance. He could see it in her eyes, he knew then, that whatever was pulling him to her must also be pulling her to him.
“No, Jocelyn, we do not jest.” he assured her, quietly.
“So, you're gonna stand here and tell me that I am standing in the presence of, not one, but two Greek Gods. Like mythological Greek Gods?” she asked, her tone full of disbelief.
“Well, as I stand here before you, not only the God of War, but the God of Rage, as well, obviously I am not a myth.” he said, emphasizing the last word through his clenched teeth. He felt Hermes bristle at being called a myth, again. He had known it would not be easy to make the mortals believe them, they had not worshipped the Olympians for centuries.
“Prove it, then.” she said, her teeth gritting together on the last word.
His jaw clenched as he thought of the one way that he could prove it to her and, without a doubt, she would believe him. It was through a touch that he could show her his memories, though she would have to be willing to touch him first. He didn't know if through this touch, though, if he would not only pass memories, but something... more.
“Hermes, may I show her?” he asked cryptically, then.
Hermes, understanding the quiet double meaning, nodded once in reassurance.
After the brief side thought, he turned back to Jocelyn, studying her face he had the assumption that she would not object as long as he proved that he was who he had said he was... and so was Hermes. “Give me your hand, Jocelyn.”
He watched her reaction to his words, her eyes betraying every facet of the truth of what she felt. First they held irritation, then he watched them slip to wariness, then, as her curiosity overrode her trepidation, he saw curious understanding. Slowly, so slowly, she closed the last foot between them. Holding out her hand, not as if to shake his, but almost as if to stop him. Her fingers spreading just wide enough to fit his between them, gave him the reassurance that he had not been wrong in his assumption. She wanted to know the truth, and so he would show her.
He reached up with his right hand and interlocked their fingers, concentrating on Olympia and all it held. He felt her hand clench down on his as the first of the memories filled her psyche. The gardens of Olympus, Aphrodite as only he could see her, his father, Zeus, and sister, Athena. A blessing and a request, fighting the battles next to mortals and lesser gods alike, holding Aphrodite as Hephaestus watched. Parideimos and Dalphobos following his every move. Seeing his sons, Deimos and Phobos for the first time, fighting alongside Enyo. Athena's visions, Hermes' speed, Dionysus' madness, Hera's feminine wisdom, the anger of the Sea, Persephone's sentence to Hades... He showed her the truth behind the myth, and he felt her belief as it coursed through her.
He watched as she opened her eyes with a new perspective, as if seeing Hermes and himself for the first time. She didn't try to take her hand away from his, she didn't try to move at all. She just stared transfixed at his face, her eyes, yet again, betraying her emotions. He could see the understanding and acceptance as she held him with her gaze.
Then, abruptly, she stepped away from him and said, “Why, in the name of all that is divine, are you here?”
It caught him off guard at first, not knowing exactly what to say. He knew that she believed him, and he knew that she accepted that belief, it was not at all like she was in denial. He could feel her acceptance of him rolling off of her, it sent waves of relief crashing through him. So, why was she asking this question? Had he not told her in his memories? Had he kept it hidden beneath the things she needed explained? Had she overlooked it, the intense calling that blistered between them?
“I showed you...” he answered.
“No... you did not,” she said calmly, “Why are you at my door? Have I angered the gods? What have I done that would need Ares and Hermes to be at my door at three in the morning?”
He heard Dalphobos' thunderous growl as she spoke, she had gone from acceptance to borderline hysteria, and it made the mastiff uncomfortable. How could she possibly have angered the gods? Even if she had, he and Hermes would not be the ones to show up and punish her. It didn't work that way anymore. He no longer had a claim that would interfere in the workings of humanity on Earth.
She began wringing her fingers in her hands, fidgeting uncomfortably, and he knew, then, that every instinct this mortal woman had, would be telling her to run right now. To get as far away as possible. Her nerve endings were screaming fear at him as if they were angry harpies. He needed to calm her down and explain himself before she started hyperventilating, but... how to explain. He would need to put it to her gently, he didn't want to scare her. The more the anxiety seared her, the more he just wanted to see the acceptance in her eyes, again. He needed it, to know that he was not invading her, but being welcomed into her. He didn't want to force her to take him, he wanted her to embrace him.
