Blood of Hercules (Villains of Lore Book 1)

Alexis

Wiping away spit, I accidentally made eye contact with another initiate as I followed (fell in a forward direction while somehow staying upright) the group down the mountain.

The boy shuffled toward me, curly gold hair plastered with sweat to his pale skin.

“We got this,” he said as he raised his hand toward me. It was bloody from where he’d fallen and cut himself.

I tripped and stumbled away to avoid being hit.

My palms scraped across sharp rocks as I barely caught myself, then staggered back to my aching feet.

There was an uncomfortable pause because he was still holding out his hand for a handshake.

I didn’t take it.

He gave me a strange look.

Embarrassed, I jogged faster (increased from an injured snail’s pace to a somewhat healthier snail’s pace).

Unfortunately, he fell into step beside me on my left side, hovering in my blind spot.

Unease skittered down my spine.

Panic pulsed in my chest.

“I’m Christos Zeus,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

I grunted and kept my eyes facing away from him so he’d get the memo.

“Alexis, right? I’ve heard about you—I’m also a mutt.” He pointed to his corkscrew curls as we descended the mountain and said, “Since they think you’re also from the House of Zeus, that would make us stepsiblings.”

He grinned like something was funny.

Nothing was humorous these days. People needed to learn to accept the energy of the dark times.

Charlie was also halfway around the world, probably worried sick.

“I already have a brother,” I whispered.

“Well, either way, I’m sure we’ll be great friends.” Christos patted my back, and I jumped, falling over rocks as I staggered, trying to get away.

He laughed.

I didn’t.

“Cheerful idiot,” Nyx hissed.

I would have said something in agreement, but I was too busy trying not to die.

Time stretched as the sun marched slowly across the sky, a frantic melody played in my head, and I learned something very important: running downhill was not easier than running uphill.

There was no justice in this cruel world.

Calves cramping, chest heaving, hours later, I collapsed on all fours at the bottom of the mountain where the group was resting.

Christos fell to his knees beside me. “Whoa, that sucked.” He coughed.

I moved away from him. My roster of friends was full. Yes, Nyx took up every spot. She had a big (deranged) personality.

Titus said something derogatory about women belonging on their backs.

“Stand up!” Vorex ordered too soon, and I joined in the chorus of groans.

He gestured to the dark-blue water behind us. “That is the River Styx—do you all see the boat with the man standing on it?”

A tall wide-shouldered figure was upright in a thin boat. Covered head to toe in the black cloak that signified he was part creature, with a long pole in his hand, he looked more shadow than man.

“That is Kharon, the heir to the House of Artemis and the deadliest Chthonic assassin on earth,” Vorex said with a grimace. “If you stop swimming . . . if he catches you . . . you will die. The fact that he’s agreed to be the ferryman of the circuit this year is not good news for your chances of survival.”

Kharon’s boat turned in the water toward us.

A hair-raising growl echoed, and everyone looked around warily. Where is that sound coming from?

Vorex frowned. “They call Kharon the Hunter for a reason. You don’t want to be caught by him. He’s more creature than man.”

An initiate shivered with fear (it was me).

But apparently, we didn’t look properly terrified, because Vorex continued, “He’s the only Spartan who doesn’t have an animal protector. Do you want to know why? Because all the monstrous creatures are afraid of him. He’s one of them . . . but worse.”

Kharon stared at us across the River Styx and smiled.

Is he looking at me?

I discreetly moved to the side, so I hid behind Christos.

Vorex grimaced as he continued, “Rumor is, he has a dungeon in his villa at Lake Como where he tortures anyone who angers him.”

Kharon is definitely still looking at me.

I blanched and crouched lower.

Please don’t take me to your dungeon.

“All right.” Vorex shrugged. His ferret crawled onto his shoulder and stood up tall. “Everyone, get in the water and swim to the academy.”

He pointed to the very end of the rippling water, where the carved side of the mountain was barely visible.

