Shattered Gods (Dark Olympus, #10)(27)

A woman steps into the hallway in front of me. I’m distracted enough that I almost walk right past her, but something about her body language screams danger. I slow my pace and look closer. “I know you.”

“No, you don’t.” She’s a tall Black woman with her curls pinned back into a faux-hawk, her handsome face looking like someone took a knife to her at some point in the distant past. It would only add to her appeal—if she were anyone else.

Unfortunately, she’s not anyone else. I know exactly who this woman is. Atalanta, no doubt here to kill me on Athena’s orders. This isn’t an unexpected turn of events, but she could have picked better timing. Still, one does not show her enemies weakness, even when caught flat-footed.

I smile. “Hello, beautiful.”

Atalanta blinks. “You are a strange woman, Circe.”

“I prefer complicated.” I measure the distance between us and mentally curse myself for letting her get the drop on me. She doesn’t appear to have any guns on her, but I know all too well how easy it is to hide weapons when one knows what they’re doing.

“If you would—” I go for my gun in the middle of the sentence, hoping to catch her off guard. It was a false hope at best. She’s one of Athena’s, after all, even if she started under Artemis. Both might be monsters, but they’re capable ones.

Clearly Atalanta’s time with Athena has done her well. She bounds forward, crossing the distance between us in a single leap, and grabs my wrist, shoving my arm up so the gun points at the ceiling.

Then the bitch punches me in the stomach.

The air rushes out of my lungs, and despite my best efforts to remain upright, I double over. She snatches the gun out of my hand, ejects the clip, and pops the bullet out of the chamber. “It would be a shame if you started shooting and brought all your friends to the party. This is meant to be a private affair.”

Damn, I had been hoping to do exactly that. I can hold my own when necessary, but I prefer to maintain my aura of carefully cultivated civility. The better for my enemies to underestimate me.

Atalanta steps back and draws a wickedly curved dagger. She flips it, catching the handle easily. “You know, you hurt Hermes terribly when she thought you died. She’s been mourning you this entire time, all while you were living it up in Aeaea. That makes you a shitty fucking girlfriend from where I’m standing.”

Shock has me sucking in the breath I desperately need. Of all the things I expected to come out of this woman’s mouth, Hermes wasn’t on the list. I stumble back a step, my assumptions about this encounter rearranging in real time. Athena didn’t send her. She never would have given orders to save Hermes; she would assume Hermes is more than capable of saving herself. Under normal circumstances, she’d be right. Which means Atalanta is here on her own. “So you’re the new girlfriend. I wondered who else she was working with. She’s good but not good enough to pull this off on her own.”

“What can I say? I’m a helper. Even when it means doing something for her own good.” She eyes me, clearly unimpressed. “She’ll be pissed that I’ve killed you, but she’ll get over it eventually.”

I laugh—a true laugh, loud and harsh. I can’t help it. She’s so damned funny. “Like she’s gotten over my dying ten years ago?” I shake my head slowly. My lungs have finally loosened up enough that I can draw a full breath. I shift my stance wider, ready for her to strike. “And her name is Hecate.”

“I know,” Atalanta says simply. She lunges, moving far faster than I expected her to considering her first attack. I dance back, barely missing the wicked swipe of her knife that would have disemboweled me.

Apparently the time for playing pretend is over. Oh well. I just need to kill this woman so I don’t have to worry about word of my skills getting out. If everything goes well, I won’t be in another fight for my life anytime soon, but it pays to snip away loose ends.

Atalanta is a loose end in a number of ways.

I duck under her next attack, pulling the knife from my boot. It’s only meant to serve as a backup, but I didn’t grow up in the outskirts of Olympus, nearly die in this city, and then work my way up the Aeaean ladder without being sure I can fight for my life if the situation calls for it. This situation clearly calls for it.

Atalanta raises her eyebrows when she sees my knife. “Interesting.”

I don’t give her a chance to see me coming. I strike and strike and strike again, keeping her on the defense and dancing her backward toward the open classroom door behind her. She stumbles and I kick her in the chest, sending her sprawling onto the floor between the desks. I pull the door shut behind me and yank down the narrow shade to cover the window. “There. Now we can be alone.”

Atalanta jumps to her feet and kicks one of the desks away, making more room. “You’re better than I expected.”

“You aren’t the first one to say it.” I examine my blade. No blood. I haven’t gotten close enough to land a hit, but I was more concerned with getting her out of sight. Yes, my people might stumble on us and help, but it’s just as likely that civilians would wander in. That’s a complication I don’t feel like dealing with.

Knife fights are dirty business. It comes down to speed, reflexes, and ruthlessness. Atalanta has it all. Unfortunately for her, I do, too.