Blood of Hercules: Chapter 18

Alexis

I dragged my feet over the rolling hills, a wraith of a woman, more dead than alive. Nyx was coiled asleep around my waist.

As a group, we headed toward the spires of the Dolomites Coliseum.

Lights glowed in three of the top arches—the symposium had already started.

The full moon cast strange shadows, and I shivered miserably at the biting autumn breeze.

Augustus (Satan) led at the front—he’d changed out of his toga, into a perfectly tailored black suit with ruby cuff links—and the seven of us followed him.

Titus, Leo, and Alessander whispered excitedly. Even stoic Cassius had a bounce to his step.

I hung back, shuffling wearily, as far away from Augustus as possible.

Blood trickled out of my nose, and I wiped it away furiously. Drex looked back at me with a concerned expression, and I waved him off with a forced smile.

As we trudged through the dark landscape, the hairs on the back of my neck prickled like I was being watched.

I rubbed at my wrists, left ear ringing.

I’m losing my mind.

By the time we crossed the fields and reached the coliseum, I was numb.

Vision blurring, I trudged up the ancient spiral staircase toward the top floor.

When we finally entered the symposium, I faltered.

My mind had been violated over comfy lounge chairs, a sleek bar top, roaring hearths, card games, and drinks.

Wood Corinthian colonnades, covered in gold foil at the top, were spaced out around the room.

Everyone was in business casual.

We were underdressed.

This is why he attacked me? This mundane-looking club.

I would have laughed, but it wasn’t funny.

Augustus walked in and greeted my mentors. Patro and Achilles laughed and smiled when they saw him (I assumed from how Achilles’s eyes crinkled that he was smiling).

Why is Augustus a nice guy to everyone but me?

When Patro saw me looking, he leaned forward and arched a mocking brow at me.

I stared back blankly.

When Augustus sat down, his suit jacket parted. His torso was covered in guns. He’s just pretending to be a professor. Remember, he’s in the Assembly of Death. He’s the oldest Chthonic heir. Don’t forget who he really is.

The reminder was chilling.

Poco climbed under the table and disappeared. Fangs flashed in the shadows at the three men’s feet.

Laughter boomed as they picked at a spread of cheeses, fish, and fruits.

Just Chthonics enjoying the disturbing ambiance of one another’s company.

Drex said something and followed the rest of the initiates to a table near Augustus. I went in the opposite direction.

Stumbling, I pushed past men speaking Latin with birds perched on their shoulders. Their eyes widened as they realized I was a girl, but none of them tried to stop me as I cut across the room.

An empty booth was hidden in the corner, covered in food.

Perfect.

Sinking into the leather, I scooted until I was completely swathed in shadows. Sinking as low as possible, I stared unseeing at the monotony that had spelled my demise. Nyx moved in her sleep, and I clung to her.

Augustus’s booth erupted yet again with rowdy laughter. I shifted so they were in my blind spot.

My cheeks flushed from the heated temperatures, my fingers and soul tingled as they slowly thawed.

You’re still alive. It’s okay. You’re going to survive this hellscape, get back to Charlie, and never see Augustus ever again.

Dark woods, rich leathers, and warm colors filled the room.

Whiskey and cigars filled my senses.

This is what Augustus called dangerous? He wouldn’t last a second in the trailer park.

In one corner, an average bartender served drinks to extraordinary men.

Across the room, a freshly polished grand piano gleamed in the firelight. A figure, hidden behind a colonnade, set up sheets of music, then started to play a mellow melody.

Men held their drinks up and bowed their heads to the pianist, then they clinked their glasses together and threw the contents back.

Dice were thrown.

Cards were played.

An heir tossed his head back as he laughed, laurel crown gleaming.

Turning away from the joyous scene, I picked at the platter of food, eyes closing with each savory bite as I tried to commit the flavors to memory.

Time passed. I lost myself in the luxury of food and music as I tried to forget about Augustus’s glowing crimson eyes.

My mind is my own. I shoved him out. He didn’t win. He won’t. I will survive.

I hummed softly in the back of my throat, and my eyes fluttered as I fought off sleep.

“Here she is, sir,” someone sneered.

