Dionysus looked over the people behind him, doing a mental count, and coming up three short. Three. Three of his people were not here, they were in the village, and at least one of those three was already dead at the hands of his so-called sister. One could be an accident. But more than that... no. No. His brows drew together in a glower so fierce that even those under his protection stepped back.
It took no time to find her, he just followed the path of the greatest destruction. To the well. Where he found her standing over one of his, sword outstretched, taunting. If it had been any but one of his, Dionysus might have been mildly amused to watch her work up close this way. It was one thing to stand on the hill and watch the ballet of death she left in her wake, but another to see the fine details. He'd like to see the fine details, he decided. Just not with this particular mortal. Because he was his. Dionysus discovered in that moment that he was terribly possessive. What an interesting thing to learn.
“I could never resist a dare,” he said. That was enough warning, he determined. Dionysus wrapped his arms around Enyo from behind, arms crossing over her torso, each hand coming up to cup a breast. “You shouldn't taunt them so, sister. How could they resist goddess boobies? Very unfair.”
Tightening his arms, he picked her up off the ground and turned to carry her towards a hut. “You can have the woman in there. But not that man. He's mine. No touching what is mine, sister.”
It was as kind as he intended to be about her blatant murder of his follower. She was being naughty. And naughty people needed to be punished. But he would give her the chance at redemption that her mother had never afforded him. Just this one chance.