He snapped out of his thoughts as her brown eyes began to glisten; dear gods, she was about to cry... and he was fascinated by the utterly human reaction of it.
“Listen, please... I don't know what I've done, but pl-” he had raised his hand to silence her, and she had cut off and flinched as she saw him move. He was going to kill Hermes' for not comforting her as he had chewed on his own bewilderment.
“Sweetest Jocelyn, you have done nothing to anger the gods,” he said, his deep voice trying to soothe her, “ Actually, we come to... ask something of you. If you are willing to calm yourself and listen. I will continue in my explanation, but only if you dry your tears and find your composure.”
He could see the battle behind her eyes as she slowed her breathing. Her shoulders relaxed when her mind embraced the fact that she was not in any danger. Her control leashing her extreme emotion as her eyes settled on his, free of the tears that had threatened to fall down her high cheekbones. She searched with a questioning glance for a moment, then as if finding the reassurance she needed in his face, she nodded at him to go on.
“We come to you to ask a favor that is not to be taken lightly...” he began, pausing to let his words sink into her mind, “We have a problem that has necessitated us to find certain mortals that could... withstand... the essence of a god. You see, we are bound by the treaties of man that force us not to interfere in the fate of humanity. We are not to interfere at any cost, but we can not stand idly by and let one of our own raze the people that we once loved. A god has taken it upon himself to punish the entire mortal race for their inability to recognize our truth in their lives and history. We have to do something. Do you understand what I am saying to you, Jocelyn?”
She thought for a moment before answering, as if choosing her words wisely. “One of the Olympians is responsible for the destruction of Greece,” she said, talking to herself more than to him or Hermes. “It wasn't an act of the God, but one of the gods.” she said aloud, again, talking more to herself, then she looked at him, “Why would you need my help, though? I'm nothing special.”
Her words cut him a little as she said them, then he momentarily thought of why she was so compatible to be his vessel. “You are a vessel, Jocelyn; actually, more accurately, you are my vessel.” he said, noticing the automatic way his voice bared down on the possessiveness of that one word, “You are special, dear mortal, your mind, body, and soul, harbor the strength it would take to hold a god's essence within you, to coexist, and manipulate it's strength to help you fight. Jocelyn, I need you to understand that, yes, it is a god, a fallen Olympian, that is demolishing your people, and yes, I do need your, and only your, help. I need you to let my essence fill you, to give you the strength that it will take to overthrow this god. I need your acceptance of this first because I refuse to force you into this. Do you understand what I am asking of you? Do you truly see why it is a request that is not to be taken lightly?”
Her eyes had glazed a little, no doubt, she had been seeing this in her head. “Your essence? What exactly does that entail?”
“My essence is my mind, my strength, the aspects that make up who and what I am. They would all be passed to you, and in doing so we would... share... your mind and body. Though, I am a god, so there would be times that if I feel an extreme emotion or notion, I would be able to overpower you in your body and take full control of it... but I vow to only do so if I feel that we are in danger, or that you are in over your head. I will not take your free will thoughtlessly.” he confessed to her. “How do you feel about this?”
He watched her jaw clench and unclench as she thought this over. He could feel Parideimos, Dalphobos, and Hermes getting impatient with the length of the conversation. Why don't you just take her and get this over with, the sooner you settle in her body, the sooner we can fight, he heard Dalphobos ask in his mind.
I will not force her into this, Dalphobos, though I am a god, it is not my place, he answered back carefully. Parideimos bristled at the thought, But you are a god, liege, you shouldn't have to ask for anything.
The mastiffs shared a collective conscience so, of course, whatever he said to Dalphobos, Parideimos would hear. It angered them that he was taking this so slowly, as if she were fragile. Obviously, for the reason he was here, she was anything but fragile. That's what they were thinking, that's what they were feeling as their growls filled the hallway. He knew that, though they were angry, they would never act on it; they would never defy him. Their loyalty to him, and only him, was too deep to ever write off.