Theros—Drex’s mentor and heir to the House of Zeus, also part-time egomaniac who could create a shield—gestured, with a golden vulture on his shoulder, from me to a Goliath of a man.

Then Theros bowed his head deeply, shot me a withering glare, and moved a discreet distance away.

“I’ve been looking for you,” the Goliath said, voice dripping with accusation. An oversize laurel crown glittered with jewels atop his head.

He was the only House leader at the symposium. From what I could tell, everyone else was heirs and mutts.

Sighing, I sat up and pulled my elbows off the table. So focused on eating, I’d forgotten about Augustus’s original message.

Electricity sparked as storm-gray eyes sized me up.

Zeus towered above me, firelight illuminating his famous features. A golden lion stood beside him with matching eyes.

I sank back into the shadows.

Without invitation, Zeus sat down in the booth, and I scrambled away so we were across from each other.

The lion bared its teeth threateningly and took a step back.

I made a face at it. Get in line—the cheetah hated me first. Its eyes narrowed as it slowly settled down onto its belly.

“So,” Zeus said without preamble, “you grew up in the human world?”

“Yep, I d-did.”

His eyes narrowed, brow furrowing. “Have you always had that stutter?”

There’d been a time—a hazy memory of peace—where words fell easily from my mouth, smooth and unbothered, but that was before the beatings had started. Long before I’d become who I was.

That time didn’t count.

“Yes.”

“Can you control it at all? Or do you always have it?” he asked judgmentally.

“I always have it.”

“Have you taken speech therapy, or worked on yourself?”

I ground my teeth together. “Nope.”

Funnily enough, speech therapy wasn’t an option for a poor orphan in the protected zones. Neither was food. Or shelter.

Zeus frowned. “Interesting.”

Is it really?

Awkward silence spread between us.

He grimaced and looked at something over my shoulder, unable to hold my gaze.

It was so darn predictable—my own blood found me lacking.

Father John said the only father that mattered was God. Charlie said we were better off without our birth parents, and he would have already signed at Zeus to get lost (with a lot more creative language).

I snickered at the thought.

Zeus’s frown deepened. Lines creased golden skin, which shone a lighter shade of mine.

I ate the last piece of meat off the plate before he could take it.

Gray eyes sharpened. “Are you eating enough? Why are you so skinny? My stock are usually built strong and wide, not so⁠—”

“Tall?” I offered as he said, “Wimpy.”

I choked on the food.

The man before me had never hidden food vouchers in a cardboard box while counting down the days until he could eat, and it showed.

He raised a golden brow. “Why are you like this?” His nose wrinkled with disgust.

He waited for an answer.

Oh, it’s not a rhetorical question? Rude.

“No clue,” I lied, dragging the cheese knife across the plate so I could get the leftover bits.

Phantom pain shot in my wrists. Old cigarette burns ached on my torso.

Zeus’s lips pursed as he watched the knife scrape loudly.

I sucked on it and glared.

He took one long-suffering breath, then pulled at his diamond cuff links and sat up straighter.

“You’ll need etiquette lessons after the crucible,” he said.

He spoke like it was a foregone conclusion, my survival and my need to learn the rules of high society.

I grunted eloquently.

“However, I’m not surprised about your test scores,” Zeus said, either unaware of my body language or uncaring. “The House of Zeus is known as one of the brightest Houses for a reason, that a . . . mutt like you could score so high is a further testament to our genius. You should be proud.”

Our genius? When did this become a group project?

Zeus smiled widely, eyes glinting with excitement. “All of Sparta is talking about the first female mutt in centuries, who beats the other initiates—with her fists and her scores.”

My knife clattered.

I do what?

Golden curls shook as Zeus puffed up his chest. “Keep this up and there will most certainly be a place for you in our House. Who knows”—he grinned—“I might just train you alongside my heir.”

He must be really desperate for children.

In my peripheral vision, Theros whipped his head around, posture straightening, mouth opening with indignation. His golden vulture glared.

“Maybe,” I said, neutrally. “Or maybe n-not,” I muttered under my breath.

The man across from me was a stranger.

He couldn’t even look at me, let alone see me.

“Good.” Zeus clapped his hands and stood up.

His lion followed suit, growling.

“Bad kitty,” I whispered.

