Chapter 31 The Games Begin
THE GAMES BEGIN
I stared at my fingers and imagined light coming from the tips.
Nothing happened.
“What are you doing?” Kharon asked, his eyes narrowing. “Why do you keep staring at your fingers?”
“No reason,” I said hastily.
His lips pursed with suspicion.
I clapped loudly.
Nothing happened.
Darn it, so much for the clapper light theory. It was worth a shot.
“What the hell was that?” Kharon asked.
I leaned against his shoulder instead of answering. His arm wrapped around me like a steel vise, his grip a little too tight.
He held me like I was his hostage.
So dramatic.
For some reason that I refused to acknowledge, I didn’t pull away.
The day was blustery and chilled.
Even though it was June, the mountain breeze had a crisp edge as it whipped through the Dolomites Coliseum, and too-bright sunlight reflected off the stone walls of the arena.
I once again found myself seated between my husbands in the Chthonic section of the coliseum, but the stadium had changed.
Fear took root at the base of my spine.
Solar generators hummed around the top edge of the arena walls—a domed web of electric lines arched over the entire stadium. High above, the neon-green network shimmered faintly in the sunshine and descended all the way to the sand.
“What is that … net?” I asked as electricity prickled across my skin.
“A force field,” Augustus said. “One of the House of Zeus’s inventions. No one can leap into it—or out of it—without suffering extreme electric shock.”
“It’s to make sure no one … interferes,” Kharon said coldly.
I shifted in my seat.
Fluffy Jr., Poco, and the hellhounds slept at our feet in a pile of bones, black and gray fur, and lumpy protrusions. Every few seconds Fluffy Jr. twitched with a spasm and Poco smoothed a hand over his forehead.
Please God, let him be okay.
An unsettling war cry punctuated my prayer.
Below the shimmering force field, Arthritis (Artemis) rode her muscular black stallion onto the sands surrounded by a scarlet mist.
The stadium chanted, “Vivere est militare … vivere est militare … vivere est militare!”
To live is to fight.
The stallion reared back, and the crowd went wild.
Artemis smirked atop her steed and framed her black chest plate with her hands, drawing attention to the crest displayed across it.
Rubies gleamed in the sun, forming the rabid horse crest of the House of Artemis.
Her long brown hair was plaited into a complicated braid down her back, her aristocratic nose pointed up with pride, and her spiky crown sat tall and regal on her head. A bow was slung loosely over her shoulder next to a holster full of arrows.
Spartan guns were banned altogether, but apparently the Olympians let you choose from an armory of blade weapons, all of which I could barely wield.
The Montana education system had failed me.
Did we really need that sex education course on the mating rituals of nuclear-radiated Canada geese? My gut reaction—yes.
I couldn’t help but feel like I’d learned something invaluable from that course. Do not try to pet geese, especially if they have more than three eyes (they will destroy you).
Augustus shifted closer, draping his arm over mine and Kharon’s back so I was tucked between the two of them.
The scents of lightning and rain smothered me as they pressed against me like they were trying to burrow under my skin.
I was in the middle of their storm.
Nyx was twined around my neck, and Augustus flinched as her scales slid against his arm.
Drex looked back over his shoulder, worry on his face, and I tried to give him a small reassuring smile, but it ended up as more of a wince.
He grimaced in agreement, then turned back to watch the show. Helen and Charlie watched the proceedings next to him with cautious interest.
In front of them sat the Chthonic leaders and Persephone, their heavy crowns looking out of place with the sparse, sleeveless, short black exercise togas we’d all been given to wear.
“Vivere est militare!” The chant thundered all around the stands as the Spartan crowd screamed with bloodthirsty excitement.
A hand flashed in my peripheral vision.
Charlie was signing something to Achilles, who sat further down the row. Most surprisingly, Achilles was signing back.
Charlie nodded passionately and Achilles’s shoulders shook like he was silently chuckling.
I’ve never seen him laugh before.
They were signing rapidly to each other like they were close friends.
Patro glanced back at me—his eyes narrowed on where Augustus was rubbing my bare arms, trying to warm me.
If he was trying to intimidate me, it wasn’t working.
I made a face at him, and Patro made a show of turning around, giving me his back.
Augustus rubbed my arms faster, and Kharon dragged his skeleton-tattooed fingers slowly over the bottom half of my exposed thigh.
Goose bumps exploded as they caressed my flesh.
Kharon and Augustus touched me so casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to them, but the intimacy made my face flush and stomach pinch.
Down below, Artemis lazily spun in a circle, keeping her eyes on the five monstrous beasts that surrounded her.
Apparently, I’d been so distracted by my husbands touching me I’d literally missed the arrival of thirty-foot-tall Cyclopes.
Their heads came up to the top of the wall that surrounded the arena.
Ratty loincloths, larger than the flags that waved above the stands, fluttered over their portly, dirt-covered, stout bodies.
The Cyclopes’ faces were horribly misshapen; sharp yellow teeth jutted at odd angles from their mouths, and their forehead skin bunched grotesquely to make space for their disproportionately large, singular eye.
