Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(101)

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.