Blood of Hercules: Chapter 16

Alexis

“Why is your nose hanging off your face?” Patro asked accusingly, like I wanted it to be detached.

Stumbling, I tried to regain consciousness, but after hours of studying in the library (sleeping at a desk with my eyes open and blood dripping from my nose), it was difficult.

The smoke from leaping cleared around us and revealed a familiar woodstove kitchen, covered in golden streaks of light.

Outside the bay window, water glittered a dark shade of blue as the sun dipped over the horizon.

A wolf and jaguar growled at me, and I waved at them in greeting.

We were back in Corfu.

Thank you, God.

I coughed miserably, pain and exhaustion radiating through every cell in my sleep-deprived body.

Patro yanked me upright by my wrists.

Forearms burning with phantom aches, I ripped away from his touch, slammed into the wall, then staggered into a partially standing position.

He said something derogatory, but I missed it over the high-pitched ringing in my left ear.

Also, the morbid despair was loud. Life sucks.

My face still throbbed from the library incident, where I may or may not have had a violent mental breakdown and assaulted two men (I had no regrets; someone had to do it).

Then, after I’d tutored Drex in math, while mouth breathing because my nasal passage was smushed, and fell asleep, General Cleandro announced we’d survived four weeks straight at the Spartan War Academy and could leave with our mentors.

Yay, not.

Personally, I wished I was dead.

Now Patro’s expression was somewhere between disgust and hatred as he watched me lean against the wall and struggle to stand. Achilles loomed behind him with a muzzle taut across his face.

Achilles cracked his knuckles, “DEATH” was spelled out across them. The tattoo ink was faded, which was why I hadn’t noticed it before.

Since our kind neighbor at the trailer park was covered head to toe in satanic symbols, I was not intimidated. I hope he’s still taking care of Charlie.

Heartsickness made me nauseous.

“Explain,” Patro demanded as he gestured to my ruined nose. “You look like shit.”

I started to speak, but rattling coughs exploded from my chest, and blood spattered onto the kitchen floor. I keeled over, gasping.

With my hands on my knees, Nyx’s scales vibrated against my neck as she slept peacefully. Must be freakin’ nice.

Patro sat down at the kitchen table with a huff of annoyance.

“Oh my fucking Kronos.” He glared at me. “Can you pull it together, for once in your life? It’s like you make an effort to be pathetic.”

Between coughs, I gave him a death glare.

I’d just spent four weeks being tortured without food and water. Another initiate had died during the experience; you’d think he’d have a little compassion.

Patro leaned forward and snapped his fingers in front of my face. “I don’t have all day.”

I purposefully coughed on them.

“Ew!” He snatched his hand back. “Did you just hack on me like a filthy, gross commoner⁠—”

BOOM.

More smoke filled the room.

Please God, don’t do this to me.

Not again.

I coughed harder.

“Honeys, I’m home,” taunted a deep, scratchy voice straight from my nightmares.

Satan walked into the kitchen.

God is definitely punishing me. First Augustus, now him—why can’t I catch a freakin’ break?

Glacial blue eyes flashed with danger and “Furia” was stark against his throat.

White dress-shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing veiny forearms. Stop looking at his arms. Thigh and chest holsters also bulged with weapons.

The spiky crown glinting atop his head was a reminder of just what he was.

Chthonic royalty.

Who knew evil had such wide shoulders and a tapered waist?

I wanted to shoot myself.

“Well, well, well,” Kharon said as he clicked his tongue. “If it isn’t the troublemaker. You’ve caused quite the stir. Everyone in Sparta is talking about your little . . . performance.”

He sized me up.

“I told you not to harm yourself,” he snarled.

Like Augustus, he’s upset that I endangered Patro’s and Achilles’s chances of becoming generals.

“I a-am unharmed,” I said as I stumbled and tried to not pass out from sheer exhaustion.

The gold hue of the kitchen darkened to a spectral shade of blue, or at least it did in my imagination. And even with squished nostrils, the smell of a summer storm was heady.

Shadows expanded, and two voices whispered.

