Bonds of Hercules - 36

A LEXIS : SGC D AY 9

A chilly breeze whipped through the coliseum and curls blew around my face in a tangled mess.

Dark clouds concealed the mountain peaks.

Not again.

I’d never view a thunderstorm the same way.

Mist rolled across the sand, and electricity hummed louder than usual, sputtering and sparking in the moisture-filled air.

I searched the stadium, but Zeus wasn’t present yet.

The day felt ominous—murmurs filled the arena—there was a strange anticipation bubbling.

Last night, once again, Kharon pulled me on top of him while he slept. He’d woken up with a flustered blush.

I didn’t look back at my husbands, but from the way my neck prickled, and my instincts screamed DANGER , they were staring at me.

Something was changing between the three of us.

The tension had returned—it was sweeter than before, but still volatile, if not more so. A dangerous chemistry.

Sometimes, I didn’t know if the three of us were fighting—or flirting.

I wasn’t ready to find out.

Charlie interlaced his arm through mine and leaned against my left side, his skin feverishly warm. I snuggled into him. Even back in the freezing depths of Montana winters, his blood had run hot. I used to have to beg him to wear a coat.

Poco was curled into a ball on my lap, looking like a fluffy obese cat.

Such a cutie.

I leaned down and gave his little gray head a kiss. He chittered contentedly.

Nyx’s scales tightened around my right arm as she raised herself up. “I want a kiss,” she demanded, her tongue flicking out near my ear.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Nyx clicked her fangs together. “Kiss me.”

I quickly pecked her invisible head.

“Very nice,” she hissed.

Drex gave me a strange look. “You know—you’re actually a very strange person.”

I arched my eyebrow. “And you’re crap at math.”

A long beat passed, memories of the crucible spreading between us.

We grinned and elbowed each other.

“I still don’t understand how you enjoyed Thagorean.” Drex’s smile fell as he glanced at the empty seats beside Charlie.

Poppae lay in the aisle, looking despondent.

Where is Patro and why doesn’t he have his protector with him?

I hadn’t seen him at the symposium yesterday, since he’d been taken directly after his match to be interrogated.

“THE EIGHT LABORS OF ACHILLES—” Zeus’s crackling voice resonated throughout the arena as he stepped out onto the podium in a resplendent gold toga— please no —a familiar scepter clutched in his hand. “BEGINS NOW!” His lion roared.

The stadium errupted with cheers.

Charlie held me closer, and Drex leaned forward to get a better view.

“ Achilles … Achilles … Achilles … Achilles! ” Sparta chanted. Men and women wailed, half of them screaming, the other half crying.

Nyx joined them.

Humans weren’t the only ones who worshipped Achilles. Apparently, everyone on earth was obsessed. He only cared for one person—Patro—and people wanted what they couldn’t have.

Achilles stalked out onto the fog-covered sand to a standing ovation.

His short exercise toga bunched as he moved, and a small silver kitchen knife glinted in his fist. That was it. Nero stalked beside him with the scruff on his back raised.

He was heading into battle practically naked.

Achilles turned to look up at the crowd. His large body moved aside and revealed … Patro was walking beside him.

What the hell? Why is he down there?

Drex nudged me. “Is Patro limping? Is his ankle bleeding?”

A white bandage was wrapped around Patro’s right ankle—a maroon stain was spreading beneath the back of it.

“Why?” I asked dumbfounded. “Even while interrogating him, why would they ever feel the need to …”

Patro’s Achilles tendon was severed.

They’d severed it the day before Achilles’s match.

Just like with Agatha, the Olympians were making a statement—it was pure humiliation. A power trip.

I looked over at where Agatha was hunched beside Hermos, still covered in awful bruises. Zeus had been inches away from striking her dead.

Terror slithered down my throat.

Charlie rested his head against my shoulder, and I held him close, inhaling his clean scent.

My little brother was safe beside me. We were well fed. Showered and clothed. We’d both survived much worse than this.

Everything would be okay.

Achilles’s eyes shone a shockingly bright shade of scarlet as he glanced down at Patro’s bleeding leg. Veins protruded from his neck.

The Son of Ares, the Beast of the Crimson Duo, the Killer, had never looked so feral.

