Blood of Hercules (Villains of Lore Book 1)

Alexis: Two weeks later

I’d made it to mid-January.

Somehow.

Surprisingly, the crucible had ended with a whimper, not a bang. Just another week of studying, lectures, starvation, and a test. Just like that, we were done.

I’d survived.

Then why do I feel dead? Can I really endure an immortality with these emotions?

I rubbed at my tired eyes as I stared at the rack bursting with ball gowns.

They can always cut you into tiny pieces or starve you into a coma.

The thought calmed me.

Outside the open French doors, the Ionian Sea glittered. Streaks of sunlight reflected across the luxurious fabrics.

Green foliage fluttered outside as Corfu’s mild breeze filled my bedroom.

All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for days, but the Initiation Ball was tonight.

The ball was supposed to introduce us to all of Sparta. It was a celebration for completing the crucible, then tomorrow at dawn, we’d have our graduation ceremony in the Dolomite Coliseum.

I groaned with exhaustion.

Shivering, I blew into my hands to warm them up.

Even though the temperature was pleasant on the island, my fingers and toes were permanently frozen. They’d yet to fully thaw.

“What do we think?” Helen asked as she gestured to the rack of dresses with a Chthonic crown sparkling atop her head.

She’d burst into my room this morning. I’d groggily sat up in bed, and then she’d screamed in horror.

I’d thought we were under attack.

When she’d started wailing about frizzy hair, I’d slumped back into the soft pillows with relief.

She’d finally calmed down enough to speak and had explained that Patro put her in charge of making me presentable for the Initiation Ball.

Now, I stood in my oversize emotional support skull sweatshirt and waited for instructions.

Nyx was wrapped around my neck, snoring.

“Here are all your options for the ball,” she said. “Do you have any questions? Concerns? Ugh—I know, it’s not enough choices . . . you’re probably freaking out right now. But don’t worry, everyone will be disguised. So you can mingle with everyone in Sparta without worrying about House biases. Since the Great War, they love to do masquerade balls to promote unity.”

Dozens of diamond bracelets clacked together on her wrists as she gestured.

“Oh, Kronos,” Helen said before I could respond. “Now I’m freaking out too. We are both really panicking.” She fanned her face. “This can’t be good for our pores.”

Personally, I felt very calm.

This is the least stressful thing that has literally ever happened in my life.

“Do you have any wrinkle cream?” Helen grimaced. “I keep tensing accidentally. All the stress is getting to me.”

Do they really make a cream for wrinkles? Why?

I stared at her perfectly smooth skin. “How old are you again?”

“Sixteen—duh.” She shrugged a dainty shoulder. “But don’t worry, I help my brother dress for events all the time. I might be young, but I’m a professional.”

I was worried.

At that exact moment, Fluffy Jr., who was lying on my bed, gnawing on his oversize front paw, let out a burp.

If that doesn’t sum up my life.

Helen burst into laughter and plugged her nose. “Your protector is so cute.” She made a kissy face at Fluffy Jr. (he didn’t notice; he wasn’t the brightest). “He’s so . . . real. Ya know? His energy is like—fierce. In a relatable way. He’s not stuffy or pompous. He’s down to earth. Troubled but strong.”

No, I didn’t know.

I was not getting any of that from him.

My bewilderment must have shown on my face because she turned back to the rack of dresses. “Okay, time to focus.” She waved her hand at me. “Have you gotten your color analysis done this season by a professional? I don’t want to guess.”

I choked.

“No,” I said, ignoring my deteriorating mind. “I haven’t.”

She reeled back and gasped, sheer terror in her eyes. Did a Titan break in? I whirled.

We were alone.

My heart pounded erratically, and I breathed deeply, trying to calm down. Lately it felt like I was living on a razor’s edge.

The only thing I’d done “this season” was freeze to death, starve, receive gifts of body parts, run the circuit, and study until I wanted to die.