No, you’re just losing your mind. The voices aren’t real. The thought was comforting.

At the table, Patro’s frown transformed into a comical look of disbelief as he asked, “What could Alex have possibly done to anyone for all of Sparta to have heard about it?”

My mentor laughed like the idea of me doing anything but dying was funny.

“Don’t call me that,” I whispered.

His smile fell. “I’ll call you whatever I want to—Alex.”

The scar on my sternum twinged, and an icy, numb sensation spread through my limbs.

I wanted to hurt him. Badly.

No. You’re not like your foster parents.

I shook my head to dislodge the dark thoughts and sighed heavily.

“Alexis,” Kharon said slowly, “punched the Titus boy from the House of Dionysus in the face. Then she got punched in retaliation.”

Patro harrumphed.

“Attacking your betters, I see,” Patro sneered as he turned to me. “You need to focus on self-preservation. I hope you’ve learned your lesson . . . you don’t want to mess with a Spartan mutt whose been trained since birth to⁠—”

“That’s not all,” Kharon cut him off.

Copper flooded my mouth from my ruined nose, and I tilted my head back, awkwardly gurgling until I could breathe again. It was a move I’d learned as a child, since foster Father had woken me up with a broken nose on more than one occasion.

The fact that my face had healed perfectly each time should have been a sign that I wasn’t fully human, but I’d been a little distracted trying to survive, so I gave my younger self a pass.

Now all three men (evil Chthonic monsters) gaped at me with varying expressions of disbelief.

You’d think they’d never seen a woman gurgle her bloody spit and nose juices before.

I shrugged.

The key to surviving girlhood in an apocalypse was being adaptable—and period cups. Music also helped. So did Carl Gauss fanfiction.

Kharon took a step closer, leather holsters creaking across his wide thighs, the leather straps crisscrossed right below another bulging⁠—

I was staring at his male thotch (thigh-crotch) region like a weirdo.

Mental note—pray. ASAP.

Nineteen was a strange age.

In an effort to come across as less of a melancholic pervert, I studied the blue diamond buttons gleaming across his wide chest.

Aren’t blue diamonds the most expensive diamonds in the world?

I’d read something about the rarity of the blue Hope Diamond, which used to be kept in a museum until Titans had ushered in the era of anarchy and thieves had stolen it.

A dozen thick diamonds sparkled on Kharon’s shirt.

What are the odds I can successfully steal one, run away, then Charlie and I can live off the proceeds for the rest of our lives?

The devil approached with perfect posture. His wide shoulders were pulled back (not that I noticed), showcasing the Spartan guns holstered across his chest.

Ten percent chance I can steal a button.

Kharon looked down his aristocratic nose and leaned dangerously close.

His voice was a deadly rasp. “It’s quite the story, you see. After being punched, Alexis kneed the one boy in the crotch, and then . . . she kneed him again in the face as he fell.”

A frantic piano tune played.

Patro made a noise in the back of his throat. “So? She managed to moderately incapacitate one boy, it’s not like she⁠—”

“Then—” Kharon interrupted harshly. “Alexis here lifted a library chair above her head and bludgeoned another boy, until he was out cold.”

Patro turned and gaped at me.

Kharon leaned close to my personal space.

I narrowed my eyes and craned my neck back to look at him. “It wasn’t like that,” I said. “I just . . . hit him once. With the chair. It was more of a tap. A light bop.”

“And then, to add insult to injury,” Kharon continued like I hadn’t spoken, “she puked on the passed-out, fallen boy, to assert her dominance over him.”

Oh . . . that’s not good.

Patro’s jaw dropped.

“Uhm.” I winced and raised my finger. “That’s n-not what happened.”

Kharon moved faster than my eye could track—he was millimeters away. His body heat burned, and a curious sensation twisted low in my stomach.

“Did you not puke on him?” he asked mockingly, the deep baritone of his voice scratching across my ears.

Fire smoldered inside my gut, and strange sensations made me weak.

“It was an accident.” I shrugged casually. “The puke.”

Just a girl with a weak stomach, nothing to see here.

