Bonds of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #2) — Chapter no 29

29

OPENING CEREMONIES & GORE

ALEXIS

“The historic Spartan Gladiator Competition showcases Chthonic power.”

Zeus’s voice projected, sparks dancing across his lips as he stood before the

altar, his arms raised.

The stadium roared.

Olympian leaders glared behind him in their line.

Kharon scoffed on my left. “It’s a humiliation ritual,” he muttered under his breath, his thumb still stroking my neck.

Augustus’s nails dug into my lower back as he flexed his fingers.

He’d tried to rebuild his calm facade, but it wasn’t as convincing as before—cracks were showing. His eyes shone a little too brightly, his expression a little too sharp.

It was almost as if his headaches had stifled him, and now that he was pain free, his true nature was breaking free.

“This year there are thirteen Assembly of Death competitors,” Zeus said, looking over each of us. “Per tradition—we will have a thirteen-day contest starting tomorrow. One day for each Chth …” His gaze stopped on Drex, and he grimaced, like he’d forgotten about him. “Contestant.”

Drex tilted his chin up high like he was unaffected, but his face paled.

“Thirteen days of Spartan showmanship with no guns allowed,” Zeus continued with a golden smile. “Spartans, knives, and protectors only … just as our ancestors fought on these sacred sands. This is our modern ode

to them.”

I shivered.

Only thirteen days?

From the way everyone talked about the competition, and the snippets of extreme bloodshed that played on the Spartan Lifestyle Page, I’d assumed it

would be a month-long affair.

One day.

I just had to survive a single day.

Easy, you can do this.

Zeus rambled on about honor, violence, and the pride of showing off Spartan power.

Kharon and Augustus glanced down at me, faces twisted with concern— I’d subconsciously grabbed both their arms and pulled them closer to me— with a deep breath, I forced my fingers to relax.

“Don’t,” Kharon whispered under his breath. “Don’t stop touching me …

please.”

I retightened my grip.

His jaw worked back and forth, and he was staring down at me like a

starving man, eyes smoldering.

My heart sped up.

We were standing in front of the powerful Spartan leaders who ruled the world, preparing to compete in what was rumored to be the most dangerous competition on earth, and my husbands were eye fucking me.

My face flushed.

Are there support groups for perverts?

Augustus’s dark lashes fanned across his tan skin. “Are you okay, my

carus?”

I nodded.

Nyx slithered up from where she’d been sleeping on my leg, and tightened around my arm. “You should have sex with them already—it’s

getting weird.”

No, it’s been weird.

Feeling exposed—and like a deviant with a man problem (both were true) —I tried to ignore my husbands, but their hands on my neck and lower back were like brands.

The sun sank fully behind the mountains.

“We will now begin the ceremony—” Zeus paused, and torches lit with a whooshing sound throughout the arena “—with the revelations of the victors and reading of the labors.”

I jumped as claps echoed thunderously all around.

“Labors?” I whispered.

Augustus leaned down. “The number of labors is how many competitors we have to face during our fight—we all fight once, but the more labors you get … the more rounds you have to survive. The rounds get progressively

harder, physically and mentally.”

Oh, how wonderous.

This entire experience (my life) was becoming increasingly more unfortunate.

Maybe I should just leap away. How bad can treason and imprisonment really be? Guilt hit me. Ceres would beg to differ.

Zeus pulled a small velvet pouch out of his coat pocket and dumped two gold dice onto the altar.

“We welcome Ajax of the illustrious House of Hermes, this year’s honorable enforcer.” Zeus pointed to a guard wearing a small laurel crown.

Ajax stepped forward, rainbow peacock crest sparkling on the lapel of his black suit as he stepped up beside the altar.

Why do they need an enforcer?

Fate put on a pair of purple reading glasses, and held her clipboard out.

“Will the Chthonic leaders please step forward?” Her voice boomed around the stadium. The tenor was even more commanding than Zeus’s.

The crowd quieted.

Hades, Artemis, Erebus, Aphrodite, and Ares stepped forward and slowly sauntered as a group up to the other side of the altar.

“Per tradition,” Zeus said as he held up a die, showing off the five dots.

“As there are five of you, do you each accept your labors—will you each fight against five adult Cyclopes?”

“We do,” Hades said calmly, fog swirling around his feet.

Augustus leaned down again and whispered in my ear, “The leaders always fight five Cyclopes to start the competition. They’re so powerful

that it’s more ceremonial than anything else.”

I nodded up at him, grateful he was giving me some context.

