Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(142)

My lashes fluttered open, heart thudding with fear.

I was lying in a velvet-draped four-poster bed, and the bedroom was dark. Augustus lay pressed against my side, his bronze thigh draped across my body as he hugged me tightly.

I turned my head—and gasped.

A pale blue gaze shone in the dark.

Kharon stood next to the bed, leaning over me. His face was predatory, eyes narrowed with a single-minded intensity. He didn’t move; he just watched me like a man possessed.

My personal grim reaper.

He leaned closer so our noses touched. “You’re ours, Alexis Hert,” he whispered in a gravelly voice. “Ours to watch, to protect … to devour.”

I brushed an inky lock of hair off his forehead.

“Calm down, Karen.”

He stilled—I arched my eyebrow at him—his posture relaxed, and he sighed like he was resigned to my audacity.

“You’re my angel,” he said vindictively, like he needed to make a point. “Rome can’t have you.” His voice deepened with unhealthy possessiveness. “I won’t allow it. Do you understand what I’m—”

I pulled Kharon down, cutting his tirade off—he melted into my arms with his face burrowed against my throat. He inhaled deeply.

Augustus shifted in his sleep, draping his powerful thigh across both of us, pinning us to the mattress.

“Go to sleep,” I whispered as I ran my fingers through Kharon’s short, silky hair.

“You go to sleep,” he grumbled under his breath.

Augustus shifted, his arm joining his leg as he squeezed us tightly.

They were obsessive, villainous men.

I’ve never felt so safe.

They were my husbands, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.





51


THE SINS OF THE FATHER




ALEXIS: THE NEXT DAY

Morning rays sparkled across masculine black silk sheets. I was lying draped across Kharon like a blanket; he was snoring beneath me.

Augustus stretched under the covers, his eyes meeting mine.

“Morning, love.”

He crawled on top of me, and Nyx hissed sleepily from somewhere under the pillows—she said something about smothering all of us and “killing the ugly cow with wings.”

As if summoned, Fluffy Jr. rolled across the floor in his sleep, his hooves kicking out wildly—a dresser crashed to the floor—he snored with pieces of wood covering him (he wasn’t the brightest).

Kharon yawned sleepily, looking adorably disheveled as he sat up. He shook his head as he took in my sleeping (passed out?) protector, then he turned with a devilish smirk, and shifted so I was pressed between him and Augustus.

In unison, they kissed down the sides of my neck.

A few hours later, the three of us stumbled into the bathroom, drunk on each other and satiated. Kharon and Augustus had shared lessons on debauchery all morning. They were very hands-on teachers, and I was a quick study.

Now Kharon whispered sinful things while bathing me in a gold tub; Augustus washed my hair tenderly, his voice echoing words of praise straight into my mind.

I lounged deeper into the bubbles. Both Nyx and Fluffy Jr. were still sleeping, and I’d discovered over the last weeks that when our lives were not actively threatened, they were extremely lazy (relatable).

“Alexis.” Kharon’s voice had a strange tenor. His thumb brushed gently under my left eye, and there was a long pause like he was gathering his courage. Finally, he asked, “How did it happen with your eye … and ear?”

Augustus’s fingers stilled against my scalp.

They both waited.

Sighing, I sank deeper into the suds.

The warmth of the present was a comforting blanket that muffled the cold pain of the past.

There’s nothing they can do now anyway. It’s just a story. It has no power over me.

“There was a storm … and my foster parents threatened to kill Charlie,” I whispered into the quiet bathroom. “I threw a toaster at them.” I chuckled to myself at the idiotic bravery of my childhood self.

I told a tale of fists, starvation, a dead body, the police, secret poisonous blood, staring at my face in the mirror, and the trailer being towed away while we watched.

When I finished my story, a cathartic peace washed over me. It sounded fictional and it felt that way too. It happened to a different version of me, so many years ago.

That scared young girl was gone.

I scooped up some bubbles and blew them across the bathroom. They popped in the light.

Silence stretched.

Augustus made a strange noise.

A washcloth splattered suds across the floor as Kharon dropped it.

I turned to look at them.

A single bloody tear streaked down Augustus’s face, and Kharon’s jaw was clenched so tightly his face was turning purple.

“It’s over now,” I said calmly, raising up my hands. “It’s okay—it’s in the past. I’m not what they made me … I made me.”

The truth of it settled into my chest.

I smiled with relief.

“No,” Kharon said vehemently, his voice echoing like a gunshot.

Augustus shook his head.

“No,” Kharon repeated.

“No, it’s not,” echoed through my mind.

“It’s fine.” I reached for them.