Zeus pointed his finger down at them—it looked like he was pointing a gun—and announced, “In compliance with his Spartan oath, the federation grants Patro permission to … REMOVE THE MUZZLE!”

The crowd went wild.

Zeus pointed his scepter at a section of the crowd I hadn’t noticed before. “TURN OFF THE CAMERAS!”

People screamed with fright, but no lightning struck.

Wait, is all of this being recorded?

What felt like a lifetime ago, I’d watched snippets of the gladiator fights in homeroom before school started.

Dissonance tore through me—past and present collided—the human world was watching.

I felt woozy.

Patro lifted a silver key to the back of Achilles’s muzzle. Hand visibly shaking, he inserted it, turning, unlocking the mechanism at the back of the thick leather straps.

The stadium held its breath.

Achilles turned and grabbed Patro’s wrist midair, stopping him from pulling the muzzle fully off.

The lovers stared into each other’s eyes.

No words were spoken, but Patro’s expression fell, his handsome features full of distress for his beloved.

Achilles shook his head, stepping back.

He put space between them, the muzzle still plastered across his face.

Achilles’s posture was different— crueler than normal. Even from afar, his countenance was harsh.

Patro turned his head, wrenching himself violently away from Achilles, like it physically pained him to leave his side.

Staggering away, tripping over sand and wincing as blood poured from his wound, Patro looked distraught.

Achilles reached to help him, but Patro batted him away and righted himself.

Patro limped away.

Achilles watched him go—his gaze lasered on Patro’s severed tendon—eyes flashing.

Cool wetness splattered across my face.

Hisssssssss.

The network of electricity sputtered above the arena.

I tipped my head back—droplets peppered my skin—the gray sky opened up, drenching all of us in a deluge. Sparks popped in the air, but the force field held.

The gate lifted up, but Achilles was still watching Patro retreat.

Rain fell faster, pouring down Achilles’s face like tears. The muzzle was still on, and for some reason, he wasn’t removing it.

Menacing growls echoed as four Nemean wolves slunk out on the far side of the arena. Their coats were a shiny black and each of them was Nero’s size or bigger.

It was just like Patro’s round.

Nero spun and growled at the incoming threat, his teeth bared as he crouched low in the rain.

Achilles still didn’t turn around.

He was watching where Patro had disappeared.

The wolves sprinted, puddles splashing beneath their feet, as they headed straight for Achilles’s exposed back.

“What’s he doing?” Drex shouted.

The crowd screamed with warning.

Rain pounded down.

The four mammoth wolves pounced—long yellow fangs bared, ears flattened to their skulls—they soared through the rain, straight toward Achilles.

I screamed with the crowd.

Achilles turned.

He dodged in a blur.

Two of the wolves overshot him, and Nero clashed with the third, rolling in the wet sand.

Chilling growls echoed as the two beasts fought.

Achilles didn’t pause to watch.

Moving with shocking speed, he drove his kitchen knife straight through the fourth wolf’s neck, then he slammed the creature down into a puddle with his other hand.

Blood and water sprayed across his muzzle.

A few feet away, Nero ripped out the neck of the wolf fighting beneath him.

The stadium cheered, but there was no time to celebrate.

The remaining two wolves were already back on their feet, sprinting toward Achilles—one crouched low in front of the other, protecting its neck.

Achilles watched them approach, the knife spinning between his fingers. Nero bared his teeth as he stood over the defeated wolf.

Neither man nor protector moved.

They waited.

Yet again, the two beasts leapt straight at them—Achilles shot up into the air, kicking one at Nero as he grabbed the other with his bare hands.

Crack. The wolf fell limp beside Achilles as he landed in the sand. Its neck was snapped.

Nero once again rolled through the sand, teeth snapping, as he fought the last one.

Achilles stalked over, and quicker than my eye could follow, he slammed his tiny knife straight through the last wolf’s skull.

Nero got to his feet and howled.

Achilles stood heaving beside him, leather concealing his face.

The fight had barely lasted a few minutes.

Stones vibrated as the stadium leapt to its feet. “ Take off the muzzle … take off the muzzle … take off the muzzle! ”

Nyx hissed in unison as she slithered around my stomach.

I gave Drex an incredulous look as he also joined the chant.

“What?” he shouted over the screams. “I’m intrigued.”

Rain roared as it fell harder, painting the world dark.

