Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(64)

He was heartless. Brutal.

“I guess,” Kharon taunted wickedly, “you really are just another pathetic girl who’s never had to do anything herself. It’s a real shame—the House of Hades lineage was wasted on the likes of you.” He pursed his lips and mimed rubbing away fake tears. “Poor little Alexis needs Patro and Achilles, the big, bad Spartan men to save her because she can’t do it herself and—”

A scream ripped from my throat.

Kharon and Augustus fell to their knees, shoulders shaking, foam dripping from their parted lips.

Even as they convulsed, they held my gaze, their smiles sad.

White stars danced as my vision tunneled, their pain mixed with mine, and I felt it all.

I was killing them.

And myself.

“That’s my woman,” Augustus praised softly, tears glimmering as he crawled forward. “We’re so—” he groaned “—fucking sorry for trapping you … in this marriage … Take your revenge,” he gasped. “Please.”

No.

Kharon gazed up at me with resignation. “I’m so sorry—” the tendons in his neck stood out as he also crawled “—I wasn’t good enough—” he coughed “—for you … wasn’t strong enough, or … what you wanted. You deserve … better.”

A tear streaked down my face.

The devils were on their knees—coming straight to me.

Groveling at my feet.

“I don’t deserve you,” Kharon mouthed as foam dripped from his quivering lips.

“You can be with them.” Augustus’s voice cracked as he collapsed onto his stomach. “Now.”

The agony receded.

Kharon face-planted next to Augustus and curled into the fetal position, gurgles and moans falling from his lips.

I breathed easier.

For the first time in months, my headache completely disappeared and the throbbing in my knee was gone.

Our bond was breaking.

They were dying.

Because of me.

Augustus cradled me against his chest as he carried me through the Roman streets. Kharon hovered over me, his left ear missing.

A broken sob ripped from my throat.

No.

I didn’t want this. I wanted to feel.

I wanted to know when Kharon was pushing himself too hard, and I needed to live inside Augustus’s broken mind; I wanted them to talk to me; I wanted to know where the three of us were heading.

“Breathe, Alexis,” Nyx hissed into my ear as she slithered around my neck. “You can control this—you’re in the driver’s seat. It doesn’t control you.”

Kharon and Augustus inhaled shakily, their fingers stilling.

I held my breath.

“Stop fighting against yourself.” Nyx tightened. “Some of us are lethal, and that’s okay.”

Just like when Patro had coached me with Theros—the pain in my chest receded as I calmed myself down—I gathered control, and the poisoning stopped.

I don’t want to hurt them anymore; they’ve been hurt enough.

Tingles climbed up my fingers to my palms.

I was in command of my powers.

A strange white light emitted from my fingers—my hands glowed brightly; the skin lit from within.

I don’t want to kill them. I want the three of us to figure this out.

A loud wheeze echoed.

“Alexis,” Kharon said hoarsely as he pushed up from his chest onto his knees, and wiped at the cut on his face.

My right knee spasmed.

Eyes still glossy with the remnants of pain, he slowly crawled across the floor toward me.

He bowed his crowned head—I gripped my chair—he kissed the tops of my feet. “Angel,” he whispered.

I reached down for him with glowing hands, gently touching his head.

He stared up at me like I was his deliverance.

The brilliant light intensified until it hurt my eyes, and a strange feeling washed over me.

Nyx hissed something, but I couldn’t hear her.

The warmth flared brighter, light becoming pain.

I was boiling alive.

Kharon shouted something and pulled away, breaking our connection.

The light under my tingling fingers faded, as stars receded from my vision.

Kharon sat back on his haunches, still looking up at me with awe.

Augustus laid weakly on the floor, his chin lifted. “Are you … okay?” he whispered to me.

I wasn’t sure. Long seconds passed as I struggled to process what had happened.

“Did … you … see that?”

Both men nodded.

In high school, we’d watched a historical early 2000s documentary about deep-sea anglerfish—A hideous creature, it lures prey in with its glowing bioluminescent antenna light, then eats them. It also exhibits extreme sexual dimorphism.

Dread sank its talons into my chest.

My blood was poisonous. Maybe this was how it worked. I attracted people with my light—then violently slaughtered them.

I also had no idea what sexual dimorphism meant, but from how awkward things had always been for me, I probably had it. I stared at my shaking hands (antennas?).

“Breathe, carissima,” Kharon said hoarsely. “Don’t panic. You’re going to figure out what it means.”