Hades had planned on giving me a debrief of the SGC the week before the competition, but that was before the accelerated timeline.

“Now—their revelations!” Zeus spread his arms wide, face up to the sky.

I looked up at Augustus for an explanation, but he was staring at Kharon with a nervous, worried expression.

Purple eyes flashed as Fate tapped her clipboard. “Artemis.”

Artemis smirked. She grabbed the V-neck of her toga, turned in a circle so everyone in the stadium could see, and … ripped the material wide, exposing the bare, unblemished skin of her sternum.

Scarlet mist glittered around her in a dangerous shimmer.

“Revelation,” Zeus announced. “Zero defeats.”

Artemis looked smug as she tied the ripped top of her toga so it covered her chest, and walked back to stand in our line, a haughty sneer on her face.

“Ares,” Fate called out.

The infamous leader of the House of War stepped up and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Folding it neatly, he placed it on the altar, then deftly unbuttoned his white shirt and shrugged out of it.

His head was shaved down the middle, and the crimson rings around his irises flared. Layers of bronze skin rippled as he slowly turned in a circle.

Long jagged scars slashed across his lower back and the thick ridges of his stomach, matching the scar across his lips.

“Revelation—zero defeats!” Zeus shouted.

Hades was called forward, and he also shrugged out of his suit jacket. I looked away, because I didn’t want to be scarred for life, and Zeus

announced he also had zero defeats.

“Erebus!” Fate yelled.

Kharon stiffened, his grip tightening around my neck.

Erebus stepped up to the altar, his mask gleaming menacingly in the golden light of dusk.

He parted his cloak, revealing combat pants and a plain black T-shirt. He was probably the only person in the stadium not dressed in ceremonial clothes.

Erebus gripped the neck of his shirt and ripped down.

The stadium gasped.

Every inch of Erebus’s pale lithe torso was covered in old and new raised claw marks. It looked like he’d been attacked by hundreds of wolves, repeatedly.

“Revelation.” Zeus cleared his throat like he was composing himself as he stared at Erebus warily. “Zero … defeats.”

Erebus turned swiftly, cloak parted, ripped shirt fluttering off his ruined torso as he stalked back to the line.

Between the claw marks and bone mask, I understood why the poster of him on Helen’s wall said, “Beware: this creature is more beast than man.”

“Look at me—over here, Erebus!” Nyx hissed loudly as she slid invisibly along my arm. “Stay sexy, you absolute monster.” She made a seductive clicking sound that would haunt my nightmares, and I whimpered.

Kharon looked down at me, and I shrugged, because a little male

harassment never hurt anybody.

Womanhood was complicated.

Men could never understand the lifestyle.

“Aphrodite,” Fate called.

The stadium fell unnaturally quiet as everyone collectively held their breath and stared at her with rapt attention. Olympians and creatures alike.

Aphrodite’s curvy figure was clothed in a diamond-covered silk toga.

Augustus covered his eyes with his right hand. That’s his mother. It was easy to forget.

Unlike Artemis, Aphrodite didn’t rip the neck of her toga.

She lifted her long ruby-covered braids—they tinkled as the gems clacked together—and exposed her graceful neck.

Poseidon licked his lips; Athena’s eyes widened; Zeus stared across the altar at her like he was possessed; Hera’s face twisted with malice.

With every eye on her, Aphrodite slowly spun in a circle. Long lashes fluttered and her electric green eyes practically glowed. She pulled one silk sash of her toga off her shoulder; it slipped across her arm.

Somehow, the silence got quieter.

Another silk sash was removed.

The top of her toga fluttered down, exposing dark unblemished skin and a dozen sparkling diamond necklaces, nestled between the most impressive cleavage I’d ever seen.

I blinked, and Aphrodite was covered, the sashes of her toga once again concealing her chest.

She blew a kiss to the crowd—there was a commotion in the stands as men and women, creatures and Spartans, passed out.

“Um.” Zeus coughed, looking extremely flustered. “No defeats … I mean zero … uh, revelations.”

Hera scowled at Aphrodite, as she glared at Zeus and glided back toward our line, her hips sashaying beneath silk.

All eight Olympian leaders watched her hungrily.

“Now that is a woman,” Nyx sighed dreamily. “Are you sure you went through puberty?”

“Everyone is beautiful in their own way,” I mumbled under my breath.

Nyx’s scales slid smoothly against my skin as she slithered around my arm. “Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

I huffed.

Nyx sighed. “Ugly people can be so sensitive.”

Everyone is beautiful in their own way, I repeated to myself.

