Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(33)
Ten feet separated us.
“Holy … fuck,” Nyx hissed as she reared back on my neck.
I could feel Carl Gauss’s ghostly presence—we’d be meeting soon.
The Titans tilted their heads down, zeroing in on me, an amalgamation of hollowed corpse-like features, bulging black veins, and sharp talons.
Fluffy Jr. whimpered.
I slowly took a step back.
Each Titan had a twenty-foot wingspan.
The leathery appendages were a patchwork of mismatched puckered flesh that appeared to be sewn together—the seams where skin connected were swollen, oozing with infection.
Mary Shelley herself couldn’t have dreamed them up.
“I’m going to be sick,” Nyx hissed.
The Titans smiled in sync, too-wide mouths crowded with razor-sharp teeth, black blood pooling in their unblinking eyes.
Fluffy Jr. crouched in front of me, growling protectively, teeth bared as he tensed.
They both lunged for me.
I couldn’t move.
Ghastly black talons approached, air whistling as they swiped for me and— Poppoppopopopopopopopopopopopopopop.
Hot liquid splattered across my face.
In slow motion, I brought my fingers to my wet cheek as the Titans were flung backward through the air by bullets.
Blood covered my hand—it was black.
Achilles and Patro stalked forward, smoking guns raised, gunfire spraying.
My left ear rang with sharp feedback.
In a blur, the Crimson Duo dropped empty cartridges, reloaded, and kept firing.
Shakily, I made the sign of the cross.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
Poppae and Nero leapt forward, snapping at the downed Titans as the monsters crawled backward in the assail of bullets.
Amen.
Gunpowder mixed with the putrid scent of gore.
Fluffy Jr. stood in front of me growling protectively. His head swiveled back to me, like he wasn’t sure what he should do.
My feet were rooted to the spot.
One Titan stopped crawling. It stood up and straightened to its full height, bullets clattering to the pavement as its body healed and expelled them at a terrifying rate.
Achilles shot at it with two guns, one in each hand.
Ligaments popped as the shadowy wings spread up from the Titan’s back—it leaned forward and let out an unholy screech.
Gnarled wings flapped and the Titan shot forward with impossible speed.
There was no time to react.
Thud.
The monster rammed into a body.
Patro sailed through the air, slamming into the wall of a townhome—his head cracked loudly and debris crumbled around him. His neck was turned at an unnatural angle, and crimson painted the bricks behind his skull.
He lay collapsed in the rubble, unmoving.
Achilles’s eyes widened with horror.
The Titan who’d rammed Patro stood in the middle of the street—and was now focused on me.
Achilles was between me and the Titan, smoke rising around his head, staring at Patro with his weapons lowered.
With shaking fingers, I unholstered my Spartan guns.
Long, tension-filled seconds stretched, seemingly endless.
The other Titan joined its brethren. The monsters stood side by side, both once again focused on me.
Aren’t they solitary hunters?
Achilles took a step toward Patro.
The Titans screeched.
Turning, I pivoted on my heels, and in my peripheral vision, Achilles sprinted toward Patro.
I ran down the street in the opposite direction.
“FASTER!” Nyx screamed in my ear.
Gunshots echoed.
I glanced back—Achilles knelt over Patro, shooting at their retreating forms.
It was too little, too late.
The Titans were headed for me.
Achilles threw down his weapons, then lifted Patro’s limp body and met my gaze—his eyes were aflame.
Crack.
They leapt away.
There was a whooshing sound as the Titans shot straight into the air and took flight—a scream ripped from my throat.
I was alone with monsters.
Again.
11
THE DRAGON
ACHILLES: ONE MINUTE EARLIER
Fyodor Dostoevsky once said, “Above all, don’t lie to yourself.”
Did he know what this moment feels like?
He couldn’t have.
Only Kronos himself could understand the terror ripping through my chest.
In the middle of a decrepit city street, Titans with wings—when did that happen?—stalked past me as the man who owned my soul lay broken and bleeding, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.
For the smallest second, I glanced away from Patro.
Alexis, the girl we were supposed to protect, was staring at me with a resigned heaviness reserved for Sisyphus himself.
There was no hope in her two-colored eyes, just acceptance.
My psyche was disintegrating.
I turned back to Patro, unable to look anywhere but at his ruined body.
Leather chafed against my jaw as I tried to open my mouth and scream. My jaw cracked as the material refused to budge. The fucking muzzle had enough give so I could eat or smoke, but not enough that I could unleash my powers. If I could use my Kronos-given talent, the Titans would be handled. Easily.