I’d also daydreamed about Carl Gauss shirtless, secretly started writing another fanfiction about him, and gone nonverbal for two weeks after Maximum’s death because I didn’t want to talk to anyone.

We all coped with horrors in different ways.

As if on cue, voices whispered at the edge of my subconscious.

“You’ve never been color analyzed?” Her jaw dropped. “What do you wear each day? How do you know what to put on?” She looked down at my skull sweatshirt. “Actually—that makes sense.”

I looked down too. “What’s wrong with it? It’s c-cozy.”

Helen burst into surprisingly deep throaty laughter. “You’re a funny one. Everyone in Sparta takes themselves way too seriously, especially the women, ya know—cause we’re so rare. It gets very catty out there. But you seem chill . . . I think we’re gonna be good friends.”

I rubbed at my aching temples.

She seems to be confusing exhaustively traumatized for chill.

“Actually now that I’m looking at it . . . ” She tapped her glossy pink lips. “I think I’ve seen that sweatshirt before?”

“Probably Patro’s.” I’d found it in his house after all.

“No, it’s definitely not his—even though it has a horrifying graphic, which he would like. That’s an expensive cashmere blend from the Himalayas . . . I’m pretty sure it’s custom-made. He never splurges on clothes like that.”

“Oh.” I shrugged.

“You say you found it. Are you sure someone didn’t leave it for you? It can actually be a big deal in Sparta, gifting⁠—”

“No, I found it.” I cut her off because once she started on a topic, she tended to get stuck.

Also, it was just a sweatshirt. It wasn’t that deep. It was soft and almost hung to my knees; that was the important part.

“Okay.” She clapped her hands. “I always get distracted—I’ve diagnosed myself with like a million things—but let’s stay focused. You are the talk of Sparta—the abandoned female mutt from the House of Zeus who has crushed all the boys in the crucible. You’re an icon of womanhood, and you need to dress like it.”

Stifling another yawn, I chuckled.

She stared at me with an intense expression.

Wait, is she not joking?

“You know—you’ve inspired me,” she said quietly, her voice serious. “I want to participate in the massacre and crucible, just like you. All the bullshit in the Houses about preserving heiress honor is so stupid. The men get so mad whenever I bring it up, especially Augustus. But you understand.”

I choked on spit.

I’m not the hero you think I am.

She looked at me with wide emerald eyes, like I was her savior and not a deeply troubled, slightly older teen with psychological, physical, and abandonment issues.

“I think,” I said slowly, “you should s-stay honorable.”

Her face fell, shoulders slumping with dejection.

“Or . . . not?” I grimaced. “I guess if you wanted to—you could? It’s not that serious,” I lied.

Death and torture should never be taken lightly.

She looked up hopefully, flashing brilliantly white teeth. “You really think I could survive the crucible?”

I pursed my lips. “It’s not just if you could s-survive. It just sucks. Why would you want to?”

“Because I want to prove I don’t need Augustus to look after me.” She gritted her teeth. “He’s so annoying—they all are. Chthonic men are so overbearing. Like ten times worse than Olympians, especially when it comes to their loved ones. They’re psychotic. And since I’m their only heiress, they act like I’m made of glass.”

I nodded like I understood, but I didn’t.

Helen leaned closer. “But my power is—dark,” she whispered conspiratorially. “I can do things . . . bad things, if you get my gist.” She winked.

“Oh,” I said eloquently.

Mental note—stay on her good side.

“Helen, focus!” She hit herself in the face, then dug through a big box beside the rack of clothes. “So obviously, you’re wearing this as your mask.” She held up what looked like the headpiece of a costume. It was a giant lion’s head.

I was?

Four hours later, I stood in front of the bedroom’s full-length mirror as the setting sun set cast golden streaks across the room.

Fluffy Jr. snored loudly on the bed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wear any of the colorful dresses?” Helen asked for the millionth time. She pulled out a sparkly pink strapless dress and held it up. “How about this?”

“No.”

“Ugh.” She pouted. “You’re no fun.”