Zeus raised his hands again and announced, “The younger, weaker Chthonic contestants will now reveal their scar status and be assigned their number of labors.” He said weaker like he was making a threat.

“Agatha!” Fate announced.

Agatha stood tall, hands clasped together behind her back, as she walked up to the altar like she was walking toward the gallows.

“Empusa scum!” someone shouted and the crowd laughed.

Zeus stared at her expectantly.

Ajax took a menacing step toward her, his hands raised. “Expose your sternum,” he demanded.

Agatha ripped her toga and revealed the top of her pale chest—she had two detailed circular scars on her flesh.

They looked familiar.

Kharon’s grip on my neck tightened painfully.

“Revelations—” Zeus shouted, sparks jumping off his lips. “She has been dishonored by two of her labors.”

A few boos echoed from the crowd. Hateful comments were screamed about her heritage.

Augustus leaned close and whispered, “They brand you with a Vulcan stamp. The metal is specially designed to scar any immortal.”

My stomach rolled as I glanced over at Kharon’s stoic face.

Agatha pulled her toga back together, holding the ripped parts closed with her hands as she held her head high.

Zeus picked up the two dice. “This SGC, Agatha will face …” He threw the dice onto the altar.

Agatha stared down, her expression paling.

“FIVE LABORS!” Zeus shouted and the stadium clapped and hollered.

“TWO rounds in the arena.”

Augustus rubbed my lower back. “If you roll four or fewer adversaries,” he whispered against the shell of my ear, “then you have to survive one round in the arena. If you roll more than four, you have two rounds. If you roll more than eight …” He grimaced. “Three rounds.”

Agatha stalked back to the line.

“Unlike the leaders, our competitors are a surprise,” Augustus continued to whisper. “Their labors are for show—ours are for punishment … and

humiliation.”

“How long is a r-round?”

Kharon leaned close. “Until you defeat your labors,” he said darkly. “Or they defeat you.”

“So, if you’re defeated, it just … ends?” I asked.

Kharon gripped my neck tighter, his eyes hardening. “It doesn’t end until you drag your broken body out of the arena and—”

“And then they brand you,” Augustus said quietly.

“What if … you can’t leave the arena?”

Kharon and Augustus stood up straighter and refused to meet my eyes.

This is barbaric.

“Hermos.”

He walked forward calmly. A single snake trailed out of his head like hair, rattling, as he ripped open his shirt, showcasing multiple brands.

“Revelations—he has been dishonored by six of his labors,” Zeus shouted

as he rolled the two dice.

The crowd held its breath.

“One round,” Zeus announced. “Three labors.”

The crowd booed with disappointment. “Snake scum!” someone screamed. “Abomination. Your kind isn’t wanted in Sparta!”

Hermos smiled as he walked back to the line and Agatha grinned at him.

There was a one in eighteen chance of rolling a three with two dice.

Lucky.

“Patro,” Fate said.

My mentor sauntered lazily across the sand.

At the altar, he slowly opened his shirt, and everyone stared enraptured.

The Olympian leaders leaned forward like they were all trying to get a

better look.

He truly was his mother’s son.

Patro casually revealed his impressive, muscled physique—he appeared as if he was carved from bronze, the statue of David in the flesh—and showed off a single circular mark in the middle of his chest, right over his

heart.

The dice clattered across marble.

“Revelations—he has been dishonored by one of his labors.” Zeus’s lips twitched into a frown. “One round—two labors!”

The crowd clapped.

Another lucky roll.

Catcalls echoed as people whooped and hollered, begging him to look in

their direction.

Achilles relaxed with visible relief.

Patro shot me a smug grin when he was within earshot. “Enjoy your time with your husbands,” he mocked. “I hope you don’t regret your choice.”

I nodded back, too nervous to engage, and Patro looked bewildered.

Achilles glared over at me as he ripped his shirt open, buttons popping and falling to the sand, then he stalked toward the marble altar.

“Revelations—” Zeus announced. “Zero defeats.”

The stadium cheered, and everyone got to their feet. “Achilles … Achilles

… Achilles” was chanted all around.

The people’s hero.

As Achilles stood tall, glowering at Zeus and awaiting his fate, Hera openly fanned herself while Apollo admired his exposed chest.

Is everyone in Sparta a pervert?

I was starting to sense a theme.

Zeus threw down the dice, electricity sparking off his fingers onto the table.

An evil smile curled his lips. “EIGHT LABORS!” Zeus shouted and the stands erupted. “TWO rounds in the arena … without his muzzle.” The

cheers were thunderous.