It snapped at the air.

I rolled my eyes. I’d always been more of a dog person anyway.

“It’s interesting. You have my eye for sure,” Zeus said as he tapped his knuckles on the tabletop to get my attention. “But I don’t remember a woman with heterochromia . . . or eyes so—black.” He tapped below his right eye.

Flickering green lights—broken glass—repeated blows to the face.

I rubbed at my wrists. “How strange.”

“It is,” Zeus agreed without inflection. “Keep up the good work. I recommend the soup—you can never go wrong with a good soup, if ya know what I mean.” He winked and chortled.

I squinted with confusion. How is soup funny?

He walked away, his lion trailing, head turned back with its hackles raised. Theros ran up to his side and spoke frantically, waving his hands. They were built wide, with heavy muscle mass, but I was taller than both of them.

Men bowed low as Zeus passed. The room focused on him.

A god among gods.

I wrapped a hand around my bicep, grimaced as my fingers touched. Hair ties covered bony wrists. “C+A” stood out stark and squiggly against my dirt-streaked forearm.

It was strange; I’d never worried about what I looked like before. I’d been too concerned with making sure Charlie and I didn’t starve to death.

For the first time, I felt . . . ugly.

Inadequate.

“Fuck that douche,” Nyx said, her tongue flickering across my cheek. “He has his own head so far up his ass he can’t see greatness when it’s staring at him.”

I laughed wetly, wiping my eyes, knowing she had to say that as my best friend.

My fingers came back pink.

“I hate this place,” I whispered. “I wish I was just a stupid human, living in a cardboard box. It was easier back then.”

Nyx nuzzled her head against the side of my face. “If it makes you feel any better, kid, I also wish we were back in the forest.”

Sighing, I rubbed my finger through the berry juice left on the plate and sucked on it.

“Screw these men,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Nyx said enthusiastically. “Fuck them. Give me the signal, and I’ll bite them all of them into comas. It will be my pleasure.”

I laughed, and for the first time all night, I felt like I could breathe.

“You’re not allowed to fall asleep ever again,” I whispered to Nyx. “Things got rough out here.”

“No,” she gasped. “What happened? Give me all the tea.”

Grinning despite it all, I retold the tale of Augustus butchering my mind, like it was exciting and not deeply traumatic.

Nyx oohed and aahed appropriately.

Then she told me the mysterious Montana plague (which became a national news story on the radio and hit the trailer park when I was six) was really her biting all the neighbors who were mean to me. I prayed she was joking, but I feared she wasn’t.

Still, I laughed (panic cackled) along with her because that was what friends did.

The room buzzed with conversation.

Drinks flowed.

The piano music was bright and airy.

And then, just when the despair had leached away, the fireplaces went out in a dramatic whoosh.

The room was dead silent.

Darkness reigned.

Low lights flicked on. Embedded in the floorboards, they cast everything in shades of crimson. Men smiled and leaned back in their chairs with anticipation.

A hauntingly seductive melody began to play.

Then . . .

They came out.

The sirens.

Beautiful men and women sauntered into the room, clothed only in their shimmering naked skin. More breathtaking than the supermodels in vintage magazines.

Even in the muted light, their hair sparkled like diamonds.

Pastel eyes dazzled in shades of colors I’d never dreamed could exist.

Their faces had symmetry beyond compare, and their bodies were sculpted curves that only a master artist could imagine.

Each siren who sauntered out from the back room was somehow more perfectly unique than the last.

Dozens of the ethereal creatures spilled into the room.

Spartans leaned toward the sirens, eyes greedily tracking as they spun sensually around the space.

They were thoroughly enraptured.

Hypnotized with lust.

Nyx slid around my neck to get a better view, and I stroked her warm scales.

A laugh bubbled in my throat.

The irony was undeniable: I was literally falling apart while angels spun around me.

Oh, to be a siren, dancing in a symposium in front of adoring Spartan men.

Some moments punched the breath from your lungs and dragged you through the mud, reminding you why life sucked. Other moments stole your air in a glittering swirl and reminded you why life was magical.

This was the latter.

It was art.

And then—it wasn’t.

A Spartan wrapped his arm around a female siren’s waist and pulled her to his lap. His tongue dragged across her throat, and she tipped her head back with a grin, expression changing to ecstasy as he licked across her nipples.

