Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(86)

I choked. “Never say that again.”

“Never say what?” Nyx clicked her teeth together. “Cock and balls?”

Kharon scowled. “What is the echidna saying? Why are you hissing like that and making that face?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m just a pervert.”

They narrowed their eyes like they couldn’t figure out if I was joking, or if this was a cry for help.

It was both.





32


ELECTRIC ENERGY




ALEXIS

The symposium buzzed with energy.

Cameras flashed.

Spartan reporters captured Olympian leaders smiling and mingling with creatures in their finery.

It almost appeared like a normal affair. Almost, because guards milled about, glaring at us and holding up their sparking batons in warning.

I scowled back and Nyx hissed every time one got too close, gliding across my shoulders.

Beside me, Augustus and Kharon observed the party like they were plotting. Helen and Charlie had been sent back to their room, where food would be delivered because the event was apparently “adults only.”

I was waiting for the nudity and aggressive humping to start, in a purely intellectually tortured, eighteenth-century poet dealing with their sexuality sort of way.

Unfortunately, it hadn’t.

Entertain me, peasants!

Sighing from the fact that I was actually suffering from a mental breakdown and needed to seek urgent medical help, I leaned against a pillar.

Kharon and Augustus stood next to me, and our protectors were asleep at our feet.

I grabbed a glass of ambrosia off a tray and threw it back.

The liquid burned.

Heat spreading down my throat, I observed the celebration.

I’d seen the younger Chthonics at a booth somewhere, but since tensions were still high with Patro and Achilles—because my husbands had violently bound and gagged them—we stayed separate.

Artemis was the center of attention.

She sat at a table in the middle of the room with her legs spread wide, eyes roaming lazily over the crowd—her armor was still splattered in Cyclopes blood—Ares, Aphrodite, Erebus, Hades, and Persephone sat around her.

Artemis watched the partygoers with open contempt as they whispered and pointed at her.

A siren poured from a bottle of ambrosia into their glasses with a low bow, then backed away like her life was on the line. She turned, shoulders slumping with relief as she served the Olympian leaders at the next table.

Apollo smiled up at her as she poured for him, and she blushed.

He winked seductively, popping a grape into his mouth.

The siren stumbled like she’d almost fainted.

Spartans and creatures constantly approached the Olympian table, bowing low and kissing the top of the leaders’ hands.

Zeus didn’t pay them any attention.

His gaze was locked on the Chthonic table, sparks leaping from his eyes. At his feet, his lion swooshed its tail back and forth with agitation.

Lights flashed across Zeus’s face, cameras shuttering.

Why is no one naked yet?

I was bored.

And a little drunk.

Where is my granny (Demeter)? I pouted when I couldn’t find her because I really wanted to give her a big hug.

Worst-case scenario, meemaw killed me; best-case scenario, meemaw killed me.

It was a win-win.

While the scene wasn’t openly hedonistic, dim sconces cast shadows across the dozens of people dressed in finery, and there was a strange undercurrent in the room.

Hooded gazes.

Licked lips.

Lingering fingers.

On second thought, this would be a very awkward place to meet up with a grandma. I prayed we did NOT cross paths.

An Olympian heir approached all three of us, unbuttoning his shirt as he neared.

“Don’t even fucking try it,” Kharon warned him, stepping in front of me protectively.

“We should see what he’s working with first,” I said, just to annoy Kharon. “Before we turn him down.”

From the death glare Kharon shot back at me, he did not find this funny. Men just don’t understand comedic timing.

The Olympian smirked, undeterred. “Don’t worry … I’ll do a foursome. I love to share.” He winked.

“We’re open to it,” I told him (we definitely weren’t).

Kharon gently kicked me.

“Pull his pants down so we can see his penis,” Nyx hissed.

I kicked Kharon back, not gently.

“We are not open.” Augustus’s tone promised violent dismemberment.

“How would you describe yourself in the bedroom, introverted or extroverted?” I asked the man, like I was taking a sexual survey.

“He’d describe himself as … violently slaughtered,” Kharon said casually.

Kharon chuckled as the Olympian turned and melted back into the crush of bodies like his life depended on it (he definitely could not handle all three of us).

“He probably had a small penis,” Nyx hissed as she twined slowly around my neck. “That is not good enough for us.”

“There is no us in this scenario,” I hissed back.

“If we were men,” Nyx said, “I’d have a bigger dick than you.”

Before I could think of an appropriate response (amicide—killing a friend), a woman in a pink toga and small laurel crown sauntered up to Kharon with a coy smile. The matching pink bird perched on her shoulder squawked with agitation in my direction.