A pale hand reached toward my face.

Flinching, I closed my eyes and waited for the blow.

Long, burning-hot fingers grabbed the back of my neck in a vise. Goosebumps exploded down my spine. My knees shook.

Okay, 0 percent chance I steal a button.

Nothing happened.

Great, he’s going to prolong my death and make it weird.

I squinted up. Glacier-blue eyes stared down with an unreadable expression, cut jaw clenching.

“On the count of five,” Kharon said quietly.

What?

“One,” he said, voice cold and raspy. There was a long pause as he looked at me expectantly.

Ohmygod, does he want me to count until he kills me? Who does that?

“Uh, two?” I said.

Yes, I was voluntarily participating in my own murder. No, I didn’t want to talk about it.

I flinched and whispered, “Three.”

Kharon grabbed my broken nose. White-hot agony exploded, and he reset the bone back into place. Violently.

I yelped and tipped my head back, tears streaming, face on fire. Groaning and clutching at my abused appendage, I shuffled backward and knocked into the table.

Patro yelled something.

Tripping, I face-planted toward the⁠—

Kharon grabbed my shoulders and stopped my descent.

I looked up at him, the queasiness intensifying in my stomach. For a long moment, we stared at each other.

The whites of his eyes turned crimson.

Strange, intense emotions rolled through me. They felt . . . obsessive.

“Don’t touch me,” I whispered.

“Fine.” He dropped me.

I collapsed onto the floor, a tangle of spread limbs and wounded pride. Luckily, I’d turned at the last minute and had barely avoided rebreaking my nose.

Rolling over, I panted.

Nero stood up from where she was lying under the table and growled. Poppae delicately licked a paw and glared across the room.

I think they’re starting to like me.

Poppae hissed, then violently hacked up a hairball.

Maybe not.

Thick leather boots engraved in gold—which I probably couldn’t afford, even if I sold my virginity and all my organs (including my skin) on the black market—came to a stop beside my head.

“Get the fuck up,” Kharon snarled. “Right now.” His light eyes promised pain.

Strangely enough, I suddenly found the strength to do just that.

“Do you now see what we’re dealing with?” Patro said when I was sitting across from him at the table. “This is what I meant.”

“I do,” Kharon said. “I know more than you think. But do you know exactly who she is?”

“What?” Patro asked with confusion.

“My name is Alexis,” I said helpfully. “That’s who I am.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kharon roared at me. “How dare you?” he asked with a snarl.

Immediately, I regretted speaking. Why do I keep interacting with them? I snapped my jaw closed and stared down at the table, praying for invisibility.

As far as I could tell, every Chthonic spoke in confusing riddles.

Also, they were all lunatics.

So, there was that.

A whack with a shovel would not be enough for them. They needed to be hit by a car.

No one else said anything, and we sat collectively in the uncomfortable environment Kharon had cultivated.

Carl Gauss would never act like this.

Moonlight filtered into the darkening kitchen, and my mentors glared at me from across the table. Kharon stayed standing, which was highly unsettling.

My heart twisted with fear.

Think positive thoughts, Alexis. He’s not going to kill you. He wants you alive for his friends. No need to be afraid of him.

Crack. A skeleton-covered fist slammed against the table next to me.

He’s going to eat your brain. Run. Run. Run.

“Patro and Achilles,” Kharon said softly. “Why don’t you go get Alexis’s room ready for her? I want to have a . . . chat with her. Alone.”

Ohmygod.

“Of course,” Patro said with a smile as he offered his arm to Achilles. He turned his head to look back at me as they left the room, and the message in his green eyes was clear. He’s going to eat your brain now.

Kharon leaned closer, and his breath wafted against the back of my neck.

I swallowed a scream.

His sinister voice was a noose that spiraled around my throat. “You mutilated your fellow initiates,” he rasped. “You pretended to be weak, but then . . . you tore them to pieces, easily. It would almost be impressive, if you weren’t so far below your potential.”

He pounded his fist.

What potential?

Shadows stretched across the table. Something growled.