The distance was far.

Nyx slithered down my side onto the ground. “I’ll swim beside you, kid.”

I slumped with relief at the release of her crushing weight and sat down, but didn’t have time to enjoy it.

Christos once again offered me his bloody cut palm.

Sighing, I took it.

Scrapes burned on my hand as they reopened.

“What are you waiting for? Go—go—go!” Vorex shouted. “Swim like your lives depend on it.”

The ten of us ran forward into the river. Icy water jolted my exhausted system into panic mode. It was like face-planting onto concrete.

A sharp pain stabbed my chest.

With all my strength, I threw my arms forward and kicked as I fought to get away from the flailing bodies.

It was a frenzy.

Arms elbowed. Skin smacked. Water splashed. Hands yanked on feet.

The pain in my sternum worsened.

I found some separation, grateful for the long summer days I’d spent swimming in the lake behind the trailer park after the foster parents were removed from my life.

As the swim continued, the gratitude died.

The panic in my heart became a blinding pain.

We were going against the current—on the shore, it had looked like the water traveled lazily in a slow, peaceful motion, but it was anything but.

With every stroke, I turned my head to the side and gasped, desperate to fill my deflated lungs with air, but it wasn’t enough.

I battled the water.

When I inhaled as I turned my head to breathe, water filled my nose, and I choked. Coughing, I flipped onto my back. Sinuses burning, I desperately sucked in air.

A loud splashing sound caught my attention—I leaned my head up to look around.

Christos was beside me, treading water, moaning pitifully. “Help!” he screamed, foam dripping out of his mouth as he splashed like he was in agony.

Someone’s hurting him, but who?

His head bobbed under as he looked at me with frantic desperation.

I tried to reach and help him.

He pulled away and screamed louder, fighting against an invisible monster.

A shadowy boat appeared out of seemingly thin air. My eyes widened.

It was the who.

“Swim!” I screamed at Christos desperately as I tried to hold him up.

He pulled us both under. When we resurfaced, he screamed louder, splashing as he struggled against me.

“S-Swim,” I begged him as I sputtered.

He kicked at me.

A tattered dark cloak blew menacingly on the mountain breeze as Kharon leaned low in the boat.

Panic made white-hot agony burst through my chest.

I swam away from Christos, desperate to put separation between us.

Kharon stared down at me. His head tilted to the side with interest, like he was observing something unique.

I looked around, but everyone else was swimming yards away.

He was looking straight at me with glacial blue eyes.

Glaring at me.

Focused.

Like he was hunting me.

A heart attack ripped through my sternum, and everything got hazy.

I struggled to breathe.

The water swallowed me. When I resurfaced, Kharon’s eyes were filled with blood, and his long pale finger was touching Christos’s forehead.

Christos let out a hideous shriek, like a single touch had ruined him, and he splashed wildly as dozens of birds flew off a tree on the riverbank.

Kharon smiled, pulled his hand away, and stood up in his boat.

He stared down at the drowning boy dispassionately.

Christos wailed like he was being torn to shreds from unseen forces. Blood poured as his skin was ravaged.

Foam dripped off his lips like he was a feral creature.

His shouts got more desperate.

More hopeless.

Stabbing agony skewered my chest.

Christos disappeared under the water—he didn’t come back up.

I wanted to cry.

“We’re going to be friends.” Why had I refused to talk to him?

Kharon Artemis slowly raised his cloaked head and stared directly at me, sharp blood-filled Chthonic eyes glowing.

The son of Artemis and Erebus was evil incarnate.

Kharon’s lips pulled up into a knifelike smile, and the nose of his boat turned in my direction. Water splashed all around the vessel.

His smile was that of a predator who’d locked on his kill. He’s headed straight for me.

My eyes widened.

“Swim, Alexis,” Nyx hissed from somewhere nearby. “As fast as you can, right now!”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Kicking with everything I had, arms slapping at the water, head downward, I didn’t breathe for minutes at a time.

