Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(54)

Charlie huffed on the floor, turning over in his pile of pink bedding.

“Stop,” I called out as quietly as I could. “People are resting.”

Helen mumbled into her pillow, unconsciously reaching for the bedazzled pink Beretta on her bedside table.

She wouldn’t shoot me in her sleep, right?

“I don’t care. Come out—or I’ll wake the room,” Patro threatened coldly from the other side of the door. “Now.”

He knocked again, louder.

Helen sat up and raised the gun—eyes still closed—and clicked off the safety.

Blanching, I quietly slid out of bed.

Poco woke up with a sleepy chirp. He climbed up onto my shoulder as I pulled a snoring Nyx out from under the pillow, and wrapped her around my neck.

“Go back to sleep, you stupid cow,” she hissed at me.

Hell perked up on the floor.

Helen mumbled in her sleep, waving the loaded weapon around the room before she pointed it directly at my forehead.

Oh nice.

I backed toward the door, tiptoeing around Charlie.

Fluffy Jr. was next to him whimpering in his sleep, and the large hump on his back was … quivering?

I leaned closer.

Patro rapped sharply. “Alexis—are you coming or not?” He sounded haughty and arrogant.

I miss when he was unconscious with a snapped neck.

Helen pointed the Beretta at the door, then she aimed it back at me. Apparently, her sleep self had decided I was the bigger threat.

A little flattered, but mostly afraid of imminent friendly fire, I slipped out into the candlelit hall with Hell following.

The door creaked shut behind us and I walked straight into an unmoving mass.

I looked up slowly.

Arms were crossed over a wide chest, an unlit cigarette hung from the grates of a muzzle. Achilles stood right outside the door, blocking me.

I stared at him and waited.

Neither of us moved.

Lungs turned to stone in my chest.

Titans screeched, talons sliced through my spine, humans sobbed, blood everywhere, suspended in the air above the city, “Domus.”

Weeks later, abject terror still left a bitter residue in my mouth. I understood why he did it, but something about the way Achilles hadn’t bothered to apologize set my teeth on edge, especially since he knew I would understand his signing. If anything, he acted like he was mad at me.

During workouts, I’d constantly find him glaring at the side of my face, glancing between me and Patro with open distaste.

“M-move,” I whispered.

A growl echoed from my feet, bones pressing against my leg as Hell tensed next to me protectively.

Achilles didn’t budge.

Hot resentment mounted. “Fuck you,” I signed, before I could stop myself.

He jerked, eyes flashing, then he raised his hand—I just barely stopped myself from flinching back.

The temperature in the hall increased as Achilles leaned toward me. “You should have told me you knew sign language.” His fingers moved, deliberate and accusatory.

It smelled like something was burning.

“And you,” I signed back slowly, “shouldn’t have left me to die.”

Achilles flinched. His hands bunched into fists, knuckles cracking.

He still didn’t apologize.

“Get the fuck away from me,” I signed jerkily. “Now.”

Leather cracked as his muzzle stretched, and Achilles finally stepped to the side, revealing Patro.

Candlelight danced over the sculpted planes of his perfect face; his emerald eyes were startlingly bright in the shadowy hall.

“What the h-hell are you doing?” I whispered, deeply unsettled by my standoff with Achilles.

Patro arched his eyebrow, dress pants and shirt impeccably pressed, hair perfectly coiffed. He was a superiority complex in the flesh.

“We’ve been trying to get you alone,” Patro said slowly. “But it’s been impossible lately—especially with Kharon at night.”

What about Karen?

I shook my head and focused on the problem at hand—Patro.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Patro’s lip curled as he looked me up and down.

The infamous courting gift—aka Kharon’s oversized skeleton sweatshirt, which I refused to give back or feel sorry about wearing because it was so cozy—hung to my knees, and the marble floor was chilly beneath my bare feet.

“Nice hat,” Patro snickered.

Poco hissed from where he sat, heavy, fluffy, and warm on the top of my head.

Patro muttered something about me being “ridiculous and hard to take seriously.”

I turned to go back inside—Achilles blocked me, again.

Poco pulled at my scalp nervously, and my spine prickled with warning.

“Wait.” Patro grabbed my arm and turned me to face him. “Please—we want to apologize … for Rome.” He looked at me pleadingly.

With a deep steadying breath, I met his gaze. “Achilles was always going to choose you.”

It was the truth.

Patro dragged his hands over his face. “No,” he said. “It’s not like … that.” LIAR was written across his knuckles. He couldn’t meet my eyes.

“It’s done,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about it.” There’s nothing more to say.