A scream bubbled up in the back of my throat.

“You’re a filthy little liar.” Kharon’s breath was icy against the side of my cheek, a sharp contrast to his intense body heat. “How dare you put yourself at risk, while bringing dishonor to us all with your little charade?”

He caged me against the table—his stomach muscles bunched and pressed into my back.

“I warned you what would happen. Do you want to be my mortal enemy?”

Sweat streaked down the side of my face as I breathed shallowly.

“I’m not l-lying about anything,” I whispered, too terrified to speak loudly. “I had it all under control.”

He didn’t move.

A sarcastic chuckle burst from his lips.

He doesn’t believe me.

“Kharon . . . I swear it on my life.”

The heat dissipated as he abruptly pulled away. “What did you just call me?”

Gasping for air, it took me a second to process what he had asked. “Kharon?” I repeated his name with confusion.

Is he playing mind games?

“My name is not Karen,” he spat with vitriol, like I’d gravely insulted him. “It’s pronounced Ch-ar-on.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, but it’s spelled with a K.”

“Say my name,” he ordered. “Now, Alexis.”

“Kharon?” I muttered.

“Did you just say Karen again?”

“What? No . . .” I squinted. “Wait, can you pronounce it again?”

Long fingers dug into my scalp, then he yanked my head back. He towered above me, torso close to my face, cruel ice-blue eyes full of violent promises.

“Say Ch-ar-on. Now.”

“Charon.” I swallowed thickly. “Sorry, sir.”

He inhaled sharply.

His Chthonic eyes filmed over with blood.

A streak of white-hot something exploded in my lower stomach. The sensation was powerful and foreign, like it hadn’t come from me.

I panted, squinting up at him with confusion.

He released me like I’d scalded him and took a step back. Dragging his tattooed fingers roughly through his messy hair as his eyes returned to normal.

For a long moment, we both breathed heavily.

A strange tension unfolded between us. It was charged. Volatile. Terrifying.

“Don’t forget what I told you before.” His voice was gravelly and had a menacing undertone. “Stop lying. Let harm befall you, and I’ll make your life so miserable that you’ll pray to Kronos for death.”

Too late. I’m already doing that.

Shaking my head, I took a deep steadying breath.

I will not be gaslit by a man with a skeleton tattoo. I’m better than this. I didn’t try to get hurt.

“But,” he said slowly, “you did beat those boys to a bloody pulp. I’m almost . . . proud, carissima. But don’t you dare fucking do it again. Remember—I’ll be watching you.”

Before I could respond (start crying), he stalked out of the kitchen.

I was alone.

His cold mocking energy still lingered insidiously.

Please don’t be proud. Please don’t watch me. Actually, never look at me ever again. Also please don’t call me “dearest” in Latin. Thanks.

Once again, the infamous son of Artemis and Erebus had left me reeling at the kitchen table.

“Bye, Karen,” I whispered spitefully.

The strange sensations in my stomach slowly dissipated. I slumped over with relief. The moonlight and sea breeze felt softer, less insidious.

“Holy crud,” Nyx hissed against my right ear. “Wow—talk about a real mate. I haven’t felt that type of energy around a man in ages. Although, Augustus does have similar protective instincts. They’re good men Alexis.”

I choked.

Were the good men in the room with us?

“Uh, hard no. He’s a literal psychopath,” I said in disbelief.

“Exactly,” Nyx hissed. “He’s driven and relentless—he’s not one of those sissy boys today who don’t even know how to kill.”

What a take.

“Whoever he loves—will be protected for the rest of their lives.” Nyx sighed like it was romantic. “He’d be . . . devoted . . . possessive—if you know what I mean.”

Laughter bubbled up my throat.

No, I did not know what she meant. At all. Head in hand, I chuckled uncontrollably at the thought of Kharon in love. He’d probably kill people, then gift his lover chopped-up body parts.

“You’re funny,” I said to Nyx as I wiped the tears off my cheeks.

I stopped laughing.

How did Kharon know what happened at the library?

My heart skipped a beat, and I felt sick.