I shrugged and admired my reflection. A long-sleeved black dress hung to my feet, covering every inch of exposed skin.

It was a little clingy around the torso for my tastes, but compared to the other—plunging—dresses, it was perfect.

Studying myself in the mirror, I frowned as I realized what it was missing. “Helen, I need a bra.”

“No, you don’t.” Her smile was diabolical.

“Yes.” I pointed at my chest. “I do.”

“No.” She smirked evilly. “You have a small chest, which is absolutely perfect for this style of dress. The material is so thin and tight that bra lines would ruin the effect. Plus—a little nipple is hot.”

“I agree with her,” Nyx said.

Now she wakes up.

“Uh no,” I sputtered, crossing my arms over my chest protectively. “It’s not the look for me.”

The free the nips (and lips) campaign was a mindset, not necessarily a reality.

Helen crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. “You refused to take the hair ties off your wrists or wear any of the heels. This is the least you can do—for women everywhere.”

That seemed slightly dramatic.

I pointed down at the gold ballet flats on my feet. “Because my feet are bruised and my toes are covered in blisters. The heels hurt way too much.”

“Well,” Helen huffed. “Do your nipples hurt?”

“She has a point,” Nyx said as she slithered around my neck.

Dear God, it’s me again.

Before I could argue with a literal youth about the sensitivity of my nipples (this was my personal hell), Helen picked up the lion costume and put it over my head.

Nyx hissed as the bottom of the muzzle hit her. Karma.

She slithered down my body, then coiled tightly around my ankle and calf. Thankfully, the dress flared enough around my lower body that it concealed her.

“Perfect,” Helen squealed. “I’m a genius. Everyone’s gonna lose it when they see you.” She clapped. “Cunt—absolute cunt, served.”

Excuse me? What did she just call me?

Youth culture was upsetting.

“Go, go, go.” She pulled an elephant mask over her head, adjusted the thin straps of her white gossamer gown, then pushed me out the door with surprising strength. “We’re gonna be late.”

We ran into my mentors in the hall. Apparently, we had a safari theme going on.

Patro was in a dark-blue suit with a boar headpiece. Achilles stood next to him in black, wearing a hyena mask.

They both went unnaturally still.

They stared at me for a long drawn out moment.

Helen clapped her hands, and the strange tension broke.

The men reached for us. “Domus,” Patro muttered.

BOOM.

The world contorted in darkness.

We leaped away.

I staggered and tried to catch my breath, smoke billowing.

We were in a grand ballroom, straight off the pages of a fairy tale. The walls were gilded with precious metals, and the floor was polished black marble. Ionic colonnades, covered in ivy, wrapped around the perimeter of the room.

Holy crud.

Shimmering crystal chandeliers hung from a muraled ceiling depicting clouds and cherubs.

A full orchestra played in the corner.

Hundreds of people milled about in formal wear, all sporting various headpieces representing every sort of animal imaginable, many of them much more intricate than mine.

Creatures walked past with tails and strange appendages peaking out beneath their black cloaks.

Based on the large numbers, all of Sparta was present. But one thing was the same among the different immortal groups—everyone was dripping in jewels.

Since protectors weren’t allowed at the ball and no one’s crowns were visible, it was virtually impossible to differentiate people.

The entire affair seemed like a lot just for five initiates.

Helen had said something about Spartans loving any chance to celebrate, so that must be it.

The air whooshed, and I stumbled out of the way as Spartans spun around the dance floor near where we stood.

“Some people have voice modifiers in their masks,” Helen said, her elephant tusk bobbing. “So don’t expend energy trying to identify people. It’s a masquerade for a reason, and Spartans take being incognito very seriously.”

“Helen, why are you advising our mentee?” Patro asked, boar head tilting to the side. His hand rested possessively on my shoulder, and my stomach pinched with queasiness.

A long beat passed, and I realized what was so strange about the gesture.

Patro’s touch wasn’t unpleasant.

