A fight I don’t deserve to win.
Even knowing that, it takes me a solid two minutes to dredge up the momentum to carry me back into the bathroom. Aphrodite hasn’t shifted. Steam hangs heavy in the air, making my shirt stick to my chest after only a few seconds. I stop in the opening to the shower. “Eris?”
She moves slowly, as if she’s an old woman instead of in the prime of her life, turning just her head to look at me. “I’m not up for dinner.” She sounds remarkably normal, which is somehow worse. “Maybe another time.”
The urge to flee rises again, but this time I muscle past it. I don’t know what to say or what will get that awful lost look off her face, but I can’t leave her like this.
I don’t know what this pull to make her feel better means. I’ve never felt anything like it, even with Pandora. It’s different and it’s uncomfortable, and I want to carve it out of me before I’m past the point of no return. I don’t even try.
It’s too damn late for that, anyway.
Without thinking too hard about it, I start stripping. She closes her eyes and rests her head back on her knees. I shuck off my pants and step into the shower. There are no fewer than four showerheads going. I step beneath them and have to grit my teeth to keep a muttered curse from erupting. The water is scalding.
After a brief internal debate, I awkwardly slide down to the floor and lean against the wall next to her, stretching my legs out. Pandora would have the right words to tell Aphrodite it will all be okay. Adonis would know exactly what she needs to hear.
I’m not good with words. I’m sure as fuck not good with comfort.
But death is something I’ve become intimately familiar with.
I lean my head back against the tile. “The first time is the worst.”
Aphrodite slowly looks at me. Her skin has gone pink from the heat of the water, but she still looks too pale. “What?”
“The first time someone tries to kill you.” I inhale deeply, letting the steam warm me from the inside out. “It’s never fun. You don’t get used to it. But the shock lasts less each time.”
She blinks those big dark eyes at me. “When was your first?”
I don’t want to talk about this. I’m not sure why the fuck I thought it was a good idea to bring it up. But she’s focusing on me instead of the memory of earlier today, so I answer her honestly. “I was fourteen. One of the, ah, priests at our orphanage was showing too much interest in Pandora, so I told him to fuck off. He waited until everyone was asleep that day and then came to my room with a knife.”
She lifts her head a little. “He gave you one of those scars?”
“Yeah.” I touch the long, ragged one running diagonally across my stomach. “He almost gutted me.”
I brace for sympathy or pity or some kind of self-righteous bullshit about how no child should have to defend themselves from adults. It’s not how the world works, though, and I don’t have time for anyone who isn’t already aware of that.
“You killed him.”
I blink, half-sure I heard her wrong. “What?”
“You killed him.” Her smile isn’t anywhere near as sharp as usual. “Right?”
I had. I snapped his neck and then passed out from blood loss. I woke up on my fifteenth birthday in the hospital with Minos standing there, bathed in sunlight and looking larger than life. I still don’t know how the fuck he found out about it, but no authorities ever came around asking after the priest’s death, and by the time I was well enough to leave the hospital, Minos and I had come to an agreement.
When I checked out, I didn’t go back to the orphanage.
I went to Minos’s home, and Pandora came with me.
At the time, it seemed like a gift from the gods. Minos was a hard taskmaster, but he was fair, and I never had to worry about his gaze lingering too long on me or Pandora. That alone was worth the cost he demanded. “Yes. I killed him.”
“Good.” She closes her eyes. “It’s not the heroes who slay monsters. They’re too honorable. Always giving second chances and…” Her breathing goes jagged. “I have a brother. Another one. Younger. He’s a hero, and he almost got himself killed playing white knight. I’m glad he’s not here to see what Olympus has become. He wouldn’t survive it.”
I know about the younger brother. Hercules. A handsome fucker with bright eyes and the kind of shine that makes me want to dent it on principle. He’s nothing like his siblings, nothing like Aphrodite in particular. “Probably not.”