Is he stalking me? Waiting to make good on his threat? Waiting to kidnap me to some lair where he’ll torture me for⁠—

No.

Stop it.

I slammed my fist into my forehead to dislodge the insidious thoughts.

Kharon had said that everyone in Sparta knew about it, so one of the initiates had probably said something.

But we just left the academy?

I pulled my fist away from my head and slumped over further. My limbs heavy, gravity crushed me.

My sanity was fraying.

Suddenly, I understood exactly why that horrible book had said the crucible was a mental test.

I couldn’t trust my thoughts.

It’s fine. You’re just paranoid. You’re better than this. You’ve lived through hell already and kept your mind intact. You can do it again.

Determination coursed through me.

I was going to make a change.

Starting now.

With painful slowness, I hobbled over to the piles of fresh-cut food laid out along the kitchen. Chewing slowly, I ate until I couldn’t eat anymore, then gulped down a pitcher of ice water, which tasted divine.

Unplugging the shiny radio that sat on the kitchen counter, I grabbed an entire wheel of cheese and carried it back to my bedroom.

With music playing, and a chunk of fresh cheese in my mouth, I walked into the Ionian Sea for a night swim.

The moon glowed magically. Warm water lapped softly against the rocky shore.

It was peaceful.

Calm.

I swam leisurely, like I would at the lake in Montana, like I would if I wasn’t in a fight-or-flight state and was just having fun.

After the swim I took a long hot shower, scrubbing off four weeks’ worth of dirt and grime as I hummed along to the radio. I used every bottle of soap, on all parts of my body. Nyx swayed with me.

Then I flipped my hair over and gave another revolutionary speech.

It was my best one yet.

When I finally crawled into the silky sheets, I pulled her close to my chest. “I’m so grateful for every single day we get to spend together. You’re my best friend,” I whispered.

I wasn’t going to let this place make me mean.

“Same, kid.” Her tongue flicked across my cheek.

“Love you too, Emmy and Carl,” I whispered into the dark as sleep gently pulled me under.

I dreamed of bloody eyes watching; a strange, obsessive mania; two voices whispering; skeletons.

The next morning was sunny and beautiful, so I pushed the nightmares aside.

I’m in control of my mind.

Am I?

No one was in the kitchen, so I shoved slices of meat and fruit into my mouth until my jaw hurt.

Then I found a notebook and pen in one of my bedside drawers and sat by the sea (still eating), working on the Riemann Hypothesis. It wasn’t perfect, because I didn’t have access to all my past calculations, but graphing numbers came easily.

It was peaceful.

For the first time in weeks, I felt alive.

The rest of the day was spent swimming in my toga (at this point, I was convinced the material had to be imbued with some type of magic). Lazily I did breaststroke through glittering turquoise waters. It was sometime in early September, so the sea and sun were still pleasantly warm.

Life was different on the island.

The green foliage on the hill practically sparkled in the light.

Twigs snapped loudly. I squinted at the forest behind the house, and two men had long cameras pointing directly at me.

They were close.

I screamed and gathered Nyx around my neck, then ran back inside the house.

Spartan chasers.

“What is it now?” Patro asked as he slammed my bedroom door open with Achilles in tow.

They stared down at me with narrowed eyes.

Dripping wet from sprinting out of the ocean, I said, “Two men are close to the house on the hill, taking pictures of m-me swimming.”

“Unacceptable. We need to do something,” Achilles signed to Patro angrily, scarlet eyes flashing. “We need to string them up by their intestines.”

I flinched.

Achilles narrowed his eyes at me with suspicion, and I examined a very interesting fleck of dust on the ground.

Nope. I can’t understand sign language at all, and you are definitely not a psychotic killer. Nothing to see here.

Patro shouted, “Fuck, how do they keep finding us? If this location is compromised, we’ll have to move again. This is getting out of⁠—”

“Did you just say they took pictures of you, Alexis?” Kharon asked as he stepped into the room from the hallway. His eyes were covered by thin sunglasses engraved with gold.

Apparently, the devil had spent the night, and also, he looked concerningly good in eyewear.

