Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(84)

“It’s to make sure no one … interferes,” Kharon said coldly.

I shifted in my seat.

Fluffy Jr., Poco, and the hellhounds slept at our feet in a pile of bones, black and gray fur, and lumpy protrusions. Every few seconds Fluffy Jr. twitched with a spasm and Poco smoothed a hand over his forehead.

Please God, let him be okay.

An unsettling war cry punctuated my prayer.

Below the shimmering force field, Arthritis (Artemis) rode her muscular black stallion onto the sands surrounded by a scarlet mist.

The stadium chanted, “Vivere est militare … vivere est militare … vivere est militare!”

To live is to fight.

The stallion reared back, and the crowd went wild.

Artemis smirked atop her steed and framed her black chest plate with her hands, drawing attention to the crest displayed across it.

Rubies gleamed in the sun, forming the rabid horse crest of the House of Artemis.

Her long brown hair was plaited into a complicated braid down her back, her aristocratic nose pointed up with pride, and her spiky crown sat tall and regal on her head. A bow was slung loosely over her shoulder next to a holster full of arrows.

Spartan guns were banned altogether, but apparently the Olympians let you choose from an armory of blade weapons, all of which I could barely wield.

The Montana education system had failed me.

Did we really need that sex education course on the mating rituals of nuclear-radiated Canada geese? My gut reaction—yes.

I couldn’t help but feel like I’d learned something invaluable from that course. Do not try to pet geese, especially if they have more than three eyes (they will destroy you).

Augustus shifted closer, draping his arm over mine and Kharon’s back so I was tucked between the two of them.

The scents of lightning and rain smothered me as they pressed against me like they were trying to burrow under my skin.

I was in the middle of their storm.

Nyx was twined around my neck, and Augustus flinched as her scales slid against his arm.

Drex looked back over his shoulder, worry on his face, and I tried to give him a small reassuring smile, but it ended up as more of a wince.

He grimaced in agreement, then turned back to watch the show. Helen and Charlie watched the proceedings next to him with cautious interest.

In front of them sat the Chthonic leaders and Persephone, their heavy crowns looking out of place with the sparse, sleeveless, short black exercise togas we’d all been given to wear.

“Vivere est militare!” The chant thundered all around the stands as the Spartan crowd screamed with bloodthirsty excitement.

A hand flashed in my peripheral vision.

Charlie was signing something to Achilles, who sat further down the row. Most surprisingly, Achilles was signing back.

Charlie nodded passionately and Achilles’s shoulders shook like he was silently chuckling.

I’ve never seen him laugh before.

They were signing rapidly to each other like they were close friends.

Patro glanced back at me—his eyes narrowed on where Augustus was rubbing my bare arms, trying to warm me.

If he was trying to intimidate me, it wasn’t working.

I made a face at him, and Patro made a show of turning around, giving me his back.

Augustus rubbed my arms faster, and Kharon dragged his skeleton-tattooed fingers slowly over the bottom half of my exposed thigh.

Goose bumps exploded as they caressed my flesh.

Kharon and Augustus touched me so casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to them, but the intimacy made my face flush and stomach pinch.

Down below, Artemis lazily spun in a circle, keeping her eyes on the five monstrous beasts that surrounded her.

Apparently, I’d been so distracted by my husbands touching me I’d literally missed the arrival of thirty-foot-tall Cyclopes.

Their heads came up to the top of the wall that surrounded the arena.

Ratty loincloths, larger than the flags that waved above the stands, fluttered over their portly, dirt-covered, stout bodies.

The Cyclopes’ faces were horribly misshapen; sharp yellow teeth jutted at odd angles from their mouths, and their forehead skin bunched grotesquely to make space for their disproportionately large, singular eye.

The five beasts stomped as they walked in a circle around Artemis—the stadium vibrated—their mammoth fists raised high like they were ready to attack.

“Don’t worry.” Kharon leaned close. “The leader fights are just for show … They’re too powerful to be actually contested.”

The Cyclopes bellowed.

“Do they consent to this?” I whispered.

Kharon’s breath fanned against the side of my face. “What?”

I ignored the flutter in my stomach. “Do the Cyclopes want to fight?”

Kharon furrowed his brows as he stared at me.

Augustus shook his head as he tucked me tighter against his side. “They quite literally yearn for violence. They’re carnivorous beasts with the intelligence of rocks—I taught you this.”

He tsked like he was scolding me, and for some reason the heat in my stomach increased.

“They’re barely classified as creatures,” Augustus continued. “If they could, they’d murder us all and use our bones as toothpicks.”

Kharon winked.

Down on the sands, Artemis tipped her head back and laughed as the Cyclopes stomped at her and missed.