Blood of Hercules (Villains of Lore Book 1)

Alexis

Before Theros or anyone realized what was happening—no one would dare attack a precious Olympian heir in front of everyone—my bloody hands were wrapped around Theros’s throat.

He staggered back.

There was a loud pounding noise as Zeus tried to get to us. Men joined him, pummeling frantically. Then bodies were everywhere. Eyes glowed bloody as two men attacked the others.

I ignored them all.

Let them worry about their precious heir. Let them panic.

None of them could get through Theros’s shield.

The outside world was nothing but muffled sounds and a blur of colors.

We were trapped.

Together.

Perfect.

Theros fell backwards.

“You tried to murder us,” I spat as I threw myself on top of him. “You left us tied up to die.”

We grappled, my hands and shoulders throbbing unmercifully, but I didn’t care.

“You don’t . . . want to do this,” he said, grunting as we rolled in the sand. “Think about the House honor.”

Wrestling, I laughed harshly.

“I don’t care about your stupid House honor—I grew up homeless, you prick.”

I reared back and slammed my head into his nose.

He whimpered as blood exploded.

I bared my teeth. “What I’ve endured for years—would kill you in a day.”

I did it a second time, and he screamed with pain; I screamed with satisfaction.

An uppercut caught me in the gut, and I gagged. Ears ringing, eyes rolling, I struggled to stay conscious.

Theros twisted and slammed me back against the sand, gray eyes wide and manic as he straddled me.

His hands slipped against my neck as he choked me.

I slammed fists up into his face, and broken pieces of bone scourged his skin. “Coward!” I shrieked.

Blood rained down.

He squeezed my neck harder.

Choking, I forced my lips into a smile. “Now—all . . . know—” I gasped. “What a monster—you . . . are.” I laughed with a mocking rasp.

His nose flared, and he bellowed, rearing his fist back.

Pain exploded in my chest—but Theros was frozen. His fist was reared back like he was getting ready to punch, but he wasn’t moving.

Sharp pain stabbed my chest from an unknown source.

White-hot agony.

With labored breaths, I clutched at my chest.

Am I having a heart attack?

Above me, Theros started screaming.

His eyes rolled back. Foam dripped from his lips as he convulsed.

Agony in my sternum streaked brighter.

Theros shrieked louder, and the sound was horrific.

In slow motion, he fell back off me. His shield crumbled, and the outside world came back into sharp focus.

Everyone on the sands had moved to surround us. Dozens of Spartans stared down at me.

Olympians stepped forward, but two figures yanked them back.

“Stay away from her!” someone shouted. Then there was a blur of grunts as the Spartans turned to defend themselves against attackers.

Theros bellowed louder on the ground.

“Alexis!” Patro knelt before me, blocking my view of the commotion. “Stop it—let him go!” he yelled at me.

Achilles was beside him with a furious expression.

What is he talking about?

Theros let out a skull-breaking scream.

“Focus on breathing slowly,” Patro said, reading the confusion on my face. “Imagine the pain in your chest dissipating—just focus on each breath.” He inhaled deeply to demonstrate.

I followed his motions.

Slowly, the stabbing pain in my sternum lessened.

The awful pressure released.

Theros stopped howling. He moaned weakly as he slowly sat up, still twitching in the sand.

“Great job, you’re doing it,” Patro said as he rubbed my back. “Just like that, good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

I leaned into his touch.

“She—she—she was . . .” Theros stammered as he crawled away from me. Foam still dripped out the side of his mouth.

I glared at him and bared my teeth.

He yelped.

“Don’t worry about him, he doesn’t matter,” Patro said soothingly. “Focus on me—focus on taking deep breaths until the pain in your chest is fully gone. Just like that. You’re doing so well. Unlike Olympians, our power is in our heart.”

What power?

I nodded shakily and kept breathing slowly as I leaned against him, even though I didn’t understand.

“She . . . she . . . she,” Theros shouted between coughs as he pointed at me. “Her eyes were bloody—she’s one of them—she was killing me—arrest her—she’s a monster—she was⁠—”

“SILENCE,” a hair-raising voice bellowed.

