Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(123)

“Good doggie,” I whispered, digging my fingers deeper into the sand and grabbing my bloody rod with both hands—I yanked it out of the downed Titan.

Hunched over, gripping my side, I barely stood upright.

Agony was a living, throbbing beast.

The arena was spinning.

Fluffy Jr. tipped his head back and howled. The muffling in my ears split; the loud sound filtered in.

The world snapped back into motion.

I scanned the arena with my sliver of vision. Both Titans lay decapitated, organs strewn across the sand.

Nyx moaned in pain.

Her scales were freezing cold around my leg.

Please God, please heal her.

“You’re going to be okay,” I whispered, willing it into existence as I gently pulled her off my leg, holding her in one hand, and the rod in the other.

Dark scales shimmered into existence. A long slice mark had split her body almost in two. She was covered in blood.

I gasped and Fluffy Jr. whimpered beside me.

“Love you … kid,” Nyx hissed weakly.

“No.” Tears poured down my face as I bowed my head and prayed, clutching her to me, waiting for someone to save her.

Scales grew colder against my skin.

My fingers tingled.

The pain in my heart was worse than anything I’d ever experienced when I’d activated my powers. I sank to my knees. Sobbing.

I brought my rod next to my heart beside Nyx, bowed my head lower, and prayed harder, cradling them both.

The tingling in my hands intensified—sharp pain skewered my sternum.

A familiar bright light emanated from my fingers, and the scarlet rod also lit up with a golden glow. It warmed beneath my touch, the circular end shining brighter than the sun.

Scales vibrated where they touched the rod.

Snake skin slowly knit itself back together.

Seconds later, Nyx reared her head back, her body fully healed, as tears of relief streamed down my face.

“So warm,” Nyx hissed as she slithered out of my grasp and wrapped her scales fully around the rod, shuddering with relief, her eyes closed. “I’ve seen this before … in a dream.”

Gray clouds parted as the heavens opened up, golden rays streaming down.

Climbing slowly to my feet, I raised the glowing staff up to the sunlight—Nyx’s black scales shimmered against it in stark relief.

Fluffy Jr. stood up to his full height and unfurled his wings.

A gasp tore from my throat.

It was the crude symbol Ceres had shown me in her book on predestination. The one that had disappeared from the page. The line with a circle was the staff, the squiggle a snake, and what I thought were clouds were wings.

“Radius Asclepii!” someone shouted, awe in their voice.

I choked on a sob.

Everyone knew the story behind the famous Spartan healing symbol.

The wings represented creatures, the snake Chthonics, and the glowing rod Olympians.

Hades was Chthonic. Persephone was the daughter of a dark creature and Demeter.

My heritage was all three.

I raised the Rod of Asclepius up into the light, Fluffy Jr.’s wings raised high on either side.

The ancient symbol of healing—of life and death—was mine to wield.





45


WHO DID THIS TO YOU?




ALEXIS

Right eye partially swollen shut, my vision was nothing but a sliver—darkness closing all around.

In my hand, the glowing Rod of Asclepius was warm, a myth in the flesh, composed of writhing, poisonous blood. The same blood ran through my veins, dripping from the open wound on my side.

From the solemn heaviness in the air, I wasn’t the only one that recognized the global symbol of healing.

Is this real?

Nyx went invisible as she slithered around the staff like she was born to do so; Fluffy Jr.’s wings framed it.

Destiny was a curious thing.

Did I choose them, or did they choose me?

“THIRD ROUND,” Zeus’s voice was jarring in the deathly quiet.

I tilted my head back, neck swiveling as I struggled to see.

Sparta stared down at me in silence.

“TWO MORE LABORS.” Zeus banged his scepter down against stone.

Persephone and Hades were blurry figures standing together. I imagined they were smiling, watching me with loving pride.

Steel lifted.

Fluffy Jr. shook his head, wings raised, as he turned to face the gate.

Right eye throbbing, I raised my staff up higher and waited.

Let them come.

Two shadowy figures stalked out of the dark, heat forming a mirage of waves at their feet.

They headed toward me with their hands in chains.

Lowering my arm, I pointed the sharp end of the rod at the approaching monsters, ready to kill.

With my powers, I was a murderous healer—the duality of a woman.

The monsters approached, wavering in and out of focus, and I squinted, trying to see them better.

A gasp shredded my throat.

No.

Silver cuffs restrained their hands; bright sunlight created a haze around each of them.

Twenty-five-year-old Mary Shelley opened her desk, revealing a beating heart.

Everything blurred.

Augustus and Kharon stalked toward me.

I blinked—their shadows blocked out the punishing sun—they loomed above me, an arm’s length away, scowling.