The stomps increased. “ Take off the muzzle … take off the muzzle … take off the muzzle! ”

Again, the trap door slowly lifted—the second round had begun.

Tall pale skin flashed as four blond men walked out, each wearing an oversized brown garment that was much too large for their lithe frames.

They walked out onto the blood-splattered sand.

They stood silent and soaking wet as they watched Achilles with inscrutable expressions. Something was off about them— none of them have a weapon.

Twenty feet of sand, and four dead wolves, stretched between them.

Nero backed up, his tail tucked between his legs, and Achilles moved to stand in front of him protectively.

The stadium went quiet as murmurs of confusion spread.

Charlie stiffened beside me, but I couldn’t see his face, his head still resting on my shoulder.

I turned to Drex and asked, “Who are they?” Rain sputtered off my lips.

“No idea.”

Kharon swore violently.

Drex and I shared a glance of confusion.

A hair-raising rumble echoed through the coliseum.

Shadows crawled across their four faces, skin rolling, their pale chests widening, layers and layers of muscles bulking onto their figures as they grew in height.

Their faces changed—features morphed—distending and warping.

Thick, curved horns grew out from their shaggy heads as they tipped their heads back and roared.

Sparta screamed.

The Chthonic leaders had all jumped to their feet. Persephone was the only one who remained sitting. She glanced back at me, her eyes full of pity.

I opened my mouth to ask, but she’d already turned back around.

What was that look?

“Are those …” Drex trailed off in shock.

I turned to the Chthonic flags whipping back and forth in the aisle—the House of Ares flapped the fastest.

It was fitting. He was the son of the House of Ares.

“ Minotaurs ,” Drex said.

Charlie’s arm trembled, and I squeezed him tighter as Kharon swore louder.

“What the fuck is the federation thinking?” Augustus spat.

Zeus stood on the platform at the edge of the arena, watching the sands with hard eyes. Water sizzled as it touched his skin, his scepter sparking.

The four Minotaurs stood in the middle of the arena, almost as tall as the Cyclopes, but much more muscular. Deadly horns protruded from their beastly skulls and their quads bulged obscenely.

There were hooves where their feet used to be.

Augustus’s lesson came back to me. Minotaurs are stronger and faster than Spartans. With a single kick, they can explode all your organs. Their punch—decapitates.

They were infamous creatures of destruction.

And four of them were here.

Ready to kill.

Achilles raised his arms to the back of his head; the Minotaurs bent their knees.

Slowly, Achilles pulled the leather straps apart.

Sparta stopped screaming—the coliseum was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Even the Minotaurs stopped roaring, creatures and Spartans all holding their breath.

Achilles’s muzzle dropped into a puddle.

It was worse than I could have ever expected.

Smooth bronze skin pulled across a sharp jaw, framing wide, full ruby lips. Achilles was conventionally handsome, rivaling even Patro for beauty. At least, he would have been.

An X of thick white scar tissue slashed across his lips. Raised and puckered, it reached up to his cheekbones and ended under his chin.

Drex gasped as he also realized.

Someone had tried to sew Achilles’s mouth shut.

They’d tried to silence him. Brutally.

Stomach roiling with nausea, I covered my mouth.

All four Minotaurs leaned forward, their sharp horns pointed directly at Achilles.

Anticipation pulled taut—a razor tripwire attached to a nuclear bomb—as everyone held their breath.

I waited for Achilles to speak, to use his rumored voice powers, and command the Minotaurs.

His lips stayed pressed together in a harsh line and he slowly backed away.

Wind howled as it whipped through the basin, the rain pounding down in harsh sheets.

The Minotaurs watched him move, tense and ready.

Achilles just kept stepping back, putting more space between them. Behind him, Nero curled himself into a ball at the edge of the arena like he was trying to disappear.

Scales slid across my cheek as Nyx leaned forward.

Achilles stopped when he stood in front of Nero, his back to the stone wall.

ROARRRRRRR.

The stadium shook as the four Minotaurs slammed their hooves in unison, wet sand spraying behind them as they kicked back.

The beasts were done waiting.

Achilles stared down at the wet sand, staring at himself in the puddles, as he cracked his neck back and forth.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

The Minotaurs pounded their meaty fists against their chests in synchronicity and the sound vibrated through the coliseum, a sharp, terrifying warning.