Humanity is doomed.

Kharon cracked his neck, tattoo rippling as he pinned me with his gaze. “Did they—take—pictures—of—you?” he asked slowly, his expression feral.

Suddenly I was worried about the health of the two cameramen.

I pursed my lips and shook my head no.

Kharon took a step closer.

Achilles pointed at me angrily at the same time Patro said, “She’s lying.”

I glared at my mentors.

Click. Kharon flicked off the safety on one of his guns. “WSDL” flashed on the barrel as he clipped in a cartridge. Then he rolled up his cuff sleeves.

BOOM.

Smoke billowed in the hall, the faint scents of salt and rain lingering like the aftermath of a summer’s storm.

He’d leaped away.

Patro sighed. “We might as well watch the show.” He gestured to my deck, and the three of us walked over and squinted at the greenery behind the house.

Long minutes passed, and nothing happened.

“Maybe he couldn’t find them?” I said hopefully.

Patro shook his head like I was an idiot. “Oh, he’s gonna find them all right. It’s Kharon. He’s known as the Hunter for a reason.”

“What makes Karen so special?” I muttered petulantly.

Patro arched his eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call him that name to his face. He’ll snap, and it won’t be pretty.”

Too late. Also, newsflash, it already isn’t.

“Why WSDL for your company?” I changed the subject and pointed between my two mentors. “Why choose W and S as your monikers?”

Patro tilted his head in confusion. “We didn’t.” He held up his tattooed knuckles, then pointed at Achilles’s fading tattoo. “Death and lies—DL—those are the two letters that represent us.”

The grates of the muzzle shifted as Achilles made an expression and something told me it wasn’t a smile of love and happiness. Crimson eyes shone with pride, like he was proud of being called death.

I shuffled discreetly away from Achilles.

He shifted closer.

Swallowing a nervous scream (hysteria was a lifestyle), I asked, “So what do W and S stand for?”

Is it War and Sex still, or something else? Stifling and Weird?

Patro never answered because gunshots echoed loudly.

Splash.

The two cameramen slammed into the sea a few yards away, like they’d been thrown. They sputtered and struggled to stand up in the shallow water.

Kharon stalked in after them.

“Who else,” he bellowed, “knows about this location?” He pointed the gun down at their heads with one hand. With his other, he pulled out the wicked dagger from his holster.

The Spartan chasers babbled and cried as they pleaded for their lives, splashing about frantically.

Kharon drove the knife into one of the men’s legs—an ear-piercing scream echoed—then leaned over and said something, too low for us to hear.

The screams got louder.

Foster Mother shrieking.

Rubbing at my wrists, I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed roughly through my nose.

Pop. Pop.

Silence.

They were dead.

Achilles clapped slowly.

Not the time.

“What did they say?” Patro asked.

“That they were alone exploring, and they got lucky,” Kharon answered calmly as he stalked through the water toward us. “They said their boat is parked on the other side of the island. I’ll find it and get rid of it.”

“I could have questioned them,” Patro said. “You know, without all the stabbing.”

Kharon grunted. “Where would be the fun in that?” He spoke casually like he was discussing the weather, not the two men he’d just murdered in cold blood for taking a picture of me.

All three men laughed.

I took a step back, trying to separate myself from the three killers.

Kharon stepped closer. His white blouse was covered in gore, and locks of dark hair fell messily in his eyes.

He saw me looking and smiled with teeth, then he slowly licked the flat edge of his bloody dagger (that can’t be sanitary). Glacial blue eyes flashed with mania.

“Oh yes,” Nyx sighed dreamily on my neck. “He’d be a devoted lover.”

She needed an exorcism.

Kharon took a step toward me.

I took another step back.

“Scared, little girl?” He reholstered his weapons, powerful thighs flexing. “Or is our world too frightening for your delicate female sensibilities?” He laughed like he’d said something hilarious. “You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what you are.”

I shuddered with horror. What do you do when a monster wrongly thinks you’re also one?

Patro chuckled loudly, and Achilles’s eyes crinkled like he also found it funny.