The coliseum went dead silent, and the men stopped fighting around us.

You could hear a pin drop.

“What—is the meaning of this?” Hades enunciated each word with painstaking slowness as he walked across the sand toward us. Inky fog trailed around his feet like smoke.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

Midnight-black eyes flashed with warning. “Someone better explain right now—what I just saw.”

Patro swallowed thickly, then stood up in front of me. His body blocked mine from Hades’ line of sight.

“Our mentee, Alexis Hert,” Patro stated loudly, voice ringing with confidence, “disappeared last night with my sister, Helen Aphrodite, in the chaos of the Initiation Ball . . . they both arrived here this morning.”

Theros gasped with surprise at Helen’s surname, then whimpered in pain. Everyone whispered.

Good, I hope he realizes how dead he is. They won’t let him get away with hurting her.

Patro continued, “My sister is in shock and struggling to recover, but from what she’s told me, this man attacked them.” He pointed at Theros, eyes full of blood. “And Alexis sacrificed herself to save my sister, then leaped both of them to safety.”

The whispers increased.

Patro cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “What we saw here was Alexis confronting my sister’s attacker, and during the altercation, her eyes filled with blood. She activated Chthonic powers she didn’t know she had, and from what I saw . . . I believe her blood is her power—she can cause others pain with it.”

What?

Patro looked back at me with a pleading expression, like he was begging me to understand something unsaid.

The whispers turned into outright shouts.

Zeus recoiled like he’d been struck, electricity sparking frantically around him.

“She’s a powerful Chthonic heiress—and she saved Helen!” Patro shouted proudly, then raised his fist into the air. “She’s a hero!” Achilles stood up and did the same.

The shouts turned into a roar as all of Sparta lost their minds.

Theros wailed.

Sharp feedback rang through my left ear.

I stared down at my ravaged hands—shattered bones visible through ruined skin—as everything spun around me.

I inhaled sharply.

Oh my god.

No.

Please no.

It hit me like a punch straight to the face—exactly what Patro meant about the power in my chest. It was the reason I’d felt pressure in my chest when I’d bonded with Fluffy Jr., when the other initiates had only felt it in their heads.

Patro had said Olympians felt their power differently from him and Achilles.

I was like them.

I was Chthonic.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

God help me.

There were four times in my life I’d felt the blinding chest pain I’d felt today.

One.

Foster Mother had died after I’d scratched at her face with bloody nails. She’d screamed something about a red eyed devil while staring straight at me.

Two.

Boys pleading and convulsing during the massacre, foam dripping out of their lips, after I’d clawed at their wounds with my bloody fingers. Them staring up at me with horror. A red glow reflected in the fog.

Three.

Christos splashing in the water, foaming at the mouth as he screamed and tried to get away from me—after we’d shaken bloody hands.

Four.

The siren, wincing as she’d cut herself on a knife that was covered in my blood. Her dying shortly after.

Each time, I’d felt excruciating pain in my chest like I was having a heart attack.

It hadn’t been panic.

I’d been killing them, murdering them.

Unlike this time, there’d been no one there to talk me down, to teach me how to control my powers.

“YOU SLAUGHTERED THEM. SINNER!” Father John screamed in my mind as he pointed at me.

Patro said Hades’ fog shows you the worst thing you’ve ever done.

You heard Mother screaming.

The fog attacked you at the end because you were killing those boys.

I clutched my head with ruined hands and opened my mouth to beg for mercy, but no sound came out.

The animals in the menagerie hated me because they saw what I truly was.

My head was underwater.

My soul was in hell.

I’d been delusional this entire time, hoping my ability was mundane.

The reason I felt no euphoria when I spoke to Nyx and the sirens was because it wasn’t my Spartan powers that let me converse with them. It must have been something else.

Drex had never been the Chthonic monster.

It had always been me.

Too much was happening—I was free-falling, unable to slow down as I plummeted to ruin.

Oh my god.

Patro’s pleading expression made sense. Because of him, everyone thought my power just caused pain—it didn’t.

It killed.

And I would have murdered Theros if Patro hadn’t helped me calm down. I would have killed an immortal.

