Ares and her godbrothers looked like they had been carved out of sunlight and steel.
Ruggedly tall. Broad-shouldered. Effortlessly commanding.
They didn't just sit on horses — they belonged there. The easy roll of their shoulders, the way they handled leather reins like extensions of their own hands — it was the confidence of men who had grown up with dust in their lungs and wind in their blood.
Lucas, the youngest, still carried that reckless spark in his eyes. A man who hated losing more than he feared falling.
The moment he took the reins, something flashed across his face.
Challenge.
He swung onto his dark brown steed in one smooth motion — and before anyone could stop him, he kicked off.
The horse lunged forward.
"Lucas—!" Logan's voice tore through the air, but it was already too late.
Hooves thundered.
Liam swore under his breath and mounted quickly, jaw tight, chasing after his two younger brothers like a man used to cleaning up their chaos.
