Shattered Gods (Dark Olympus, #10)(30)

Damn it, Atalanta is right. My head goes a little funny where Circe is concerned. I lean my temple against Atalanta’s shoulder as she pulls me over the fallen soldier. “I can’t be trusted.”

“I’m aware,” she grits out. “This isn’t going to work. Get on my back.” She doesn’t give me a chance to protest—or point out that I won’t be getting anywhere on my own. She just shifts down and pulls me over her shoulders in a damned fireman’s carry.

“Not very subtle,” I gasp.

“Yeah, well, if we get out of this alive, you can yell at me about it later.” She staggers to her feet again and starts down the hallway—deeper into the university.

Smart. If we go outside, we’re sure to draw attention. We’re not exactly subtle in our current state. Even so, this is dangerous in the extreme, and if they won’t kill me, they will kill Atalanta. “You have to leave me.”

“Fuck off.” She turns a corner and nearly overbalances, stumbling a little before she finds her feet again.

I can only lift my head a little bit, so my face is pressed against the back of her neck. Now is not the time to notice how damned good she smells. Being hit with the nearly overwhelming urge to follow her spine with my lips is not particularly helpful, either—and not just because I’m more likely to drool all over her instead of do it properly.

Focus. “Atalanta, you’re leaving a trail of blood behind you. We’re not moving fast enough to get out of here before they follow it right to us. You have to leave me.”

“And I’m telling you, woman, that I’ll die before I leave you in her hands.” She keeps going, dogged step after step. “And no matter how good you are, not even you can stop death.”

She will die if I don’t get my shit together. The thought is unacceptable. My grief for Eros lurks just on the edges of my mind, waiting to pounce the moment I’m not in crisis mode—as if that will happen anytime soon. But if Atalanta dies? My brain bounces off the very concept. She can’t die. Not from violence. Not now, when we’ve barely had any life to live for ourselves. Not when we haven’t…

We reach another corner and stumble down the next hall. It’s a damned miracle that we haven’t run into anyone. Circe must have sent the majority of her people out into the upper city to round up the legacy families and whatever members of the Thirteen remain. She had no reason to expect someone would launch a rescue attempt.

I swing my arm off Atalanta’s shoulder, nearly sending my half-limp body to the ground before she grabs me. “Hermes, I swear—”

“I can walk.” Hopefully. “And you need to bandage that wound before you bleed out.”

“We don’t have time.”

“We sure as fuck do,” I snarl. “Not like this, Atalanta. Not like this.”

She curses but lets me slide off her back. “What are you on about?”

I might have been a wee bit overconfident in my ability to walk, but I manage to keep my feet. Mostly. I veer into the wall like a drunken college student. “You are dying in some rocking chair, sixty years from now, surrounded by grandchildren.”

She leans against the wall across from me, panting lightly and pressing her hands to her chest around the knife. “I’m a lesbian.”

“There’s always adoption. Or IFV. Or maybe they’ll be neighborhood kids. Don’t be difficult. You know there are ways if you want children.” I wave that away, my hand flopping unfortunately on my wrist. We’ve never talked about kids. Why would we? Our future ended with the fall of Olympus. Nothing after that could be taken for granted, and if we got too focused on the after, we ran the risk of skipping a couple steps and being happy now. Happy people don’t bring down governments. “Take off my shirt.”

Her brows wing up. “I hardly think—”

“For a bandage.” Even with the circumstances, I can’t help grinning at the way she stammers. “Hurry.”

I’m not much help as she pulls my sweatshirt off, and then my T-shirt after it. The shirt goes over the wound and the sweatshirt ties around her chest and shoulder to keep things as stable as possible. It’s not a great option, but at least she’s not actively bleeding all over the floor now.

In the distance, shouts sound. They know we’re free. “Time to go.”

“Yeah.” Her voice has gone thready. She’s not going to be able to keep this up. Not for long.

I stumble my way to her and do my best to wedge myself under her uninjured side. “Good thing you’re so tall. Otherwise this would be awkward.”

“Hermes…”

I don’t like the way her voice dips when she says my name. As if she’s apologizing. As if she’s giving up. “Let’s go.” It feels like the time I let my legs go to sleep and then tried to walk. I can see my legs and feet. I just can’t feel them properly. At least my brain is working better. Mostly.

I guide us left at the next intersection of hallways. “There should be a… Ah, here we go.” I lean Atalanta up against the wall so I can wrestle open a door marked STAFF ONLY. A quick glance back the way we came verifies that there’s no trail to track us this far.

Circe has a lot going for her right now. She’s smart and she was forced to learn the city the same way I was when we were young. You figure out the paths to take, how to keep your head down, how to walk a certain way to be practically invisible. To escape notice.