“She’s fine,” I said defensively as I pulled away from him, disturbed that I wasn’t disturbed by his casual display of affection. She was the first person in Sparta who actually bothered to explain anything.

“Come on, we need to mingle.” Helen grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the tables.

Hours later, my head spun with exhaustion. Spartans sure loved to brag about themselves.

“You’re funny,” Zeus said through his snake head. He’d found me hours ago and was holding me hostage. Electricity sparked on his suit, making him unmistakable, and his booming laughter echoed.

I just asked if there was any food here?

Zeus had been laughing ever since he realized it was me in the lion’s head.

A man nearby in a jaguar mask snapped his head around. Black diamond eyes stared at us.

“I see you’ve already got the House pride.” Zeus clapped me on the shoulder, and I flinched. “I told you to keep up the great work, and you did. After tomorrow’s graduation, you’ll be an official member of my House. I have big things planned for you.”

I coughed, back aching from where he’d hit me.

“Who knows!” Zeus shouted. “You might even earn a crown.”

Spartans clapped around us, and he turned to greet them. I awkwardly extracted myself, stumbling away.

I turned around to ask Helen if there were seats open anywhere, but she was gone. My mentors had also disappeared.

They’d probably wandered off when Zeus had grabbed me.

Sighing, sweat dripping down my sides from the stress of having to talk to people, I wandered aimlessly toward chairs in the back corner. Drex was probably around somewhere, but finding him in the crowd would be difficult.

My legs ached from standing.

The grand clock on the high wall showed it was already the early hours of the morning.

The graduation ceremony would be held at the Dolomite Coliseum in less than three hours.

As far as I could tell, all of Sparta attended that too. Which meant everyone at this ball would be there, yet no one seemed in a hurry to leave.

Are Spartans against sleep because they’re immortal?

Personally, exhaustion was hitting hard.

Two weeks straight of sleep deprivation made it hard to keep my eyes open.

It didn’t help that there seemed to be no food or refreshments at the ball, probably because of the intricate masks.

What’s a little more starvation after a lifetime?

I sighed again, then stumbled as I almost careened into a dancing triad—two men spun around a curvaceous woman in a sheer red dress.

Moving hastily, I flinched as I almost ran into four men dancing together in a circle.

The orchestra music was loud, and the lion’s head had limited visibility. A dull ringing echoed in my ear, and I struggled to orient myself.

Jewels sparkled on large swathes of exposed skin.

I rubbed at my aching wrists.

You don’t belong here.

The crucible had been horrible for a million reasons, but it had been isolated in a mountain.

Now an ancient culture glittered around me.

One I knew next to nothing about.

The hair on my neck stood up like I was being watched, and a scream bubbled in my throat.

You are in control of your thoughts. Keep it together, woman.

“Would you like to dance?” a modified voice asked.

A tall, powerfully built man in a perfectly tailored black suit—wearing a wolf’s head with crystals for eyes—stood before me.

Immediately my mouth went dry, and I shivered with unease.

The stranger was waiting for me to speak.

After coughing to clear my throat (and making it very weird) I finally found my voice. “Nope,” I said as I went to move around him, off the dance floor.

He shifted and blocked my path. “I insist.” He extended a black-gloved hand and bowed deeply like I was royalty.

My palms instantly started to sweat. Does he think I’m someone I’m not?

“Still a n-no,” I said as I tried to shove past him. It was like pushing against a brick wall. He didn’t budge.

“We’re going to dance now.” There was an edge of violence in his modified voice, something I didn’t like.

My instincts were telling me to run. “I don’t think you want to dance with me,” I whispered, not taking his hand and hoping to defuse whatever tension was building between us.

He stood where he was, perfectly still, crystal eyes focused on me. “I know,” he said slowly, “exactly what I want.”

The tension tripled.

I took a step back, jumping as I stepped straight into someone else.

Strong hands grabbed my shoulders and steadied me.

“Sorry,” I sputtered, dipping my head as I moved to the side.

Both men moved swiftly.

They blocked my path.

