"What games are you playing?" he demanded. She was close to him now, very close. He could feel the scent of her filling his nostrils, taste the way she smelled, could feel the crawl of her breath against his face. His hand plunged into the wealth of gold in front of him and twined slowly to coil it at the nape of her neck. That disconcerting sense of the familiar made his throat click. "Who are you?" And he couldn't tell if he were more furious or more perplexed. She felt like Aphrodite. Not in the way a god knew another god, but in the way a man knew a woman. Felt like her lover. His brow creased.
"You aren't my Kythereia," he said again, knowing by now that she'd repeat the same lie. He hauled her up against him, one hand still at the back of her head, her hair wrapped around his fist, while the other had somehow wrapped around her tiny waist.
This waist felt very much like the waist he'd held before. Those two vibrant lips, like a throbbing wound -- he knew them. Those two lips, firm but yielding. He stooped long enough to wrap his entire arm around her hips, then straightened, dragging her body up far enough so he could crush those lips under the weight of his own. It felt the same, by his father's balls, it felt the same. His eyes shut hard on the sight of her. He tried not to revel in her taste, and failed. It was her way of falling under him that he found so damned tempting. Outside his arms, she was full of fire and life, but within his grip, she fell headlong, gave him the victory he could always count on. She drugged him utterly.
And that is why he dropped her - whoever this was - because everyone knew she was his weakness. Everyone, down to his gimp of a brother, knew that Dite was the one who could get under his armor and wound in a way no one else could. "Who ARE you?!" he thundered, but didn't wait for her to lie again. Instead, he seized her arm and stalked toward the King of the God's temple itself.