I swam like the devil was chasing me.

He was.

The world blurred in a frantic haze.

Finally, knees sinking into warm mud, I crawled out of the water across the riverbank. Vorex pointed at a pile of foil blankets, and initiates scrambled for them, but there weren’t enough for all of us, and I wasn’t fast enough.

Icy scales slid up my torso as Nyx wrapped herself around my neck.

Numbly, I staggered to my feet. Dripping water, convulsing with shivers, I limped behind the group.

We formed a line in front of the academy entrance.

General Cleandro looked pissed. “If I find out that one of you took it upon yourself to try to separate your weak classmates . . .”

What is he talking about? It was Kharon. I saw him. He must have done something with his powers to hurt him.

The general narrowed his eyes. “Then I won’t be happy. You don’t need to do a single fucking thing but worry about yourselves. Weeding out the weak is my job . . . or do you not think I can do my job?”

“No, General!” we chorused, our voices cracked and raw. Someone coughed up water (it was me).

We’d gone from ten to nine, in just one day.

A pervasive deadness filled my chest.

How am I going to survive this place?

The doctor had said that the House of Zeus was known for its fertility issues, and recent mutts struggled. Now her words felt sickly prophetic.

Another one was dead.

Am I next?

“I was originally going to give you all a break, but now”—the general’s smirk was cruel—“you will attend Lost Classical Lore with Professor Augustus.”

The setting sun cast long sinister shadows.

“MOVE, INITIATES,” the general bellowed. “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU LAZY FUCKERS WAITING FOR? FUCKING MOVE.”

Unsurprisingly, we all moved.

Back under the mountain, the dripping wax, life-size sculptures, long crimson pool, and melancholic music were depressing.

It was also freezing.

Slipping, I winced as the raw cuts on the bottoms of my feet scraped against the rocks as I sat back down on the hard classroom floor (fell over and somehow landed on my butt).

My hands were also covered in wounds. Blood, river water, and despair dripped off me.

Our breaths were loud and raspy, and someone coughed every other second.

The mood in the room was misery.

The door flung open.

A man entered.

His energy was vicious.

Unlike with Pine, everyone in the room immediately sat up straight, even General Cleandro.

It was him.

The infamous assassin, rumored to have dark powers.

The heir to the House of Ares.

Augustus.

The son of Ares and Aphrodite looked more like a savage warrior than a professor.

Evil incarnate.

A thick scar slashed across the top of his right sharp cheekbone and ended on his nose—it matched the color of his spiky ruby-covered crown.

I rubbed at my hair-tie-covered wrists. Fear made it hard to breathe.

He loomed high above us with perfect posture. He was about Achilles’s height, and his powerful muscles bunched as he walked into the classroom. His hands—the size of dinner plates—clenched into fists.

He had a commanding (terrifying) aura.

Suddenly the description of sinful handsomeness, disturbed powers, and divine rage made perfect sense.

It fit him.

Augustus was a frightening amalgamation of sharp edges.

Dark stubble covered a harsh square jaw. Tan skin stretched across wicked cheekbones. Shadows pooled in the hollows of his cheeks. His black eyes were smoldering, lips curved viciously.

A severe center part split his two-toned hair—half-black and half-white—which was pulled back into a long silky ponytail.

His parentage was immediately clear from looking at him.

He was deadly.

I don’t want to be alone with him in a dark alley, or even a well-lit alley. Actually, I don’t want to be alone with him anywhere.

Augustus paced slowly at the front of the room, and the hair on my arms and legs stood up.

“You really need to get a Spartan gun,” Nyx hissed in my ear.

I nodded in agreement.

Two voices whispered near me, and I looked to my left. Nothing was there.

You’re losing your mind.

I took a deep breath and concentrated on the monster in front of me.

The very air around him was electric. Dark power hummed beneath his skin, and my mouth prickled like I could taste it.