Each wore gloves and a wolf head—one had emerald eyes and the other crystals—and they both towered above me in bespoke suits.

I swallowed thickly.

Suddenly, I wanted to sprint in the other direction. As fast as I could.

“I’m gonna go sit down.” I pushed my shoulders back and tried to convey authority.

Neither moved out of my way.

“No, you’re not,” said the man with the emerald-eyed mask. His voice was also modified.

I glanced around, desperately searching for Helen or my mentors. The room had gotten fuller, and it was impossible to see anything over the crush of bodies.

When I turned back, the men were inches away.

My stomach fluttered as they crowded my personal space. I had a bad feeling I knew who they were.

“We’re going to dance with you now,” one of them said.

It wasn’t a question.

It was a command.

Before I could take a breath, the man with the emerald eyes placed his hand in mine and fanned his other hand across my waist.

Butterflies fluttered.

The other man stepped behind me and grabbed the indent above my hips with both his hands.

The butterflies exploded, and I inhaled shakily.

This isn’t good.

They twirled me around before I could say or do anything.

With me pressed between them, they spun me around the ballroom like it was second nature. All I could do was hang on and let them lead.

We danced.

It was terrifying; it was exhilarating.

The orchestra switched to a softer song, and I exhaled with relief as the ringing in my ear dissipated.

Fingers pressed harder into the tops of my hips, and the hand holding mine clenched.

Both men took a step forward. They had already been extremely close to begin with.

Now we were pressed flush together.

It was obscene.

My uncovered nipples rubbed against the hard planes of a muscular chest.

Heat blazed across my cheeks and traveled down my neck. The strange queasiness twisted painfully inside my lower stomach.

I shivered.

The hands gripping my hips from behind moved slowly forward across my torso.

Inch by inch they trailed higher.

I’d never been touched so intimately before.

Their bodies shifted as we spun faster, blocking me from everyone’s view.

Gloved fingers traveled up.

Higher.

Higher.

Higher.

They brushed across my nipples possessively.

I gasped.

White-hot pleasure burned from my chest to my core.

“Why the fuck,” said the man pressed against my front, “are these out? You really can’t take care of yourself, can you?”

At that moment, the man behind me tweaked his fingers wickedly across my chest, and it was unmistakable what he was referring to.

Stars sparkled in my vision.

I moaned and tipped my head back, rested it against a muscled chest.

Both men groaned roughly.

The man in front leaned closer. “I’m going to have to torture every man and woman who’s looked at you tonight,” he whispered. “Carissima.”

The man in back once again dragged his fingers across my chest.

Everything was on fire.

The Latin endearment wasn’t funny.

“I’m not your dearest,” I muttered, head still tilted back, boneless, as they held me up between them.

Pleasure sparkled through my veins.

“Yes, you are,” they said in unison.

They spoke like they knew something I didn’t.

Hands trailed away from my chest down my stomach, and I whimpered. Foreign sensations tingled across my nerves.

They both took a step back as we spun.

They resumed holding me at a respectful distance, like we were just strangers dancing and they hadn’t just set my body on fire.

“Why,” said the emerald-eyed man casually, “did you not take out the jewels?”

It took me a second to remember how to speak. “What are you talking about? What jewels? Out of where?”

What a strange question.

Exhaustion, dizziness from spinning, and the warm sensations twisting in my lower stomach made it hard to think.

Something strange was happening.

They must think I’m someone else.

My first event in the Spartan world, and I’d stolen another woman’s lovers.

“Uh—I’m poor,” I blurted out, needing to ruin whatever disillusion they were under about my identity. “I don’t have jewels.” The truth seemed the easiest way.

The men stilled again. Fingers gripped my skin harder, and for a second, they trembled—with something volatile. Vibrations shook through me.

“No, you aren’t,” the man behind me said forcefully, like he was gritting his teeth. “Not anymore.”

Excuse me? Are they mocking me?

I scoffed and tried to pull my hand out of the front man’s grip. “Yes, I-I am.”

