Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(51)

We weren’t the only ones obsessed.

Everyone wanted her.

They can’t have her.

“We have to earn her trust,” I said. “We have to do something to show her how we feel. She won’t accept jewelry, clothes, or money. We have to come up with—”

“I’m already ahead of you.” Augustus stood up and rummaged through a dresser drawer until he pulled out a sleek black box.

He opened it and I grinned. “That’s genius.”

Augustus smiled back, the first time in weeks that he’d made the expression. “We’re going to get her back.” His eyes dimmed. “We have to …”

Or we won’t survive was left unsaid.

Either Alexis broke the silent treatment and spoke to us, or we perished.

It was just a matter of time.

Muted rays streamed in through the windows as doves cooed outside, heavy clouds hanging over the choppy waters of Lake Como.

Morning had arrived.

It was time to train.

Augustus sighed heavily and rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. The circles around his eyes were darker than they’d ever been. He was as ruined as I was.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“To get our wife.”

I cracked my knuckles. It was about time.





18


THE PRICE OF POWER




ALEXIS

I limped into the villa and headed toward Helen’s room.

Hell and Hound prowled in front of me, and Fluffy Jr. walked at my side with Poco on his neck.

I was exhausted and drenched to the bone, because for the last sixteen hours, Augustus had led all of us on a punishing run through the rain (he was a homicidal maniac).

When night had fallen, and we’d finally stopped, I slipped out while everyone headed to the training center to shower.

Only Achilles had noticed me walk away. In fact, he’d been staring at me a lot lately.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the villa’s entrance, and my right knee buckled—I grabbed blindly to steady myself.

I was holding on to the fifteen-foot-tall bronze statue of a naked warrior that decorated the corner of the atrium. The man held a stone in his right hand and was strangling a monstrous snake with his other—the beast’s mouth was wide open, curved fangs bared.

“You really need to bulk up,” Nyx said unhelpfully from around my neck.

Releasing the sculpture, and ignoring my bruised pride, I limped out of the atrium and made my way down a long corridor.

“Carissima.”

Thunder cracked as Kharon’s voice echoed darkly off the walls.

I slowly turned around.

Augustus and Kharon stood at the end of the hall I’d just limped down. Soaking wet, their workout clothes were plastered to their sculpted bodies.

Their narrowed eyes glowed faintly in the dark, like they were creatures from Hell.

It’s an ambush.

Winged Titans would have been less imposing.

Augustus cleared his throat. “We have something for you. A … gift.” He held up a black box. “Please, take it.”

Never again.

I shook my head.

Kharon’s jaw clenched. “Take it,” he said quietly, his posture rigid. “Please,” he bit out, like it physically pained him to say the word.

I pulled my shoulders back, mimicking his stance.

“No.”

Kharon ground his teeth together.

A beat passed, then he and Augustus stalked toward me, their footsteps silent as they approached.

Run for your life.

I widened my stance and held my ground.

The storm raged outside.

“Leave me alone.” My voice rang down the hall.

Kharon’s face twisted. “I can’t do that.” He clenched his jaw. “Anything but that.”

“You looked tired during the run.” Augustus studied me from head to toe, searching for injuries as he stalked closer. “Are you feeling okay?”

Sure, if okay means like a cadaver.

They were only ten feet away.

Nyx clicked her fangs. “Tell them you’d feel better if they crawled and kissed your feet.” She paused like she was thinking about it. “Also, they need to be naked. That part is crucial.”

I really can’t keep living like this.

They were almost in my personal space.

I reached my hands down and touched the animals who sat at my feet.

Kharon made a strangled sound as he realized my intention—he grasped for me.

“Domus.”

Black-painted nails swiped like claws, centimeters from my face.

CRACK.

I collapsed onto a pile of sparkly dresses, groaning—smoke billowed—I was back inside Helen’s empty room. I’d done the impossible again; I’d leapt a short distance mid-panic.

Apparently, I had no innate sense of self-preservation. Yay?

Tripping over pillows and boxes of makeup, I threw myself against the door, shutting it as I turned the locks.

Heaving, I leaned against it and slumped with relief.

My gasps echoed in the quiet.

I was alone.

Safe.

No one was going to bother me.

Finally.

I just needed some time to—