Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(145)

“I said move!” Medusa shoved at my chest, and I laughed at how weak she was.

Her nails dug into my chest.

My skin prickled where she touched me, heat flushing across my sternum—with disgust—and I wrenched away from her.

“Never lay your hands on me again, snake scum,” I warned.

She threw a punch, and I caught her hand, twisting her wrist painfully. Her bones creaked, embarrassingly fragile in my hand. She was all soft curves and long, jet-black hair. There was nothing Spartan about her. Kronos, most humans were built stronger.

I’d never met anyone so useless in my life.

Someone really should protect her. I shook my head, refusing to acknowledge the ridiculous thought.

“How about you just stay away from me.” Medusa glared, snakes rising higher, and all of them focused on me as she tried to tug her arm out of my grip. She failed.

Heinous memories clawed at my spine.

I held on to her wrist tightly.

“You’re nothing but a pathetic mutt. Stop crying. You won’t survive Sparta,” my Gorgon tutor snarled.

Hands flashed in front of my face, drawing me back to the present.

“I’m here—they can’t hurt you,” Achilles signed.

I nodded, feeling faint.

“Stop following me around,” Medusa said haughtily, but for some reason I couldn’t make myself release her.

“I can’t,” I whispered, still feeling out of sorts from the memories. “Since we’re your new bodyguards.” I forced my lips up into a cruel smile, even though I wanted to fall to my knees and scream. “You’re the reason we were tortured.”

She was found innocent, and it’s a good thing the Olympians never got to her, because she wouldn’t be able to withstand torture.

Medusa kicked my shin.

I looked down incredulously.

If I hadn’t seen her move, I wouldn’t have known she’d just tried to attack.

Someone really needs to teach her self-defense.

She wasn’t my problem.

She kind of is.

I shook my head at the ridiculous thought, taking a jerky step back, dragging her with me.

The back of my right leg tweaked at the movement because my severed tendon still hadn’t healed fully. The Olympians had poured a strange poison on the open wound so many times that I was worried it might never heal.

I didn’t care.

The real problem was, Achilles thought it was all his fault, and he was coddling me endlessly these days, acting like I was made of glass.

Medusa narrowed her eyes. “Release me!”

I twisted her wrist, making sure not to actually cause harm.

There was something immensely satisfying about toying with her.

Achilles shifted closer. “Don’t hurt her,” he signed, mirroring my thoughts.

“Obviously,” I drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Achilles glanced down at where I was touching her, then back to my face, a question in his eyes.

He didn’t understand why I was acting this way.

Neither do I.

“Get over yourself,” Medusa said. “It’s not me you’re angry at—it’s the Olympians. You’re just another prideful narcissist from the House of Aphrodite—I can see through your self-absorbed despondent act. You’ll never be anything … but the man who lived in Achilles’s shadow.”

I dropped her arm.

My fingers burned where they’d touched her—they felt cold when someone lied, and warmed at the truth—vision blurring, I gasped for air.

“You’re nothing but a weak mutt.”

Tortured screams from my past rang in my ears.

It took every ounce of control I possessed to harden my features and don my mask of cruel indifference.

“You know nothing,” I said quietly.

Medusa gripped her arm tighter, and for a second she looked small and lost, but then her eyes flashed, snakes rattling, as she also donned a blank expression.

“Just leave me alone,” she spat.

I can’t.

This time, my smile wasn’t faked. “Didn’t you just hear the announcement?” I taunted, raising my eyebrows. “We’re your new bodyguards—we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

Achilles stepped up next to me, his arm wrapping around my shoulders, fingers caressing my bicep.

I melted against him.

Medusa frowned, her ruby lips curling down, creating a pouty effect, and I stared at them, unable to look away.

Achilles traced his fingers up and down my arm in a soothing pattern.

Medusa looked between the two of us, curiosity flashing in her strange lavender eyes.

“We’re going to be sharing a room,” I said with dangerous softness. “There’s going to be so many nights just the three of us. Alone.”

Her lips parted on a gasp.

Pure masculine satisfaction squeezed my gut.

For the first time, she had nothing to say.

Yep, I just found a new hobby.

I caressed Achilles’s chest, enjoying how he flexed and pulled me tighter to his side, his bulge unmistakable.

A blush stained the top of Medusa’s cheeks, as she still struggled to speak.

Achilles flexed his hips, his hardness pressing against me.

Medusa bit down on her lower lip—hard—then she covered her mouth. Suddenly, she pushed past us, running out of the room, and as the door slammed shut behind her, the most inane urge gripped me—chase after her.