Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(103)

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.