I blinked in shock.

A different Spartan fell out of his chair, knees hitting the ground and expensive suit jacket pulling tight as he crawled across the floor to a male siren with his mouth wide open, and he . . . Oh wow.

The energy shifted.

As if a switch had been flipped, the sirens and Spartans collided in carnal abandon.

I sank lower into my booth, grateful for the darkness.

Face flushing.

Across the room, in dim red light, a siren male and female crawled over the laps of my fellow initiates. The boys hastily pulled off their togas as the two creatures licked and sucked at their exposed skin.

I quickly looked away.

Mental note—buy bleach and drink it. Also, never look Maximum in the eye ever again.

A Spartan pulled off his pants a few feet away from me (help), then pressed himself against a female siren who shivered with delight and opened her legs.

A male siren joined, and the amorous trio fell onto the floor in a tangle of thrusts and limbs.

Averting my gaze from the aggressive copulation occurring at my feet (that could not be sanitary) I accidentally looked over at where my mentors sat—Patro and Achilles were in the booth, but Augustus had disappeared somewhere.

He’s probably naked with a group of Sirens right now. I fought the irrational urge to look around for him.

In contrast, my mentors were the only Spartans I’d seen who were completely ignoring the sirens.

Maybe romance isn’t dead?

Achilles looked up—vermilion eyes locked with mine—and Patro turned his head to see what Achilles was staring at.

My heart skipped a beat.

Patro smirked, then he turned back around and dragged his tongue possessively across Achilles’s throat. He licked at the edge of where skin met muzzle.

I blushed and looked down.

When I glanced back, they were both laughing at me.

Patro blew me a mocking kiss, then winked and lowered his head to Achilles’s lap. My blush became a full-body flush, and this time, I kept my eyes averted.

The problem was there was nowhere safe to look.

A sea of naked bodies engaged in obscenities.

Everyone was jiggling in ways I never could have imagined.

“Look away, kid.” Nyx coiled around my head, covering my eyes. “You’re too innocent for this.”

I tugged her back down to my neck.

“Oh, please,” I whispered. “I’m gonna be twenty soon.”

Nyx shuddered. “Kid—you keep flinching every time you see a penis.”

“Well,” I said. “Have you seen them? They’re horrifying.”

“I’m looking at one right now,” Nyx hissed. “Unfortunately.”

We both recoiled as a Spartan in a laurel-wreath crown walked butt naked by our table, family jewels swinging.

We need to bring back people having shame.

“Is it supposed to curve to the left like that?” I whispered.

Nyx made a choking noise. “I don’t know. Do I look like a penis expert to you?”

We both grumbled, overwhelmed by the sheer imagery of the room. I racked my (traumatized) brain for a safe conversation topic.

“What are those people doing?” I asked as I pointed at where male and female sirens, as well as a few Spartans, were crawling naked across the top of the piano.

“I think they’re—trying to seduce the musician,” Nyx said. “And failing.”

We both gaped.

The pianist was still mostly hidden behind the thick colonnade next to his bench. He was nothing but a flash of wide shoulders and a dark suit.

Whatever he looked like, he had the room going feral.

A Spartan crawled beneath the piano and was kicked away. A female siren sidled up next to the bench and was shoved off. A male siren lay exposed on the piano top (points for creativity) and was ignored.

“The pianist is probably just one of those asexuals,” Nyx said. “Like spiders.”

I pursed my lips and narrowed my eyes. “Do you mean—arachnids?”

“Exactly,” she hissed.

Overall, I would not classify us as doing well.

“I think this is rock bottom,” I whispered.

The trio on the floor stood up, naked bits on full display, and then began aggressively doing it against a wooden pillar less than a foot away.

“I agree,” Nyx said. “This is a new low.”

A manic chuckle burst from my lips.

The female siren pulled away from her two lovers and pointed at me.

“I think she’s laughing at us,” she said to the male siren, who nodded before falling back to the floor with the male.

“We were just talking about . . .” Damn you, Nyx, for being invisible. I looked even more crazy than I was.

“Uh, sorry.” I held up both my hands like I was at gunpoint. “I wasn’t laughing at you, just the s-situation in general.”