It shouldn’t have been possible.

It was.

If evil is unnoticed, does it still exist?

I was boiling apart at the seams, falling back into the sand, sprawled brokenly. The drowning sensation intensified.

What am I?

Inky fog rolled in as dark robes approached.

How do I live with myself?

How do I live with what I’ve become?

“But that’s not possible,” Hades said loudly, and all of Sparta fell silent. “She can’t be a Chthonic heiress. We would know if a child was birthed to⁠—”

He stopped talking and reared back.

The face of a haunted man.

“ZEUS,” he bellowed abruptly. “You said she was dead . . . you said you knew for a fact that the Titans killed her. We held a funeral together!”

Zeus stepped forward, electricity sparking all around. “She was! Vyco of the House of Hermes—where are you? Explain yourself!”

An older man jogged forward.

“Patro,” Hades ordered. “Touch him right now—we need to know if he’s lying or not.”

My mentor nodded and hurried over to the man who’d stepped forward. Achilles stood protectively at his heels, like a muzzled sentinel.

“KNEEL,” Zeus commanded, and Vyco fell to his knees. “Explain again—exactly what happened the day Hercules was killed.” Storm-gray eyes rolled with fury.

I sat up straighter.

Hercules was the eight-letter word engraved on the fabric I’d been found in as a baby. It was a name, not a label.

The hairs on my arms stood up.

A bad feeling rolled through me.

Everything was happening in slow motion, like I was in the middle of a car crash.

Vyco raised his head.

“There was a Titan attack at the House of Zeus during a federation meeting,” he said. “The Spartans were all meeting in the other room, and I’d just arrived and was in the hall. Hercules’s nurses died in front of me. In the chaos, I grabbed the baby and leaped. I ended up in a rural wasteland—then there was blood everywhere, and I was convulsing—I passed out . . . when I woke up, I was alone, and the baby was gone. I assumed it had been killed by Titans or a wild creature.”

Patro looked up, eyes blazing red. “He’s telling the truth.”

“You said you saw the baby die!” Zeus bellowed as he rounded on Vyco.

Vyco shook his head. “I thought I did. It was an unprotected baby—there was blood and monsters attacking. It’s what I thought happened.”

“That’s the truth,” Patro announced, eyes still bloodred.

Zeus turned to Hades, who had fog pouring off him.

They shared a long look.

At that moment, the scar on my sternum prickled, and I rubbed at it. My hand stilled. I’d had the mark since I was a baby.

It’s a perfectly straight line.

Someone tried to stab me.

Shivers traveled down my spine, and my gut told me that Vyco’s story wasn’t the entire truth.

Something else was going on here.

Something bigger than what was being said.

Zeus’s voice rang out, his gaze still locked on Hades. “Vyco—you withheld information about the kidnapping of my goddaughter. You will be dealt with later.”

Wait, if he’s my godfather, then who’s my . . .

Hades walked toward me. His midnight-black eyes and tall, lean build were uncannily familiar. Snow swirled around him.

He stopped in front of where I was sitting, then fell to his knees.

“Daughter—it’s really you?” Tears shone in his eyes, and long pale fingers shook as they reached slowly for a curl that had escaped. “You look so much like your mother.”

“Hercules!” Persephone flung herself to her knees before me. Her dark-gold skin was a familiar shade.

Her mane of blonde curls matched mine; it was just lighter. Wide-blue eyes stared at me as she clutched my face, then she burst into sobs.

“They made my baby do the crucible,” she wailed as she clutched at me. “You poor darling angel.” She brushed curls back off my forehead. “You must have been so scared.”

I stared back at her.

Frozen.

Unable to find any words.

She held me like she loved me. No one had ever done that before.

Mom?

Dad?

Tears streamed down my cheeks.

They were both holding me with such tender emotions, and I was kneeling in their arms, a monster.

Long moments passed as the three of us embraced on the sands.

Zeus stepped forward, casting a shadow across us.

His voice shattered the moment.

