Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2)(93)
“Fuck me, you sexy bitch!” a male screamed nearby, and the entire section erupted in laughter. Sexual innuendos and other lewd propositions were shouted with increasing frequency.
Aphrodite appeared completely unbothered as she waited for the steel gate to rise and release the Cyclopes.
The sky was mostly overcast, but humidity made my toga stick uncomfortably to my skin.
Anticipation mixed with electricity.
Everyone in the arena was leaning forward in their seats, waiting to see what Aphrodite—the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth—would do.
She was nicknamed the Goddess of Sex because her Chthonic power was in her saliva. One kiss, and a person was a slave to her, mindless with agonizing sexual desire.
From the heckles echoing around the stadium, a lot of men would gladly volunteer to be her victim.
Helen sat ramrod straight ahead of me, her legs bouncing. She glanced back over her shoulder at Augustus, worry on her face.
“She’ll be fine,” Augustus said smoothly, but his eyes crinkled. “Don’t worry.”
Helen nodded and turned around. Charlie slung an arm around her and squeezed.
A few seats down, Patro nodded in agreement, but his eyes were also full of concern, and Achilles rubbed his back.
She’s their mother.
Helen looked like a younger version of her, and Patro was the masculine equivalent. They both had her breathtaking, almost sculpturesque beauty.
In contrast, Augustus took mostly after Ares in coloring and looks. His features were harsher, more biting.
I jolted in my seat as I realized Augustus and Patro were technically also half brothers. From the way they acted, you’d never know.
In contrast, Augustus and Achilles seemed to have some sort of brotherly bond. From the snippets they’d shared, the two of them had grown up together in the House of Ares.
Patro seemed almost … left out.
My heart pinched as I thought about how everyone in Sparta, including him, had called me an abandoned mutt like it was the worst sort of offense. It must have been hard for him, growing up in a civilization that viewed him as lesser because of his human heritage.
It never failed to surprise me how small Sparta was. It was nothing like the human world, in so many ways.
Case in point, the gate lifted and five Cyclopes charged out.
Aphrodite sprinted toward them, her muscles rippling as she raised the oversized ax above her head.
The crowd “oohed” with anticipation.
Aphrodite leapt through the air and swung her ax with impressive Spartan strength.
Blood exploded.
She landed in a crouch, beside a decapitated Cyclops head—drenched head to toe in red.
The cheers stopped.
Before the other beasts could react, she leapt at them quicker than my eye could track, wielding her ax like an extension of herself.
Chunks of Cyclopes esophagus sprayed.
Aphrodite didn’t use her powers, just sheer brute force.
After long minutes of aggressive hacking, the sand was a mess of severed body parts. Aphrodite let out a war cry of satisfaction as she kicked a head, the size of a boulder, and it rolled across the sand.
There was nothing left to kill.
No one cheered.
Her sphinx sat at the edge of the arena, licking its paw with boredom.
Helen visibly sighed with relief and slumped against Charlie.
Down below, drenched head to toe in blood, Aphrodite rose up to her full, majestic height and smiled, diamond braids sparkling down her back.
She blew a kiss to the silent crowd.
She’d silenced the men.
Hades stood up, and we all followed his lead. Our section clapped and cheered loudly, as the rest of the stadium stared at the sand in shock.
Aphrodite scooped up her sphinx, kissed its head, and disappeared from view.
I smiled. Satisfaction unfurled in my gut.
It was the first fight I’d enjoyed.
Guards arrived at our section, and escorted us to the symposium.
When we stepped through the doors, the harp music had been replaced by electric guitars and a scantily clad male singer. I recognized him as a popular human rock artist. He screeched into a microphone as Spartans jumped on the dance floor.
Well, this is unexpected.
More people streamed into the room than usual. Spartans and creatures of all designations had decided to attend.
The space was already close to capacity.
In the unexpected crush of bodies, I got separated from Augustus and Kharon.
Turning, I stood on my tiptoes and looked over heads as I searched.
I bumped into something hard.
Hands steadied me and a familiar voice said, “Alexis, I was hoping to see you.”
I stared into the eyes of a tall, skinny boy with flame-red hair—we were the same height—the goat of the House of Dionysus was embroidered on the pocket of his guard uniform.
Oh goody. Not.
Titus, the bully who made my life hell during the crucible, was standing in my personal space, touching me.
“If he does anything, I’m biting him,” Nyx hissed into my ear as she tightened around my neck like she was getting ready to lunge.
“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll handle him.”
Titus shifted awkwardly, his eyes squinting with confusion at what was probably a jumble of sibilant sounds coming from my mouth, but he kept his hands resting on my shoulders.