I pointed at a Spartan’s penis as he walked past, just so there were no doubts what the situation was.

“Oh,” the female siren said. “No worries, honey.”

“Oh, I’m not worried.” I waved my hand dismissively as the two men moaned loudly at her feet.

I’ve never been more worried.

She smiled and opened her mouth, then her eyes widened, and she froze. Long seconds passed, and she didn’t move.

I looked around awkwardly.

Before I could find out why she was freaking out, she lunged forward and grabbed my face.

Stranger danger. Stranger danger. Someone who is not naked, please help.

Pastel eyes stared deeply into mine, and her fingers trembled where they cupped my cheeks.

Wait—are we falling in love?

“You can . . . understand what I’m saying?” she whispered in awe.

Never mind.

“Uh, yeah? Can you understand me?” I asked as I tried to tug out of her grasp.

She pulled me closer.

“You’re a Spartan?” she asked.

“Y-Yeah.” I tugged harder, neck straining. She held me immobile. How strong is this woman?

She flung her head back, long silky hair sparkling, and then—she burst into tears. “I’ve”—gasp—“always”—gasp—“wanted to be able to”—gasp—“talk to someone in Sparta.” Falling onto my lap, she convulsed with sobs (still very naked).

I didn’t do it.

I patted her back awkwardly. “Let it out, s-sister.”

She cried harder.

In my defense, it was my first time dealing with a randomly sobbing woman. I’d never had a sister.

“Uh—Alexis,” Nyx said. “When did you learn to speak siren?”

“I don’t speak siren,” I said in a duh tone, grimacing as three sirens and two Spartans started having (aggressive) sex in the booth across from us.

Nyx tightened around my neck like she was reeling back. “Then how the heck are you speaking to a siren right now?”

My hand stilled as I stared down at the crying woman languishing naked on my lap.

“I can speak siren?” I asked.

Oh my god. Augustus said they only speak one unique language. It was why they were subjugated by Spartans.

“And you can speak to me . . .,” Nyx said slowly. “Do you know what this means, kid?”

I narrowed my eyes. “I’m trilingual?”

Nyx hissed, fangs snapping the air. “It means you’ve found your power—you can talk to sentient creatures.”

“But my brain doesn’t feel . . . euphoric?” I pursed my lips. “Like it’s supposed to.”

To be fair, there was still blood seeping out of it, so that might not be helping.

Also, if I had to classify my mental state, it would be—depressed, with a smidge (immense amount) of anxiety.

“You’re probably just a little messed up in the head.” Nyx sighed heavily. “Honestly—I always thought it was weird that you could talk to me.”

I reeled back. “And you didn’t say anything?”

Nyx tightened around my neck. “Well, I’m saying something now.”

“Nine years later,” I said indignantly.

The table shook from the force of the thrusts occurring in the adjacent booth, and the siren sobbed harder on my lap.

I grimaced as I patted her head.

This is getting weird.

“Uh—madam, do you need anything?” I asked the siren. “Water, a shirt? Pants?”

Watery pastel eyes peered up at me. “I’m good. Thank you for caring about me. You’re so gracious and beautiful.”

I made a face.

“What is she saying to you?” Nyx asked curiously.

“That I’m—gracious, and beautiful?”

“Hmmm,” Nyx said skeptically. “Are you sure you can understand her?”

I slapped at her, but she dodged. “I’m pretty sure,” I said. “I know when someone is telling me I’m beautiful—it doesn’t happen often.”

“Is this a cry for help?” Nyx asked. “Are you not coping well?”

I didn’t respond.

A smile split my cheeks wide.

This was really happening.

Laughter exploded from my lips.

I’m not powerless.

Tears of happiness streamed down my face.

I will never be powerless ever again. I know what I am.

Happiness shimmered inside my soul, and I hugged Nyx tight, kissing her invisible head as she struggled.

This was just the beginning.

“Want to play a game?” the siren asked as she abruptly lifted off my lap, still crying as she spoke, which was very relatable.

I opened my mouth to say no, then remembered I had nothing to lose. I was here, and I was powerful.

“Sure,” I said, and we grinned at each other. “I’ll play.”

The pianist missed a key.