Sharp feedback pierced my left ear.

Achilles turned around to walk back to the line, open shirt fluttering to reveal a thin trail of dark hair over the deep grooves of his stomach.

“Yep, that’s my type,” Nyx hissed unhelpfully.

Achilles’s eyes met mine—they narrowed with malice.

From the disdain wafting off him, he wasn’t happy with my choice to stay with my husbands, and he wasn’t going to be getting over it soon.

I leaned into Kharon’s touch.

Fate tapped her clipboard. “Drex!” she called out.

There was a smattering of applause and a buzz of conversation. From the sound of it, Sparta didn’t know what to make of an Olympian mutt competing in the SGC.

With clumsy fingers, Drex unbuttoned his shirt and showed off the unmarked skin of his chest, face flaming red.

Zeus grimaced as he rolled the dice. “One round—two labors!” There

was relief in his voice.

Thank God. An extremely lucky roll.

I exhaled and so did Drex.

“Kharon.”

My left side went cold as he disappeared, his hand falling away.

As he prowled toward the altar, the crowd quieted.

Kharon ripped off his shirt—revealing his tattooed, mutilated chest.

He turned in a circle with his hands wide, face apathetic.

The stadium fell dead silent.

Zeus cleared his throat, eyeing Kharon like he was a wild animal that might attack at any moment. “Revelations—he has been dishonored by …

eleven of his labors.”

Kharon bared his teeth.

Augustus’s stubble brushed across the side of my face. “In Kharon’s first games,” he whispered, barely audible, “he was just eighteen and hadn’t come into his full powers … He drew eleven labors … the most anyone has

ever faced—they were all Minotaurs.”

I jerked with shock.

What?

Kharon smirked—he appeared completely impervious to the Olympians’ judgment—but I could feel the pain radiating up his leg in hot waves.

An image of a younger him, defeated, crawling through the sand away from monsters, flashed inside my mind.

He deserved so much better.

The dice rolled. “One round … three labors,” Zeus said, his frustration evident.

There was a smattering of nervous applause.

Kharon stalked back toward me with piercing pain streaking up his leg and his tattered shirt fluttering.

When he made it back, he buried his shaking hand at the base of my head, fingers tangling roughly in my curls as he breathed deeply to steady

himself.

“Fuck the Olympians,” he whispered.

I nodded. “Screw all of them.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile.

Augustus’s name was called and he casually untucked his shirt and undid the buttons as he walked forward with a pleasant, calm expression.

His posture was relaxed.

He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Revelations—” Zeus shouted. “Zero defeats.”

Sparta cheered loudly.

People stood up and clapped as they chanted his name.

The Olympian leaders smiled at Augustus as he spun lazily in a circle, showcasing the unblemished tan skin of his chiseled chest.

He wasn’t just the Chthonic golden boy—everyone loved him.

Augustus’s black, soul-consuming eyes locked on mine as he turned, and they radiated danger.

How did he deceive them all into thinking this version of him is real? The hostile, depraved glint in his eyes was unmistakable.

Couldn’t they see it was all an act?

Zeus stared down at the altar. “Two rounds—six labors!” The crowd

cheered louder.

I felt sick.

Augustus sauntered back over to us, his expression affable. The shirt hanging open revealing the deep grooves of his Adonis belt was slightly distracting.

I blushed as his hand settled on my lower back, fingers splaying possessively.

“Our last competitor,” Zeus announced with a smirk.

“Hercules!” Fate called.

Once again, the crowd fell silent.

It took me a second to remember—that was me.

I walked quickly toward the altar—Zeus’s gray-eyed stare was intense— Ceres’s warning washed over me.

I bumped against the edge of the altar and stumbled back.

The weight of everyone’s stares was suffocating; the quiet was

oppressive.

Zeus cleared his throat.

“Expose your sternum.” A voice growled to my left and I jumped as Ajax appeared in my blind spot.

It was strange being slightly taller than a man, since I was used to looking up at Chthonics; I’d forgotten that I was a large woman.

It was a nice reminder.

Stepping away from Ajax, I pulled at the high neck of my toga. Right. I

just needed to show my clavicle. Easy.

The fabric didn’t budge.

“Fuck.” Swearing under my breath, I tugged, but my clammy hands slipped across the silk, which was surprisingly durable.

Of course I’d get the toga made with exquisite craftsmanship.

Dear God, why do you keep doing this to me?

“You can do it,” Nyx hissed encouragingly. “Just tense your core and rip.”