We were in the middle of a mountain, but we were somehow also in a lightning storm.

Augustus was the storm.

A small gray creature with dark stripes darted across the room from the door, and it climbed up Augustus’s shoulders. Little hands wrapped around the professor’s thick neck, and its eyes were as midnight black as his.

It was also fluffy.

I gaped at the raccoon that Augustus was essentially giving a piggyback.

It was the cutest Chthonic protector I’d ever seen.

“I could eat that creature in three bites,” Nyx hissed, and I discreetly slapped her.

“You ruin my life,” she muttered, then let out a loud, raspy snore as she immediately fell asleep.

I envied her lifestyle.

Augustus peered down at us while an adorable racoon played with his long hair.

“You will refer to me as Professor Augustus.” His silky baritone voice vibrated through my bones. “This is my animal protector, Poco.”

He turned to showcase the creature that I wanted to kidnap and give kisses.

“He might look harmless,” Augustus warned. “But beware, he is a feral creature—touch him and you’ll reap the consequences. You’ve been warned.”

Poco the racoon looked down at us from his high vantage point—a black-and-white ponytail wrapped around his fist—and flashed a full set of razor-sharp teeth that looked like they belonged in a shark’s mouth.

His black eyes flashed as he tipped his head back and screeched.

Avoid the rabid racoon.

Got it.

“As most of you already know,” Augustus continued, “I am known for my honor. I will not torture you just to torture you. Everything we will do in this classroom has a purpose.”

Initiates relaxed, some smiled at the professor with relief, and he nodded back at them.

Patro said he was even mannered; maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“I see we have a . . . girl—in the class this year.” Augustus stared down at me. “That is unfortunate.”

Boys snickered behind me.

The professor’s attention was intense as he held my gaze. “What is your opinion of women participating in the crucible?”

He waited for an answer.

“It’s . . . good?” I shrugged, not sure what he wanted me to say. Frankly, I’m not exactly sure what any of this even is.

Augustus’s congenial expression disappeared; pure loathing twisted his features. “So that bastard really had a sanctimonious daughter, just like himself. You really think other women should be subjected to this test?”

Oh no.

I’d definitely given the wrong answer.

I opened my mouth to dispute it, but my mouth was dry and I was tongue-tied. “Oh th-that’s—” I struggled to speak. “Not w-what⁠—”

“Save your excuses.” Augustus cut me off with his hand raised. “Future generations will have to suffer because of your stunt. Have you thought of that? Or are you just selfish?”

Soulless black eyes bore through me.

Um, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Have you ever thought of that?

I rubbed at my hair-tie-covered wrists, phantom pains shooting up my forearms, then I ripped my gaze away from his and stared at the floor.

Skin prickled under the weight of his fury.

Finally, what felt like ages later, he turned his suffocating attention away from me.

With a dramatic turn of his long toga, Augustus wrote “The Story of The Minotaur” in Latin across the chalkboard. “Turn to page two of your textbooks,” he said in Latin. “The story begins with⁠—”

Wax dripped slowly.

Plop. Plop. Plop.

Eyes closing with exhaustion, I held my trembling legs to my chest to conserve body heat as I listened to the sordid story of a feral Minotaur and Kronos.

My brain hurt as I tried to piece together the Latin words that were spoken in a random order and form them into sentences.

It’s a dead language for a reason. Someone needs to kill it again. Also, whoever invented it should be stabbed twenty-three times in the back.

Time passed.

I forced myself to concentrate on the words.

Mid-lecture, “Alexis,” August said harshly in English, and the change of languages was jarring. “What did ancient Spartans from the House of Poseidon primarily use Minotaurs for?”

Poco hissed on his shoulder.

I opened my eyes. “Entertainment.”

Augustus made an unimpressed noise at the back of his throat. “What entertainment are you referring to?” He glared at me with disdain.