“Since she’s an honorable heiress, who was forced to endure the savage crucible—per our customs, something must be done to right the grave dishonor that she’s suffered . . . I propose an alliance with my house. A marriage.”

Wait, what?

Hades and Persephone stilled in my arms. Together they launched to their feet.

I staggered up behind them, nearly passing out from the pain of movement. Everything spun. The urge to collapse was immense.

Adrenaline was wearing off.

I blinked rapidly, forcing myself to stay conscious.

“You dare propose a betrothal with the boy who hurt her and Helen?” Hades asked, voice brimming with violence.

Persephone shouted and stepped forward. “Look at my daughter’s ruined hands and arm—look at what he did to her! Helen is inconsolable over the attack . . . how dare you—” Hades held her back.

Zeus held up his hands in a surrender gesture. “I didn’t mean to insinuate my goddaughter would marry Theros. I misspoke, my gravest apologies—Theros will be dealt with.”

He held a hand over his heart.

“A grave dishonor has been done to both women,” Zeus continued. “Helen’s honor is also at stake, through her association. You know this—it is our laws. Any Olympian House will do. Are there any heirs that will step forward for her hand?”

Why would Helen be punished for being kidnapped? Why would I be dishonorable when they forced me to participate in the crucible?

I wanted to scream and pull at my hair. The Spartan laws were archaic and psychotic.

Dozens of men stepped forward, and I took a step back.

No. Please no.

I’d rather fight a Titan.

I shook my head as Persephone turned back to me. Hades released her, and she went to my side.

“My daughter will not be selecting any marriage contracts at this moment,” Persephone scoffed, voice full of vitriol. “Step back, you fools. She’s bleeding and injured—where is your honor? You embarrass us all.”

Men bowed their heads in shame.

I sidled closer to her. The throbbing pain in my hands was making everything hazy, and it was getting harder to see.

“There’s one problem here,” a raspy voice called out.

Kharon stepped forward.

He sauntered across the arena, fur cape dragging through the sand, silver crown jagged atop his head.

Blood was splattered across his face, and his knuckles were bruised like he’d been fighting.

Ice-blue eyes locked on mine.

“She’s already betrothed,” he announced.

Murmurs erupted.

Persephone looked up at me with confusion—I stared at Kharon.

What is he doing?

His smirk was wicked. “She’s already betrothed to me and my partner. In accordance with the new marriage law, she is the one we’ve decided to wed.”

The murmurs became shouts.

“Excuse me?” Hades snarled. “What did you just say about my daughter?” Inky fog rolled.

No, I’m not.

Why is he lying?

I narrowed my eyes at him and shook my head, trying to get him to stop whatever ploy he was pulling.

“I can prove it!” he shouted, and the sands fell silent.

He arched a dark brow, like he was daring someone to call him out on his bluff.

Hades gestured to Patro. “Check if he’s lying.”

Green eyes widened, then Patro slowly moved over to his friend, like he wanted to be anywhere else.

I scoffed. They’re probably in on it together. It’s all an act.

Kharon smiled, still staring directly at me. “My partner and I sent Alexis Hert two betrothal gifts—two boxes,” he said proudly.

The world shook.

My knees gave out.

Everything spun.

Kharon smirked, like he had me pinned, right where he wanted me.

“Each box was wrapped in red velvet, and a black silk bow with gold trim was tied at the top—each contained two of the three customary gifts. Symbols of our protection were laid atop priceless heirlooms.”

I tasted bile.

Symbols of protection. He means body parts.

I’d never looked beneath the tissue paper, but something had glinted.

Kharon continued, “We also gifted her a priceless blanket and clothes straight off our backs—she opened both boxes, used the blanket, and wore the clothes. Unequivocal acceptance of the betrothal.”

Sparta erupted with a roar.

People shouted and talked, and everyone clamored like I’d done something shocking.

Betrayer eyes sparked with satisfaction—I glared back.

Screw you.

He knew I’d had no idea that I was accepting anything by opening a box. He’d backed me into a corner and played me. Just where he wanted me.

His smile was sinful.

Pure male satisfaction oozed off him, like he’d played the long game and won.

Another horrible realization punched me.

No.

Holy shit.