I wasn’t ashamed of who I was or how I’d grown up.

As far as I could tell, Spartans had no ability to comprehend what it was like to be at the bottom of the food chain. Dirty, in the woods, under a tarp. Charlie is still there waiting for me.

I wouldn’t let this place make me forget.

I struggled harder, but the men just stepped closer and resumed dancing. Their hips pinned me in place.

“Let me go.” I yanked, as I tried to gain control of the situation.

They chuckled darkly and held me tighter as the three of us twirled.

“I don’t think we will,” said the front man harshly. “Non ducor, duco.”

I am not led, I lead.

The man at my back leaned close. “My carus.”

Goosebumps exploded down my arms because he called me his dear in Latin, like it meant something.

My feet stopped, but their tight grips kept me moving between them. They spun, dragging me across the packed dance floor.

They’re playing with you. This is all a game.

I felt sick.

“I have a question?” I asked softly.

Both men bent down to listen, wolves leaning closer to devour.

I slammed my knee up (the leg Nyx wasn’t on) into the front man’s crotch, then rammed my elbow back.

Powerful legs clamped around my raised thigh so my knee was pressed against hardness, and I couldn’t move—the man in front let out a throaty groan.

That wasn’t supposed to happen.

Fingers spasmed where they held me, but they didn’t release.

The man behind me pushed his hips forward—a bulge dug into my lower back. His chest vibrated against me.

I was wedged in place.

Unable to move.

All pretenses of dancing were gone.

They hadn’t even flinched at my violence. If anything, it had turned them on.

These weren’t normal men.

Monsters.

“What—was your . . . question?” the man behind me asked wickedly, his hips flexed.

My heart pounded painfully inside my chest.

They had me trapped.

I tilted my head back, gritted my teeth, and forced out what I wanted to say.

“Who the fuck,” I whispered, “do you two think you are?”

They laughed louder, crueler.

“Oh—don’t you know? We belong to you, carus.”

My breath left in a whoosh because the game wasn’t funny anymore. It was horrifying.

“Let me go,” I demanded, and I tried to yank away, but once again they didn’t budge an inch. Deep groans echoed wantonly.

The butterflies in my stomach fluttered.

“We’re never letting you go,” one said harshly. “You already belong to us. And we’ve decided that we’re going to take care of you—someone has to do it, because clearly, you can’t do it yourself.”

Why does that sound so familiar?

“No one owns me but myself.” I shook my head. “And I’ve been doing just fine for years.”

“What an adorable perspective,” the other man said with a raspy chuckle. “But your actions speak differently.”

Shifting, I tried to kick at them. “Release me now, or I’ll cause a scene. This isn’t f-funny anymore.”

The man in the back slowly rolled his hips. “We’ve never been more serious about anything in our fucking lives.”

“Carissima,” said the man in front throatily. “We’d love to cause a scene with you.” Hardness pulsed against my thigh.

Hands trailed wickedly back up toward my chest.

They tweaked my nipples.

Drifted back down and grabbed the indent where my waist met my hips. Fingers spread possessively across my lower stomach and pulled me back flush against a hard male body.

Chills erupted across my skin.

Everything blurred.

A modified voice whispered seductively, “Carissima, why don’t we⁠—”

“Am I interrupting something?” Patro asked loudly, and I gasped for air as the two men in wolf masks took a step away from me.

Head dizzy, I nearly passed out with relief at the familiar voice as two jungle-themed masks came into focus.

“Yes—you fucking are,” the man behind me said harshly.

Patro took a step forward.

The man in front turned his head toward my saviors. “We were just . . . talking.” Since he flexed his hands, then graphically readjusted the bulge in his pants and tightened his belt, his words were not convincing.

Liar.

He took another step toward me.

“I’ve been looking for you!” Helen said as she ran forward out of seemingly nowhere, elephant trunk bobbing. “I have someone who really wants to dance with you—let’s go.”

She dragged me away across the dance floor and left the four men standing together.