I grabbed my wrist.

Neon-green lights flickering—the sputtering hum of electricity—an old metal roof—rope attached to a spike in the dirt.

A long moment passed.

The devil glanced down at where I cradled my hands protectively, and he clenched his sharp jaw.

Then he turned and stalked away, a slight limp in his gait.

Did he get injured?

BOOM.

Kharon disappeared in a billow of smoke, probably to go look for the dead men’s boat or go on a murderous rampage for fun. You could never tell these days.

“Poppae, Nero,” Patro called and pointed at the floating bodies. “Dinner.”

The animals sprinted through the water.

I turned away and walked numbly back into the house, turned the shower up to scalding with shaking fingers, and sat under the spray. Tears leaked out of my eyes.

When my fingers were pruny and the memories no longer tore my psyche apart, I crawled back into bed.

I lay awake eating for hours, as classical music played on the radio. Crickets and frogs sounded.

When the creaking noise started up again—this time, from outside—I looked around, heart racing with paranoia.

The lounge chair in the corner of my room was completely covered in shadows, even though moonlight lit the rest of the room. Did it just move?

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Long seconds passed as I stared at it, unblinking.

Nothing happened.

You’re losing it again. It’s just furniture. Calm your thoughts.

The creaking noise got louder, and it was unmistakable. Something was out there.

Moving cautiously, so I didn’t jostle Nyx, who was snoring beneath my pillow, I gave the corner a wide berth and tiptoed out the open deck door with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.

Water lapped peacefully at the rocks, and the moon was a glowing silver crescent.

An orchestra played gently behind me.

A few windows down, on a deck similar to mine, figures moved in the night.

I squinted through the shadows.

One dark figure was seated in a chair, and the other was—on the ground? The chair rocked back and hit against the railing with a creak. That was the noise.

A low guttural moan echoed.

Heavy masculine pants blended with the smooth music.

My eye slowly adjusted to the low light. The man in the chair had a muzzle wrapped around his face, and his hands were buried in . . . wavy hair.

Achilles held Patro’s face against his lap.

The son of Aphrodite was on his knees before the Son of War.

Hips jerked up off the chair, the creaking increased, and grunts became harder. Faster. There was a loud sucking noise.

Sweat streaked down my ribs.

The salty sea breeze filled my senses.

I shivered.

Achilles pulled Patro’s head back harshly, jerked his hips up so his manhood was outlined in the shadows, then he came.

Patro panted heavily. “Fuck,” he whispered, his usually smooth voice raspy. Liquid dripped off his cheeks.

I waited for him to get angry.

To do something, for being treated so . . . disrespectfully.

“Fuck, I love you,” Patro whispered, voice brimming with emotions. “So much.” He licked his lips, then nuzzled his face into the larger man’s lap.

Achilles stared down at him—chest heaving—and he cradled Patro’s head like he was precious as Achilles played with his hair. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe gently at Patro’s face.

“I love you more,” he signed slowly.

His actions were tender and delicate, a harsh contrast to his frantic thrusting.

There was something heartbreaking about the two of them. Something impossibly intimate.

Patro gazed up at Achilles with adoration.

The big man leaned over and rested his cheek against his forehead, like he wished he could give him a kiss.

“I love you so much,” Patro repeated hoarsely, arms wrapping around the other man’s waist.

Achilles nuzzled his head and played with his hair.

Quietly, I tiptoed back into my room, chest heaving, stomach twisting, as I struggled to understand what I’d just seen.

I face-planted onto the bed with my arms spread wide.

Soft music washed over me in a gentle hum.

“Nyx, I think I get what you mean,” I whispered into the covers. “About the violence being . . . romantic, and about the—devotion.”

There was no response.

Nyx slept peacefully.

Little did I know that statement would come to haunt me.

In ways I couldn’t even begin to fathom.

That night, I dreamed of a hand around my ankle, two skeletal monsters whispering to each other, and dark promises. In the background Charlie was shivering in a cardboard box, begging me to come home.

I woke up sobbing.