It can’t be.

He’d stared at me with interest while Christos drowned. My eyes must have been bloodred.

He’d known I was Chthonic.

All along.

He fucking knew from the beginning.

His puzzling comments about secrets and backing me into a corner the first time we’d met didn’t seem so cryptic anymore.

When he’d talked about Chthonic lives mattering and staying safe, I’d assumed he was just worried about my mentors.

He wanted me to stay safe.

Because he knew I was Chthonic.

He’d wanted to marry me as soon as he found out.

I’m the fucking loophole. I’m how he gets around the law and doesn’t have to marry an Olympian.

Bile filled my throat.

I’d felt so bad for the poor person he was going to marry.

The Falcon Chronicles had said they’d seen him sending betrothal jewelry at the same time I’d received my box.

I was the betrothed they’d written about.

He’s been playing me all along.

“SILENCE,” Hades bellowed, and once again the coliseum went silent. “Patro—is it true?”

Green eyes glanced at mine, full of apologies. “Yes, he spoke the truth.” Patro grimaced, like it pained him to say the words.

Hades turned to me. “Daughter, do you deny what he says? You can speak freely. Please, be honest. If he’s lying, I can⁠—”

“He’s telling the truth,” I said numbly, cutting him off.

Bone-deep agony mixed with exhaustion.

It was all too much.

I was sick with nausea.

There was no fight left in me.

“A betrothal is sacred,” Kharon announced gravely. “The federation cannot interfere once it has been accepted. Not only am I in compliance with the marriage law, but it will also save her honor and Helen’s honor.” His face was full of sympathy, like he was just trying to help.

“I have—come to care for Alexis . . . greatly,” he said, voice shaking with emotion.

Liar.

LIAR!

He’s putting on a show.

It’s all a game.

I’m just a loophole.

Persephone must have sensed my agitation, because she wrapped her arms around my shoulders and cradled me against her. “It’s going to be okay, honey. I’ll make sure of it.”

Tears filled my eyes because no one had ever said that to me before, and it had never been less true.

Zeus stepped forward, his face full of outrage. “Who is this partner you speak of also marrying?”

Kharon stepped to the side.

Augustus stepped forward, crown glinting atop two-toned hair. Just like Kharon, he was splattered in blood.

No.

Not him.

Anyone but him.

Voices muttered.

Someone said, “The heir to the House of Artemis and the heir to the House of Ares—holy Kronos.”

“Both Chthonic heirs?” someone gasped. “That’s insane.”

Augustus stared across the sand at me with the eyes of a killer. He held my gaze, unblinking.

Kharon told him what I was after that first week. That’s why he glared at me accusingly in class. That’s why he made perplexing comments about my power and dishonor. That’s why he said Chthonic lives mattered—I was the Chthonic life, not my mentors.

They were using me.

That was it.

Helen looked up from where she was kneeling in the sand with Patro now by her side, and her eyes were wide with sympathy. They shone with misery.

The chatter intensified all around.

“We have betrothed her together,” Augustus announced, voice silky smooth and full of confidence. “That is why two boxes were sent, and both were opened. She accepted both of us.”

Never.

Unlike Kharon, he didn’t smirk. His expression was stoic.

Zeus frowned. “But the federation stated in the marriage law you cannot marry a Chthonic. It is unacceptable that you three would⁠—”

“It stated,” Augustus interrupted him smoothly, “that we could not marry only one of the ten Chthonic names that were listed in the law. Alexis Hert was not on that list.”

“But,” Zeus sputtered. “The purpose of the law⁠—”

Kharon interrupted him. “The purpose of the law does not matter. What matters is that we have obeyed the letter of the law in exactitude. As Alexis is not listed, there should be no problem.”

Zeus clenched his hands into fists, face reddening, but he said nothing.

Air left my sternum—the two men in wolf’s heads had asked me where my jewels were.

It had been them.

They’d wanted to know why I wasn’t wearing their horrid gifts.

And they’d touched me so . . . intimately.

The worst part? I’d enjoyed it. A part of me had known. But like a fool, I’d ignored the warning signs.

