I tense. “Zeus is going to try to kill me.”
“Not him personally.” She pauses. “Probably. A few weeks ago, I would say he’d never stoop to murder for fear of turning out like our father, but my brother isn’t acting like himself these days.”
Hearing that should make me happy. Zeus is unraveling. That’s a win for us. Except, as I think of the cold-eyed motherfucker who is Eris’s brother, I’m not sure unleashing him will be anything but a danger. I learned early to avoid the cold ones, because when they shatter, there’s often an inferno of rage beneath the exterior. Or, in scarier cases, there’s nothing beneath but an even deeper freeze. I have no idea which Zeus will be, but I suddenly don’t want to find out.
“What a fucking mess, and us in the middle of it.” I find myself chuckling, a grim sound that has no joy in it. I’m not remotely surprised when Eris joins me. Her chuckle turns into giggles and she tips until she bumps against my shoulder. Between one ragged laugh and the next, we’re clinging to each other and laughing so hard tears creep from the edges of my eyes.
“Absolutely.” She leans her head against my shoulder. It feels…nice. Everything about this feels nice. Ironic, maybe, that the only other person in this fucked-up city who understands exactly how impossible the position I’m in is my wife, who’s in an identical position, even if it’s on the opposite side of this conflict.
We’re two soldiers trapped in a trench, and it won’t matter who’s firing the shots winging their way overhead. A bullet is a bullet. It only takes one well-placed shot to end us once and for all. “What do we do?” I don’t mean to ask it, but this moment feels too honest to retreat from. At least not yet.
“I don’t know.” She rubs her face against my shoulder a little. Tension slowly filters back into her body, and I already know I won’t like what she says next. “I’m not going to flip on the city. Are you going to flip on Minos?”
A week ago I could have answered without hesitation. Now, I’m not so sure. I knew I was just a weapon for Minos to pick up and attack Olympus with, but since taking the Hephaestus title, that role has started to feel like wearing someone else’s skin. Too tight. Too constricting. And when I’m around Minos, I feel like I can’t breathe.
But I owe him so much.
Do you?
Hearing Pandora’s voice in my head feels so real, I actually turn to look toward the door, expecting her to be standing there with Adonis.
It’s the only reason I see the attack coming.
I get a flash of a broad-shouldered person in black with a mask pulled down over their face. Then the only thing I see is the gun they’re pointing at us. I don’t think. There’s no time for that. I shove Eris toward the floor. “Get down.”
The bullet pings over our heads, but I’m already moving. I take one step before my body serves to remind me that my knee is not, and will never again be, able to sustain this kind of motion. I stumble against the counter, barely dodging another bullet.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eris moving and curse. She won’t be content to stay down and safe this time. The only weapon readily available is the wine bottle. I grab it and fling it at the attacker’s head.
They throw up their hand just in time to deflect, but the impact sends the gun skittering across the floor toward the hallway. Still too far away, but they don’t have it. An opportunity, and one I can’t afford to miss. I dive for it. If I can get my fucking hands on it, I can end this now.
They’re moving behind me, rushing toward the gun even as I scramble for it. Close. Too damn close. I’m not going to have any range on this, even if I can get there first. My fingertips brush the cool metal right as a boot connects with my ribs. Pain flares, turning my mind hazy and red. I open my mouth, but there’s no air to inhale. My lungs have locked up in my chest. Fuck, that hurts.
“No!”
I roll onto my side just as Eris runs at the attacker. “Stop,” I rasp. She doesn’t hear me, or she ignores me.
Our attacker turns to face her. I catch a glint of metal in their hands and try to shout a warning. My fucking lungs haven’t unclenched, though, and it comes out as a garbled yell. The attacker curses. Which is when I see that my wife has one of her kitchen knives in her hand.
“Don’t.” Again, the word barely makes it past my lips. I try to inhale, but my lungs are still seized up. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The attacker stumbles back. They should be taking this moment to press their advantage, but they’re too busy avoiding her strikes. They’re good strikes, quick without over-extending her arm. It still won’t be enough. I have to get on my feet and I have to do it now.