Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(32)

My sternum boiled with rage.

“Please enlighten me,” I said smoothly. “What was his script?”

They froze, their eyes widening as they stared at my hands.

Achilles raised his arms, long fingers moving slowly. “Alexis, how long … have you known Roman Sign Language?”





10


SIGN LANGUAGE




ALEXIS

My arms dropped to my sides.

In my anger, I’d resorted to old habits and signed as I spoke.

“How long have you known sign language?” Achilles repeated, eyes narrowed with rage as he took a step toward me while signing. “How long? Tell me now!”

My fingers moved quickly. “Since I was a child.”

Achilles’s chest heaved as smoke billowed around his muzzle. He cracked his tattooed knuckles—one finger at a time.

I’d never seen him so furious.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he signed, his eyes full of heavy emotions.

I raised my chin up and held his gaze, tired of Chthonic men shoving me around. “Because—I was afraid of you.”

Achilles reared back like he’d been punched.

“You entitled bitch.” Patro reached for my wrist, and once again, his grip was punishing. “How dare you say that to him—after everything we’ve done for you? Everything we’ve sacrificed.”

Achilles had paled behind his muzzle, and he looked sickly.

“You’ve done nothing,” I whispered.

Patro’s lips curled as he shook my wrist. “We took you in. Clothed you, fed you, helped you survive the crucible. Put up with all your weak woman powerless Olympian bullshit.”

His eyes filled with blood as he engaged his Chthonic powers, fingers digging into the sensitive skin of my wrist.

“No. You m-made me feel worthless,” I said softly. “You made me want to die.”

Patro dropped my arm like I’d scalded him. He staggered back, disengaging his powers.

From his reaction, it was the truth.

For the first time since I’d met him, Patro had nothing to say.

The Crimson Duo stared at me, guarded and hostile.

Turning away from them, I stomped from the narrow street into what looked like a dilapidated town center. Fluffy Jr. trotted beside me, an oversized white blur as tears spilled down my face.

“Don’t cry, kid,” Nyx hissed, her tongue flicking against my cheek. “I could kill them with one bite. Give me five seconds, and they’re dead.”

Swallowing a sob, wishing I could argue without crying, I rubbed furiously at my eyes.

“Don’t kill them,” I said miserably as I jogged forward blindly.

Nyx clicked her teeth.

“Not yet.”

Nyx hissed proudly. “That’s my girl.”

I clutched at her dry, smooth scales.

“It’s them,” a young voice rang out, echoing off the ruins.

Twenty feet away, three young boys were pointing at me with tattered book bags slung over their shoulders.

Rome wasn’t as dead as it appeared.

They gasped as they looked at something behind me.

I turned.

Achilles and Patro approached, their faces hard, as Poppae and Nero slunk low beside them.

“Holy crap, it really is the Crimson Duo!” one boy yelled, practically bouncing with hero worship.

“I want to be you when I grow up,” another shouted. “I love your muzzle!”

Patro laughed, a forced rusty sound. “Stay in school.”

The boys tittered and sprinted away to tell their friends.

I pivoted away and stomped down a different city street. Cars were overturned on either side and a tree grew smack dab in the center of the lane.

Patro huffed behind me, but didn’t say anything.

I was over Chthonic men.

From what I could tell, they were all emotionally stunted. I’d met organ snatchers who were more well-adjusted than them (there were some good, hardworking harvesters out there).

Now, as the three of us marched in stony silence, my mind turned to thoughts I shouldn’t dwell on—poisonous blood and fractured marriage bonds.

The silence between us grew more strained.

After an hour of walking through the mostly quiet city, we’d seen about a dozen people and nothing else.

There were no signs of monsters.

We’d gone in a giant circle.

Artemis must have had faulty intel. There are no— Shadows moved in my blind spot. I whipped my head.

Air whooshed.

Thud.

A figure had dropped down from the top of a four-story building and landed in the street directly in front of me, a few feet away.

Thud.

A second figure landed beside it.

The fog cleared—both stood up to their full, grotesque heights.

Screeeeeeech.

The birds went dead silent.

I froze mid-step.

Oh.

My.

God.

Two Titans—with wings—stood framed by the Roman Colosseum in the background, its ancient facade towering high above the crumbling modern street.

The scene was haunting like an oil on canvas by the artist Alexandre Cabanel.

Fog thickened, swirling between us in an eerie haze. Since when did Titans have fucking wings?