I tried to look back, but she tugged me forward.

“That was insane—the chemistry,” she said. “Holy Kronos . . . everyone in Sparta is talking about your dance.” She gasped and fanned at her mask dramatically. “I had to get you out of there before they started talking about dishonor and betrothal contracts—although . . . since you’re a mutt, you probably don’t need to worry about that until you’re twenty-six. Still. Wow.”

I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. “I don’t even know who they are,” I whispered. The lie tasted poisonous, but I didn’t let myself think about who they were.

If I did, I’d fall apart.

A part of me was wildly alive, and the other part of me was screaming in terror.

Butterflies danced like knives in my stomach.

Helen scoffed. “Well, one thing’s for sure—those men knew exactly who you were.” She stopped abruptly on the edge of the marble floor and gestured to a man in an elk head. “Here’s the person who wanted to see you. He says he’s one of your professors.”

I froze.

Held my breath.

“Alexis!” Pine’s voice was unmistakable as he offered his hand. “How are you? I wanted to talk with you.”

It’s just him.

I exhaled with relief.

“Of course, Professor.” I took his hand.

He held me at a respectful distance and led me across the dance floor, talking about Thagorean and advanced math concepts. Other dancers swirled around us.

I couldn’t concentrate on a single word.

My head swiveled.

Searching for . . . I didn’t even know.

Just calm down. It’s over now. Don’t think about the men. Worry about it tomorrow after the graduation.

The problem was it didn’t feel over.

The song ended, and both of us stopped dancing.

“Alexis,” Pine said slowly, and I instinctually took a step away from him. Stomach twisting with unease at his tone. “Now that we are no longer professor and student, I want to say that I⁠—”

A wicked dagger pressed against the front of his throat that was exposed beneath his mask, hard enough to draw blood.

Pine gurgled.

Crystals flashed, and a wolf mask shook as the dagger pressed harder into skin. “Finish that sentence, and I’ll put you into a coma—and I’ll keep you there for the rest of immortality. I warned you not to fucking speak to her. Don’t test me.” A second wolf head loomed behind him.

A woman screamed.

“We’re under attack!” a male bellowed. “Titans!”

People shrieked.

All hell broke loose.

Explosions echoed as Spartans leaped away.

I turned and ran, shoving through the crowd of bodies and smoke.

“Alexis!” Helen shouted, and I whirled to see an elephant mask pushing forward.

I reached for her.

A strange man in a jaguar mask grabbed me roughly—Helen threw herself toward us—the world disappeared in a flash of black agony.

I staggered and fell to my knees.

Something yanked at my arms—harsh material scraped against my wrists.

The man grunted and moved away, and a feminine yell echoed. There were loud smacking sounds.

Disoriented from leaping without warning, I blinked through the heavy lion’s mask. I waited for my vision to clear, and the ringing in my ear to stop.

When it finally did, I tried to move.

I couldn’t.

Freezing temperatures bit through the flimsy material of my gown, and I looked down in horror. The pressure wasn’t phantom—coarse rope was twined tightly around my wrists.

The line was also attached to a thick metal hook, which was welded into the wall of a shed.

Kneeling on the dirt floor, I yanked with all my might, shoulders burning. The hook didn’t budge an inch. If anything, the knot around my wrists tightened.

The rope was extremely strong.

I was stuck.

Gasping for air, I swiveled my head.

Across the room, Helen’s arms were also tied off in front of her by a rope attached to a metal wall. She was slumped on the ground, unconscious, elephant head still on.

What the hell is happening?

Debris was piled around the small shed. Moonlight cast silver shadows through broken glass windows, and icy tree branches clattered outside.

The dark sky had a grayish tint as night began to make way for dawn.

The Assembly Ceremony would start soon.

How long was I dancing?

“I warned you what would happen, but you didn’t listen,” said a modified voice. “Now—you’re going to pay. And so is your idiotic friend.”

My captor took off his jaguar mask.

I stared up in shock.

“You?”