Vitriol wafted off him.

Why am I so hateable? I’m literally just trying to live a good (short) life.

In the front of the classroom, General Cleandro leaned forward in his seat and pulled out his black device. On his shoulders, his hawk slowly spread its wings.

“Or,” Augustus taunted, “just like your father, do you think you already know everything? So you haven’t bothered to learn the true intricacies of the Latin language—and you’ve been sitting here for the last two hours, not comprehending but thinking you’re better than everyone, just waiting⁠—”

I shook my head and blurted, “They hunted Minotaurs for sport through the maze at Mycenae on the island of Crete.”

On numb lips, I repeated his lecture before he could criticize me further.

“But Minotaurs were sentient beasts who communicated with each other to trap and thwart the Spartans—they b-became the hunters and ripped the Spartans to shreds and blocked the maze’s exit. Every time the Spartans healed, they immediately tore them apart.”

“Never interrupt me again. You’re not better than others, because you’re from the House of Zeus,” Augustus said harshly as Poco twirled his long black-and-white ponytail around his little paws.

A few initiates snickered under their breath.

He switched to Latin and asked, “How long were the Spartans trapped?”

I coughed (hacked up a lung for a minute), then said, “They’re still there today—the House of Hades has blocked any rescue efforts.”

“Why?” Augustus demanded.

I shrugged. “Because they’re Chthonic and they h-hate the House of Poseidon?”

Because they’re evil.

Instead of mocking my stutter, my classmates nodded in agreement, and a few even clapped. “Evil Chthonic bastards,” someone muttered, then gulped with fear as Augustus glared at them.

Deep lines appeared in Augustus’s tan forehead as he turned back to me. “Your answers on what I’d taught were technically correct, but your assessment was . . . disappointing.”

The room let out a collective sigh of relief that we wouldn’t be running the circuit, and I glanced guiltily over at Drex, who was sitting next to me. He was staring down at his textbook, ignoring everyone.

Technically, he’s Chthonic, but he saved you.

I felt ashamed. Dirty. Augustus was also Chthonic, and I’d just insulted him.

Christos screaming as he died and Kharon smiling. The Crimson Duo torturing a Titan.

Numbness spread.

Father John said evil was the absence of God and that he’d seen the devil in bloody Chthonic eyes.

I’d seen it too.

Augustus switched topics and started ranting in Latin about how sirens were advanced sentient creatures in the same class as Minotaurs, and I sighed with relief.

He didn’t call on anyone else and smiled at the other initiates when they asked questions.

He didn’t smile at me.

Not once.

An indeterminate amount of time later, which felt like forever, Lost Classical Lore ended, and General Cleandro announced we had a three-hour break to study before Thagorean class with Pine. “I expect everyone to spend the time in the library, or there will be . . . consequences for you.”

My gut told me he was not bluffing.

But I was so tired and cold I could barely stand up straight.

In the library, I curled up (flung myself face forward) on a maroon velvet settee in front of a roaring fireplace, which was hidden in the back behind the stacks and was quiet.

A pretty muse with long pink hair stacked books on a shelf nearby. She frowned over at me, but glanced away when we made eye contact.

Most of the other initiates had curled up in front of fireplaces, but two boys sat at the long mahogany desks, working. Apparently, they were paragons of discipline and had enough physical and mental stamina to study.

Not relatable.

I didn’t even have enough energy to die, if it came down to it (hopefully it would).

Nothing could have stopped me from falling asleep.

Nyx muttered with contentment around my neck, and I pulled her close like a blanket.

Déjà vu washed over me. Everything had changed, yet nothing was different. I was still an exhausted, unwanted little girl covered in bruises, shivering in a cardboard box.

“This place sucks,” I whispered. “I want to go home.”

“Home is not a place,” Nyx said softly. “It’s a person.”

I closed my eyes. “That literally makes zero sense.”

“You’ll understand, someday.”

Darkness claimed me.