They probably laughed about it afterward.

They’d been playing a twisted game for months.

Setting me up for marriage.

Using me.

To avoid a marriage law.

There’s something wrong with them. They’re . . . sick in the head.

I could feel their ferality from yards away in the way they watched me. Their eyes were a little too wide, postures a little too stiff.

They used charisma to hide what they really were.

Father John was mistaken. The devil wasn’t a lone figure—he was two men, and both were standing across from me, splattered in gore.

Savage promises glinted in their expressions.

The emotions were suddenly too much.

I’d never had a romantic relationship, and now this was happening to me. I was in way over my head.

My lower lip trembled as I glared at them, and Augustus’s face fell.

He looked shattered.

I looked away.

Everything blurred, and time was fuzzy on the edges, as my head spun with blood loss.

Zeus cleared his throat, an edge of spite in his gaze as he looked at me. “Under the article three amendments,” he said harshly, “the law states clearly that all Chthonics are required to join the Assembly of Death, if they survive the crucible. It is our law—she must join. As a Chthonic, she also . . . must compete in the upcoming Gladiator Competition.”

Persephone cried out as Zeus and Hades started arguing.

Helen sobbed harder in the sand.

Bone-weary, just wanting the day (life) to be over with, I staggered to the group.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

Nothing matters anyway. I’m already dead.

“Daughter,” Hades said, “you don’t have to.”

“No way in fucking Kronos will you make our betrothed have to fight Titans and compete in that savage tournament,” Augustus spat with disgust. “She’d be the first young heiress in decades—it’s preposterous and dishonorable. I will never allow this.”

Kharon nodded beside him. They looked apoplectic.

If one more man spoke for me, I was going to lose it.

“Technically,” Zeus frowned. “Under Article Three of the Great War Reparations Act, she does have⁠—”

“I’ll do it!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, chest heaving as my vision blurred. “I said I’ll fucking do it.” I waved mangled hands.

Sparta fell silent.

No one spoke.

I staggered over to where the initiates had stood before for the graduation ceremony.

I wanted to fight.

To kill.

To die on a battlefield.

Chop me into little pieces. Put me into a coma. I dare you. PLEASE DO IT YOU FILTHY LIARS.

Zeus and Hades shouted at everyone to get back into positions.

Time warped.

I was standing beside Drex and the other initiates in the middle of the arena. Snow fell quietly all around.

Titus looked down the line at me. His expression was horrified, like he felt bad for me.

I stared back blankly.

Dead.

Numb.

A murderer.

Poisonous blood dripped from my ruined hands, the hands of a killer.

When the other initiates’ names were read, General Cleandro announced they had graduated and were citizens of Sparta.

But when he read mine, he paused.

“Alexis . . . I mean—Hercules,” he said reluctantly. “Do you accept a life of servitude in the Assembly of Death, fighting Titans and . . . defending Sparta?”

He waited, his expression grim.

I smiled coldly. “I do. Gladly.”

He grimaced and looked away—like he couldn’t stomach the darkness in my eyes. I scoffed and staggered back into line.

I was what they’d made me into.

And they hated it.

I chuckled brokenly to myself as we graduated from the crucible with all of Sparta staring at us.

No one cheered.

Hades and Persephone ran over to me, while Achilles and Patro knelt with Helen and whispered to her. My mentors looked up and made eye contact, their expressions intense. I looked away.

I wanted to go over and make sure she was okay—but I could barely stand.

Kharon and Augustus stalked behind my parents. Nyx reappeared with an exhausted hiss, and she slithered around my throat.

Villains.

Enemies.

My betrotheds.

The world spun faster.

“What happened to your eye?” Persephone asked as she hurried up to me and tipped my chin back. “It wasn’t like that when you were a baby.”

Kharon and Augustus snapped their heads in my direction.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled numbly, the lie unconvincing.

Then Patro, Kharon, Achilles, and Augustus turned toward Theros with murder on their faces.

I pulled away from my parents. “I have to go.”

They reached for me.

But they were too late.

“Domus,” I whispered brokenly, with one face in my mind.

The world exploded as I leaped away.