Face flaming with heat, I pulled harder and nothing happened. Panic and embarrassment were an inferno inside my sternum.

This was hell.

I stared down at the layers of my toga and started to pull my arm from a sleeve. I just needed to get a different angle.

RIPPPPP.

It took me a second to process that hands were violently holding the top

of my toga open.

Air blew across my stomach.

Ajax held the torn fabric, exposing the lacy pink bra I’d borrowed from Helen all the way down to the bow on the top of my underwear.

His knuckles were pressed against my exposed chest.

“Release me,” I said.

Ajax snarled something in my face, but I couldn’t hear it over the rushing in my ears—I grabbed at the silk, roughly pulling it from his hands.

The dice clattered across the altar. Wait, why are they sparking with

electricity?

“THREE ROUNDS—TWELVE LABORS!”

Zeus’s voice was like a gunshot in the too-quiet coliseum.

What?

Ajax said something and stepped toward me, but I couldn’t hear him over

the whooshing in my ears.

He reached for me.

I raised my fist to throw a punch, twisting my hips for power and—

Ajax’s neck snapped to the side.

My fist hung suspended in midair.

Kharon was holding Ajax’s twisted head—he threw the limp body down —Ajax’s skull hit the side of the altar with a loud crack. Augustus moved in front of me protectively.

“Oopsie,” Kharon said. “My bad. I slipped.”

The crowd screamed.

“I’ve always liked that Karen man,” Nyx hissed sarcastically as she slithered around my shoulders.

Hermes lunged at Kharon, but Hera held him back.

“Oh please,” Kharon said as he gestured to Ajax’s crumpled body. “He’ll be fine … He dishonored my wife—he’s lucky I didn’t decapitate him.”

He kicked Ajax.

Something cracked.

“I slipped again,” Kharon drawled.

I hunched over with my hands on my knees, and Augustus gently grabbed my chin and tilted my head up. “Alexis, breathe. You’re going to be okay, darling—we’ll make sure of it. Everything is fine.”

“It was a statistically unusual event,” I said with a gasp, needing Augustus to understand. The mathematical odds were truly devastating.

There was a one in thirty-six chance of rolling a twelve, which meant there was less than a 0.05 chance.

Ceres was right about Zeus. I saw the dice spark.

Also, Kharon just snapped a man’s neck.

Nothing was fine.

“THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” Hades shouted as he stalked across the sand toward Zeus. His Chthonic eyes were bloody, and fog pulsed angrily around him. “My daughter cannot face twelve fucking labors.”

I’d never heard him swear before.

Persephone jumped over the edge of the stadium, landing gracefully. She sprinted toward the altar, her hand raised, finger pointing at Zeus.

“Fix this!” she screamed.

Zeus held his hands up in a surrender gesture. “I agree! This is wrong—I would never want my niece to have to face this.”

He’s such a liar.

“Roll it again,” Persephone demanded as she came to a stop beside Hades, who was now covered fully in rolling inky fog. “Now.”

“I would.” Zeus’s expression was pleading as he looked between them.

“But it’s written into the laws of Sparta—you both know I can’t. I swear I want to. The odds … This is horrible.”

Déjà vu washed over me as my parents argued with Zeus in the middle of the stadium.

Ceres said the best plans were simple—ours was one of deception, not force.

I needed to get Zeus alone, and I needed to get him to talk. That meant he couldn’t suspect that I knew what he’d done. I wasn’t completely sure about the details, but I had a growing suspicion.

However, entrapment was easier said than done.

Twelve labors.

I’ll die on the sands.

Ceres was waiting for me back in the villa, and she believed in me.

With visceral terror pounding through me, I stood tall. “Zeus is right!”

My voice rang, strong and clear.

Zeus turned slowly. “I … am?”

Everyone looked at me.

I needed to play the naive idiot, one last time.

“I’ll be fine.” I stared at Hades and Persephone, mentally pleading with them to trust me one more time. “I’ve been training—I’ll face the labors, all … twelve.”

“Are you sure?” Zeus asked, his gray eyes wide with what looked like concern.

I forced myself to act casual. “I can handle him … I mean them.”

Zeus’s expression didn’t change, but the corner of his mouth twitched down like he was confused. For the first time, he looked unsure.

Persephone nodded as she studied my face—she saw through me in a way that only a mother could. She grabbed Hades’s arm and whispered in

his ear.

Murmurs erupted in the stadium.

I widened my shoulders.

Nyx hissed, “Oh, now this is going to be fun.”

No one fears the weak.

I would play Zeus’s game, until it was time to play mine.