Jocelyn shifted then, she went from rigid with thought to looking at him skeptically. “Enyalius? You are Ares? And I am to be your vessel? Not some other god's?” she asked then, unsure.
“Yes, Jocelyn. You are mine. No one else will touch you, but me.” he snarled in possessive reassurance. It was a funny thing, this siren's call, that he felt the need to possess her; to protect her. In the last ten minutes he had been more gentle, and careful, with this one woman than he had been with any mortal in almost a millennia, unable to force her to do as his will commanded. The thought of another god trying to force his way into her... he felt the blood-lust rise in him as that notion left him feeling the violent rage that, some times, exacted his life.
He turned to look into her face then, he needed to watch this silent debate taking place in her mind. Her lips were drawn in a tight line as she thought about every aspect of the situation she was being placed in; in the back of his mind he fleetingly thought of Athena's perspective on this:
“She will give herself to you willingly, brother; but you must know that her mind is also the mind of a brittle mortal. The man, that is her Aphrodite, very nearly broke her. She does not have the will of a god, but the anger of a scorned woman. That, my dear Enyalius, places you in a very dangerous position. You must take her gently, as if she were a prize, not a tool at your disposal... or you will surely be her mind's demise.” she paused then, giving him the time to absorb her meaning. “Give her the choice, brother, because being taken forcefully will not give you the end that you desire.” The memory faded, then, as Jocelyn's eyes settled on him clearly. Her reserve, that of a woman with her mind set on something.
“Have you made your decision, Jocelyn?” he asked, not wanting to push her into this delicate situation.
She searched his face again, finding what she was looking for, she nodded to him. “I will be your vessel,” she said, quietly, “How does this work, what do you have to do to me?”
He thought for a moment, letting the relief drift through his system again, as she studied him with acceptance back in her gaze. “I have but to touch you, Jocelyn. It should not be painful.”

*~*~*

What have I gotten myself into? She thought, as she raised her hand into the space between her and the god.
“Are you sure of your decision?” Ares asked, as if her words had been said in an insecure tone.
“Yes, I am. Now, let's get this show on the road, shall we? I'd like to do this before I meet my mortal end.” she replied, sarcastically reminding them that she was the only mortal in this particular conversation. Her eyes had not left him since he had voiced his request. She had known from the beginning that she would not deny this beautiful stranger.
“Enyalius, I believe that we are not the only impatient ones anymore.” Hermes said, a smile twisting his face as he focused on her.
She had a transient thought of why the god had just said we before she felt the heat of Ares hand rising to hers. His fingers slid agilely to fit hers as his palm made the last connection between them.
She felt it then, the heat, the undeniably, delicious heat. It seeped into her palm and arched through her, razing her cold limbs, filling her. She felt the strength, and the power, spiral through her entire body as her muscles went taut with the tension of her anticipation. She felt the melding of their minds, and tightly closed her eyes as his conscience permeated her psyche. It was as if her body was expanding to provide this odd entity the protection of her frame. She couldn't fight the smile that wound itself across her face. Her muscles relaxed at his happiness at the accomplishment of being embraced within her. It felt as if the transformation had taken hours rather than seconds as she opened her eyes.
The first thing she noticed were the giant mastiffs that easily stood almost as tall as her shoulder. They stared at her, with eyes of flame, before she felt the mental connection between Ares and the two dogs. Enyalius? She heard the question probe through her mind before her voice spoke uncontrollably, and she heard the timbre of the god within, “I am here, Dalphobos. Do not fear this form, we are together. Parideimos, we have much to do.” Then her body turned to Hermes, “Please take my body back to Olympus, brother. You are right, without the pain, we are stronger than I ever could've imagined. Tell Athena of this information.” The timbre of his voice within hers rolled from her mouth.
Jocelyn? His deep voice filled her mind, I will learn to control the urge to do what I have just done. By taking over completely, I leave you trapped within the confines of your body and your mind. I will learn to control it. Forgive me... His voice faded, as she watched Hermes grab his lifeless form, and blur into nothing.
She turned then, gripping the doorknob and turning it, she stepped into her apartment. “It's fine, Ares, do not fret on it.”