Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(120)

No one else was present.

I frowned.

I was all alone, spread-eagle in the middle of the arena, lying on blood-drenched sand as clouds scudded across the leaden sky.

There were entrails all around—I was surrounded by dead lions.

Fear sank teeth deep into my throat.

Thoughts broken—nothing made sense—I looked down, searching for an answer.

For a reason.

Who saved me?

I tipped my head to the side, sticky curls falling away as I glanced down.

The bronze skin of my arm was unblemished, and it was all the same, my bicep, elbow, forearm, hand, and fingers—I gasped as I turned my right hand over.

Oh, my fucking god.

I sat up and scrambled back, kicking desperately at the sand, but the mirage didn’t disappear. The heavy weight in my hand prevailed.

It’s not a miracle at all.

Father John would not like this.

No one had appeared; no one had saved me; no one else had slaughtered the beast.

A throbbing sensation pulsed through my swollen eye as I tried to open it wide and see better. I licked my cracked lips and once again turned my hand over.

I was holding an object.

A thick scarlet rod, with a wickedly sharp point and a ball at its wide end.

What the heck?

It didn’t look like any weapon I’d ever seen.

It was also made entirely of crimson. I was holding a rod-like object made entirely of scarlet—my blood.

Bits of lion fur were stuck to the end, and I slowly looked across the sand. The lion that attacked me had its stomach ripped open. There was foam on its lips.

It was my blood.

My poison.

Overwhelmed, I opened my tingling fingers.

Midair, the rod melted—a pool of smoking blood spread across the sand where I’d dropped it.

In slow motion, with prickling fingers, I knelt to the pile of sizzling blood.

My face reflected in it, one eye swollen and black, barely parted, the other an unseeing white.

I didn’t recognize myself.

The tingling intensified as my fingers grazed the viscous liquid—blood hardened and reshaped—I grasped the rod.

Once again, one end was sharp, and the other was round. It was heavy and thick in my hand, like a staff that was meant to be held high, not a weapon to be wielded.

What … is this?

A pained whine echoed, and Fluffy Jr. stumbled to his feet, staggering toward me—the white fur of his face was stained red. Deep claw marks riddled his body.

I reached for him with my left hand.

There was an explosion of sound, sand vibrated beneath my boots, my left ear rang with awful feedback, and I tripped, disoriented as I looked around for the source.

It took a second to realize that it was coming from the stands.

Sparta was on their feet, cheering.

Their bodies warped beyond the humming electric force field.

“Hercules … Hercules … Hercules … Hercules!”

Zeus was staring down from his podium, sparks leaping around his scepter. His lion was lying on its belly, its head averted from the arena.

Fluffy Jr. collapsed at my feet and my panic increased as I realized why I felt so alone.

“NYX?” I shouted, unable to hear myself over the roaring stadium.

Sand moved near my feet and there was a faint hissing sound.

Cool, bloody scales slithered slowly around my leg.

I bent down. “Are you okay?” I screamed, barely able to hear my own voice.

“Little … injured,” Nyx hissed weakly. “Sleep … need … heal.” I caught every couple of her words.

Warmth dripped down my leg where she held on for dear life.

I brought my shaking fingers to her scales.

She was bleeding.

Profusely.

I stood up straight, struggling to see through my swollen eyes, barely able to hear because of the ringing in my ears.

Icy terror morphed into something fiery and dangerous.

All of this was Zeus’s fault.

Every.

Single.

Part.

I’d never hated, not like this, but now it was boiling me alive.

Eleven-year-old Alexis stood tall in a decrepit trailer and faced down two murderous adults.

I pointed the ball end of the rod up at Zeus.

Twenty-year-old Alexis faced down the murderous leader of Sparta. Humans worshipped him as a god—he was still just a man.

Zeus arched a golden eyebrow as he mimicked my motion, pointing his scepter down at me.

Do it.

Smite me.

Hades bellowed something—his fog filled the stadium—Sparta hovered on the precipice of war.

Mutually assured destruction.

Persephone screamed.

The crowd was wailing, fog multiplying.

Lightning flashed off in the distance.

“I know what you did!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs. If I was going to die down here, then he was going to know, and I’d take Sparta down with me.

The human world was already in shambles. Spartans didn’t deserve to emerge unscathed.

Zeus’s expression was unimpressed.

I kept the rod pointed at him.

Hades thundered something and Zeus turned—he recoiled as he looked around the fog-covered stadium.

Zeus lowered his scepter, pointing it away from me.

Slowly, Hades’s inky power also dissipated.