Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(78)

“Revelation.” Zeus cleared his throat like he was composing himself as he stared at Erebus warily. “Zero … defeats.”

Erebus turned swiftly, cloak parted, ripped shirt fluttering off his ruined torso as he stalked back to the line.

Between the claw marks and bone mask, I understood why the poster of him on Helen’s wall said, “Beware: this creature is more beast than man.”

“Look at me—over here, Erebus!” Nyx hissed loudly as she slid invisibly along my arm. “Stay sexy, you absolute monster.” She made a seductive clicking sound that would haunt my nightmares, and I whimpered.

Kharon looked down at me, and I shrugged, because a little male harassment never hurt anybody.

Womanhood was complicated.

Men could never understand the lifestyle.

“Aphrodite,” Fate called.

The stadium fell unnaturally quiet as everyone collectively held their breath and stared at her with rapt attention. Olympians and creatures alike.

Aphrodite’s curvy figure was clothed in a diamond-covered silk toga.

Augustus covered his eyes with his right hand. That’s his mother. It was easy to forget.

Unlike Artemis, Aphrodite didn’t rip the neck of her toga.

She lifted her long ruby-covered braids—they tinkled as the gems clacked together—and exposed her graceful neck.

Poseidon licked his lips; Athena’s eyes widened; Zeus stared across the altar at her like he was possessed; Hera’s face twisted with malice.

With every eye on her, Aphrodite slowly spun in a circle. Long lashes fluttered and her electric green eyes practically glowed. She pulled one silk sash of her toga off her shoulder; it slipped across her arm.

Somehow, the silence got quieter.

Another silk sash was removed.

The top of her toga fluttered down, exposing dark unblemished skin and a dozen sparkling diamond necklaces, nestled between the most impressive cleavage I’d ever seen.

I blinked, and Aphrodite was covered, the sashes of her toga once again concealing her chest.

She blew a kiss to the crowd—there was a commotion in the stands as men and women, creatures and Spartans, passed out.

“Um.” Zeus coughed, looking extremely flustered. “No defeats … I mean zero … uh, revelations.”

Hera scowled at Aphrodite, as she glared at Zeus and glided back toward our line, her hips sashaying beneath silk.

All eight Olympian leaders watched her hungrily.

“Now that is a woman,” Nyx sighed dreamily. “Are you sure you went through puberty?”

“Everyone is beautiful in their own way,” I mumbled under my breath.

Nyx’s scales slid smoothly against my skin as she slithered around my arm. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

I huffed.

Nyx sighed. “Ugly people can be so sensitive.”

Everyone is beautiful in their own way, I repeated to myself.

Zeus raised his hands again and announced, “The younger, weaker Chthonic contestants will now reveal their scar status and be assigned their number of labors.” He said weaker like he was making a threat.

“Agatha!” Fate announced.

Agatha stood tall, hands clasped together behind her back, as she walked up to the altar like she was walking toward the gallows.

“Empusa scum!” someone shouted and the crowd laughed.

Zeus stared at her expectantly.

Ajax took a menacing step toward her, his hands raised. “Expose your sternum,” he demanded.

Agatha ripped her toga and revealed the top of her pale chest—she had two detailed circular scars on her flesh.

They looked familiar.

Kharon’s grip on my neck tightened painfully.

“Revelations—” Zeus shouted, sparks jumping off his lips. “She has been dishonored by two of her labors.”

A few boos echoed from the crowd. Hateful comments were screamed about her heritage.

Augustus leaned close and whispered, “They brand you with a Vulcan stamp. The metal is specially designed to scar any immortal.”

My stomach rolled as I glanced over at Kharon’s stoic face.

Agatha pulled her toga back together, holding the ripped parts closed with her hands as she held her head high.

Zeus picked up the two dice. “This SGC, Agatha will face …” He threw the dice onto the altar.

Agatha stared down, her expression paling.

“FIVE LABORS!” Zeus shouted and the stadium clapped and hollered. “TWO rounds in the arena.”

Augustus rubbed my lower back. “If you roll four or fewer adversaries,” he whispered against the shell of my ear, “then you have to survive one round in the arena. If you roll more than four, you have two rounds. If you roll more than eight …” He grimaced. “Three rounds.”

Agatha stalked back to the line.

“Unlike the leaders, our competitors are a surprise,” Augustus continued to whisper. “Their labors are for show—ours are for punishment … and humiliation.”

“How long is a r-round?”

Kharon leaned close. “Until you defeat your labors,” he said darkly. “Or they defeat you.”

“So, if you’re defeated, it just … ends?” I asked.

Kharon gripped my neck tighter, his eyes hardening. “It doesn’t end until you drag your broken body out of the arena and—”