Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(114)

Bright sunlight made the anguish grotesque.

There was nowhere to hide.

Heaving through my nose, each step jostled my deteriorating flesh—I bit down on my tongue, tasting copper—Typhon spit was dripping down my chest, dissolving my muscles, eating away at my bones.

“Hunter … Hunter … Hunter!” Sparta chanted for me, the sound warping in my missing ear.

Years ago, I would have killed to be where I was, but now the victory was hollow.

I screamed into my closed mouth, a serene expression still plastered across my face, as I walked unhurriedly toward the open gate—three dead Typhons lay mangled in the arena behind me.

Knees wobbling, pieces of me popped as they boiled and emulsified, dripping.

I smirked up in the direction of the Chthonic section; Artemis and Erebus were watching.

They’d never catch me on my knees again.

Ten feet.

Breathing roughly, I concentrated with everything I had.

Five.

Two.

One.

I lunged out of the arena, up the step into the coliseum, and collapsed.

Crack.

Hades caught me.

Screaming and twitching in pain, I writhed in his arms.

Hades shouted something garbled about Alexis.

A white toga came into view, sparks, a hand reached out. There was a fight. Yelling. A vial was pressed to my lips. Zeus yanked me out of Hades’s arms.

Everything went dark.

“Wake up!” Icy water splashed across my face, and I sputtered awake. The first thing I noticed was the scorching agony across my shoulder and chest.

Torchlight illuminated a low ceiling.

I was tied with chains to a chair, seated at a low metal table, in a small … crypt?

Stacks of skulls were piled high, lining the walls. The air was chilly and stale. I was somewhere in the labyrinth of chambers under the Dolomites Coliseum.

Zeus sat across from me at the table, his storm-gray eyes narrowed with disgust as he stared at me.

“Where is Medusa?” he asked, tapping a small glass bottle on the metal table. The tin sound echoed harshly in the quiet.

I opened my mouth—agonizing pain exploded in my chest, air whistling through my mouth.

“He needs more salve to speak,” Zeus said to someone.

Everything spun.

A guard leaned over me with a jar of paste. Rough hands slapped at my ruined skin—I screamed—air whistled through the open cavity of my ribs.

Darkness dragged me under.

Freezing water drenched my face. “Wake up!”

I sputtered.

The agony was still present, but slightly muted.

Zeus was still sitting across from me at the dingy table. “Can you speak?” he asked, electricity bright across his tongue.

My vision doubled—two Zeuses stared at me expectantly.

“SPEAK!”

“What—”

“Good,” Zeus said calmly. He held up a full glass vial. “Like I was saying, this—” he swirled green liquid in the torchlight “—is your incentive.” The Rod of Asclepius was stamped on the side.

I tipped my head back, heaving.

“Aren’t you going to ask what it is?”

I opened my mouth—and threw up all over myself.

“Very well, I’ll tell you,” Zeus said calmly. “You’ve already had a tiny sip; it’s why you’re not in a coma. It’s an advanced Olympian healing tonic—very expensive, our lab’s newest technology … Once you drink it, you’ll barely feel any pain. It’s going to change the world.”

My vision tripled.

Three Zeuses stared at me—three glass vials twirled.

“I’ll give you the tonic.” Zeus spoke slowly. “If you tell me where Medusa is.”

I was fucked.

“Don’t … know.” I slumped weakly. It was the truth.

There was a long moment of quiet.

“Liar.” Metal clattered against stone as he stood up. “She’s your sister—it had to be you …” He leaned across the table. “Tell me where you stashed THAT MONSTER!”

“I … don’t … know.”

My head snapped to the side as Zeus slapped me.

Guards flooded the space, brandishing sparking batons.

Time warped in a blur of pain.

A vial was dangled in front of my face.

Metal creaked.

“I … don’t … know … Medusa,” someone whispered repeatedly; it might have been me.

More blows fell.

Zeus stood composed in front of me. “I need to know. Is he telling the truth?”

Is who telling the truth?

Patro’s face blurred in and out of focus.

“Remember, if you lie to me,” Zeus said quietly, “Achilles will be sent to the Underworld.”

Patro leaned toward me, his mouth moving. “Do you know where Medusa is?”

Who is he talking to?

“Kharon—answer me!” Patro yelled.

“No.”

Patro searched my face, and his shoulders slumped with relief. “He’s telling the truth.”

Zeus was silent.

Patro asked more questions and someone answered; it might have been me.

Glass pressed against my lips.