Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(74)

Grunts and swears echoed.

“Calm the fuck down and stop panicking!” Kharon shouted as another crash rattled the wall.

“Not … helping.” Augustus’s muffled voice shook, like he was gasping.

I sagged against the shaking wall. Head spinning, thoughts scattered, I slid down to sit beside my sleeping protector, patting his head.

Poco chittered, his little black fingers touching my arm gently, and I gave him a shaky smile. He nodded his furry head, like he understood that I was trying to keep it together, then he climbed up and curled into a lumpy gray ball on my lap, purring.

The hellhounds lay behind Fluffy Jr.’s butt, pressed against the wall, barely fitting.

“He … big dog,” Hell said in his strange, scratchy voice as he tipped his head toward Fluffy Jr. “He … okay.”

Hound nodded in agreement. “We … together … all good.”

“Of course,” I whispered to them, infusing my voice with confidence. “Everything is going to be alright.”

The whiplash of power, imprisonment, fear, and then lust was making it hard to focus on any one thing.

Sparta will not break me.

There was only one thing to do in this type of situation. I pulled out my calculator and clicked the recorder.

“Dear Diary,” I whispered.

“I’m scared Fluffy Jr. is sick. Kharon and Augustus don’t scare me … but I’m afraid of how I feel around them. The gladiator competition is starting early, and I haven’t figured out how to wield my power. Yesterday, my hands glowed with a bright light. I don’t know what any of it means.”

With a shaky exhale, I pulled the recorder away from my lips.

Toggling through my settings, I found my saved work and lost myself in the numbers. I graphed until my neck hurt and my fingers went numb.

Time lost all meaning.

Guard voices echoed outside—Kharon and Augustus came out of the bathroom, their expressions perfectly calm.

You would never know they’d been fighting.

Clang. The cell door slammed open and Nyx hissed.

I hastily tucked my calculator away and lifted Poco off my lap. Batons sparked brightly in the dim light as guards stood framed in the doorway.

“It’s time for the opening ceremony,” Vorex said, wreath gleaming atop his head. “Come with us.”





28


SOFTLY IT BEGINS




ALEXIS

Augustus pulled me to my feet and Kharon finger-combed dust out of my hair as he straightened my crown. Nyx slithered, wrapping herself around my leg.

“No protectors allowed for the ceremony,” Vorex said as the animals walked forward with us.

I stared down at Fluffy Jr.’s sleeping form.

“He’ll be okay,” Kharon said quietly.

I straightened and held my head high. “I know.” I glared at Augustus, daring him to argue.

He didn’t.

Deep inside my chest, my protector bond strummed, warm and alive. Everyone else might underestimate Fluffy Jr., but I wouldn’t.

Augustus placed his hand on my lower back as he escorted me out of the room and Kharon trailed behind us, his fingers resting possessively on the top of my spine.

My skin tingled from where they touched.

In the dimly lit tunnel, Kharon moved so he flanked my other side, his thumb caressing the priceless necklace.

Four guards marched at our front, electric batons sizzling in their hands.

I glanced back. One, two, three … Eight Olympians marched behind us.

It wasn’t a fair fight—they should have brought more guards.

Vorex wasn’t the only one I recognized. Alessander, Titus’s crony from the crucible, also marched beside him in a matching blue suit embroidered with the House of Poseidon symbol.

Alessander’s gaze flicked to mine. His weapon lowered as he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something to me. Vorex shot him a glare and he pursed his lips shut.

Alessander was shorter than I remembered. How was I ever afraid of him?

Augustus’s nails dug into my lower back as his fingers tensed. “Are you okay?” he asked in my ear as he followed my gaze. His eyes flashed with recognition.

“Yes,” I said, feeling the truth of the word in my bones.

Alessander was no threat to me.

Kharon’s calloused thumb stroked the back of my neck soothingly.

My husbands pressed closer to me as we were escorted up through the maze of tunnels, out of the torchlight, into the orange rays of the setting sun.

This time we didn’t climb the steps—we were led out onto the sand.

Four Chthonic flags waved in the breeze where they were planted in the middle of the arena. The corresponding leaders stood in front of them, spiky crowns glinting atop their heads.

A long white marble altar sat to the left of the flags. Standing unobtrusively, the block of stone looked distinctly out of place.

People screamed down at us, the coliseum much louder than during the massacre. The siren section was now packed with hundreds, as were the other creature sections. They sat too far away to make out individual people.

The sheer magnitude of the crowd was overwhelming.

It was easy to forget that Sparta was made up of thousands of creatures because of the constant Chthonic versus Olympian politics.