Blood of Hercules: Chapter 23

Kharon

“The doctor better be near death,” I called out to Augustus as I leaped into the dungeon. Smoke billowed at my feet.

Rage seethed dark and hot in my chest, and my vision warped in and out of focus as I kept activating my powers.

The urge to kill—everyone—burned me alive.

I’d left Hell and Hound back in the library; their broken bones would heal in about a day.

My poor darling was in a lot of pain.

So were the hellhounds.

My knuckles cracked as I fisted my hands. Alexis almost died on that mountain. A Titan almost tore her to shreds. We almost lost her. Forever.

I stalked forward, deeper into the dungeon.

Augustus was standing in the shadows, eyes gleaming with danger as he stared at the unmoving, mutilated carcass of the doctor.

His expression was vicious.

He’d dropped the mask of fake pleasantness that he always wore around Olympians.

On the other side of the spacious room, chains rattled, and a second man moaned in pain.

We both ignored the noise.

“Good work.” I stood beside Augustus and admired his kill. “I’ll scatter the doctor’s pieces so he can’t regenerate.”

“No!” Augustus shouted.

I turned to him in confusion.

“I want to—keep him for some time,” he said, voice sharp. “He doesn’t deserve a quick death. I want to make it hurt.” He vibrated with intensity.

I narrowed my eyes. “What did the doctor . . . tell you?”

“He did it on purpose. He wanted to see her chest.” Augustus spat onto the ground with disgust. “He said there are so few Spartan women to look at, so he wanted to fucking see. Imagine what he would have done if we weren’t there.”

My thoughts blanked.

Chains rattled.

Unthinking, I palmed my gun with my left hand. Pointed it at the far corner. Shot the other prisoner until he went still.

I didn’t feel any better.

The gun smoked in my hand, and the fury ate me alive.

“On the mountain,” I said quickly, needing to get the horrible realization off my chest. “There was a moment where I yelled at Alexis, and she . . . disappeared—just like I used to.”

Augustus went unnaturally still.

As I gasped for air, the twisted memories suffocated me, and my ruined leg throbbed.

“Someone hurt her,” I whispered as I clawed at the neck of my shirt with my right hand, popping buttons so I could breathe. “Badly. Very—fucking—badly.”

Diamonds scattered around the dungeon.

“I don’t know . . . about our plan,” I said as I waved the gun and tried to breathe. “If she’s been hurt before, maybe we should⁠—”

“The plan goes forward.” Augustus cut me off harshly. “It’s more reason for us to act quickly. She needs our protection, and we’ll fucking give it to her.”

I stood up straight, inhaling deeply.

Chains scraped against the floor in the corner, and there was a long pained moan.

“We will protect her,” I repeated, tightness loosening in my chest.

Just the idea of abandoning our scheme had caused me physical pain.

Staring at each other, we nodded.

Unspoken promises drifted between us.

Power was a dangerous game—but we were dangerous men. We knew exactly how to get what we wanted.

We knew what it took—audentes fortuna iuvat.

Fortune favors the bold.

Chains rattled. Without looking away from Augustus, I pointed my gun to the corner and unloaded until the prisoner finally shut the fuck up.

“The plan must go forward,” Augustus said, voice smooth as silk. “Sparta is on the line.”

“For—Sparta,” I said slowly, and Augustus’s eyes flashed with sinful satisfaction.

What we really meant was left unsaid.

It lingered between us, slow and poisonous, like nightshade.