Achilles raised up his head.

Sharp wind gusted—shoulder-length brown hair blew behind him, sticking to the sides of his face. His hair tie had snapped in the last round—and his eyes were brighter than I’d ever seen them.

The X of scars across his lips made him look sadistic.

Slowly, Achilles reached down.

He slashed his knife across the back of his right heel, then rose up to his full height, and pointed the bloody knife straight at Zeus.

Even if he loves him, why would he mutilate himself for …

I fingered my left ear.

Not my ear.

The full extent of Kharon’s gesture hit me. It was romantic, in the worst way possible. The sentiment was … overwhelming.

Steam rose around Zeus, sparks sizzling as he scowled, but he didn’t wield his scepter.

Achilles was sending a message back to the Olympians.

This fight was for Patro.

Achilles limped forward, blood washing away in the downpour, but there was no pain in his expression, only rage.

The stadium shook as the Minotaurs charged forward as a unit, their hooves pounding the sand like earthquakes.

Achilles kept limping forward.

His lips parted.

Jaw opening wide, he tilted his head to the side— fire exploded everywhere.

Drex, Charlie, and I reared back as heat burned the air. Coughing, the scent of kerosene and napalm scorched my nose as I rubbed at my watering eyes.

Down below, bright scarlet flames were shooting from Achilles’s mouth, painting the arena.

Gruesome wails echoed.

The Minotaurs writhed, covered in an inferno. Rolling in the sand, they screamed as they melted to death in an inferno.

“Holy …” Nyx trailed off.

The sand itself was lit.

Every single puddle was on fire.

The flames crawled vertically, lighting the rain as it fell.

The gates of Hell had opened wide.

It was the infamous Greek fire, flames that somehow burned water. It was real, and it was coming out of Achilles’s mouth.

The Minotaurs were now steaming piles of melted goo.

I made the sign of the cross.

Fire kept streaming from Achilles’s mouth as he directed the inferno at the wall of the arena. His eyes were two supernovas.

Zeus backed up along the plank, his expression furious. He still did not raise his scepter.

The fire was traveling up into the stadium; everything that was wet was catching aflame.

Rain continued to pour.

Fire climbed across the electric lines of the dome.

Achilles closed his jaw, but the damage was done.

Everything was burning.

Crack.

Zeus scowled like he was making a decision. Technically Achilles hasn’t disobeyed him. He used his powers and fought his labor like he was ordered to.

Zeus must have come to the same conclusion I did, because he leapt away.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

The crowd screamed, sharp sounds echoing as Olympians and creatures leapt out of the smoldering arena.

Achilles stomped, leaving shards behind him.

The sand was glassing over.

Ares stood up a few rows down, pumping his fist into the air. The other Chthonic leaders stood around him, all whooping and hollering as the rest of Sparta fled for their lives.

Our section was the only one staying in the blazing stadium.

Charlie clutched me and I held him back.

It was the end of days.

Kharon whistled behind us and Augustus chuckled.

I’d gotten a mere glimpse of it during the flag ceremony, but now I truly understood the full weight of just who I was.

To be Chthonic was to wield the power reserved for God.

As the flames sizzled hotter, down below, Achilles stomped over to a flaming puddle and picked up his discarded mask. The material was fully intact.

“Magic,” I whispered.

Augustus chuckled behind me. “ No —it’s the skin of a fire lizard.”

Charlie pulled away from me, covering his face protectively as the fiery rain whooshed closer.

One man had caused all this carnage.

A memory niggled at the back of my mind.

Weeks ago, Achilles had cornered me in the hall with an unlit cigarette in his mouth—minutes later, he’d told Patro that he didn’t have a lighter, as he sucked on a smoking cigarette.

He’d lit it himself . That was why Patro had called him a show-off.

Achilles, the man who smelled like amber and fire, with eyes like coals, could breathe Greek fire.

Father John was right again—the devil hid in plain sight.

All along Achilles had been a dragon, hiding in the skin of a man.

Fingers abruptly wrapped around my neck from behind—I jumped in my seat—a calloused thumb scraped down the ridges of my spine.

Panic clawed at my jugular.

“Don’t,” Kharon whispered gravelly against my right ear, “be afraid, carissima.”

It was far too late for the warning.