The five beasts stomped as they walked in a circle around Artemis—the stadium vibrated—their mammoth fists raised high like they were ready to attack.
“Don’t worry.” Kharon leaned close. “The leader fights are just for show … They’re too powerful to be actually contested.”
The Cyclopes bellowed.
“Do they consent to this?” I whispered.
Kharon’s breath fanned against the side of my face. “What?”
I ignored the flutter in my stomach. “Do the Cyclopes want to fight?”
Kharon furrowed his brows as he stared at me.
Augustus shook his head as he tucked me tighter against his side. “They quite literally yearn for violence. They’re carnivorous beasts with the intelligence of rocks—I taught you this.”
He tsked like he was scolding me, and for some reason the heat in my stomach increased.
“They’re barely classified as creatures,” Augustus continued. “If they could, they’d murder us all and use our bones as toothpicks.”
Kharon winked.
Down on the sands, Artemis tipped her head back and laughed as the Cyclopes stomped at her and missed.
I frowned as a thought struck me. “How do you … lose in this competition?”
It seemed crucially important, yet no one had bothered to tell me.
Kharon’s smile fell.
He looked away.
Artemis scowled as a Cyclops slammed a meaty fist down, barely missing her body.
Augustus sighed heavily. “Three ways: you pass out from blood loss, fall into a coma, or—”
“Die,” Kharon finished.
Augustus nodded curtly.
“Tell her the other way,” Kharon ordered, his voice loud and harsh.
Drex and Helen glanced back at us; they blanched when they saw Kharon’s expression.
Kharon leaned closer, his voice dropping. “There’s a fourth way to lose.”
I didn’t like the gleam in his eyes.
“You can defeat all your labors, but if both your legs are broken, the pieces of your kneecap sticking out of your skin … you can crawl across the sand …”
His nostrils flared as he paused like he was lost in memories.
“You can drag your bloody, ruined, weak body out of the arena … and still be branded a loser.” His eyes sharpened. “Winners walk out of the arena on their two feet. Those who crawl … get branded.”
His ruined knee and the scars on his chest.
This was Kharon’s story.
“But that’s not fair—you beat them,” I said with outrage. “You beat all eleven of your labors—how could they count that as a loss?”
Kharon’s lips curled as he stared down at me. “Because Olympians hate Chthonics. They live to humiliate us … to brand us. To mark us. It’s all about power … and to wield it over others … you must break them.”
Skeletal fingers dug into my thigh.
“I won’t let them do it to you.” Kharon’s nails pressed harder. “I won’t let them—”
Boom.
We all turned.
The sands were covered in shimmering scarlet as if a bomb had gone off. Artemis sat on her steed in the middle with her arms raised.
Pure terror filled my throat as her mist traveled up the stadium, glittering and deadly in the bright sunshine. The electric force field hissed as the fine droplets traveled through it.
All five Cyclopes shrieked in unison, a terrible sharp sound.
Artemis’s black horse reared back, whinnying as its front legs kicked powerfully through the air, and she cocked her bow.
She fired two arrows at a time—in different directions. How is that possible?
Two Cyclopes collapsed, long metal shafts protruding from the stadium shook beneath us from the force of their falls.
“YES,” Nyx shouted around my neck. “Slaughter them!”
Artemis fired in a blur.
Cyclopes dropped and the stadium rocked so aggressively, stones cracked.
Dear God, please let the stadium collapse and kill us all. Thank you.
The shaking died down and the structural integrity of the coliseum was left unscathed.
Disappointing.
Her mist dissipated and five Cyclopes lay in the sand, blood pouring from arrows embedded in their eyes. Their dirty limbs in a tangle.
The force field hummed.
“Are they …” I swallowed thickly, unable to say the word.
Augustus nodded.
The Olympian crowd went wild, screaming and chanting at the top of their lungs: “Monsteress of the Hunt … Monsteress of the Hunt … Monsteress of the Hunt!”
I clasped my cold fingers together.
Artemis stood up on her rabid stallion’s back and raised her bow to the sky with a smirk.
She balanced as her steed jumped over the fallen Cyclopes, sand spraying behind as they galloped out of the arena.
The crowd clapped and screamed louder.
No one could say Arthritis (Artemis) doesn’t have flair.
Augustus pressed a gentle kiss to the top of my head. “Now we have the symposium. It’s in the coliseum.”
I turned to him with surprise.
“Not the same one you attended,” Augustus said. “It’s in the same room—but it’s where all the competitors, leaders, House heirs, and some of the most important Spartan creatures and dignitaries mingle and eat during the competition.”
“But there are still some … explicit activities,” Kharon muttered, a muscle in his jaw ticking.
Relief filled me.
If the Olympians were going to make us fight to the death, the least they could do was put on a performance. Flash a penis, show a boob.
“Why are you smiling?” Kharon asked suspiciously.
“I’m not.”
“That!” Kharon pointed at my mouth.
I bit down on my lower lip to try to look less like an awkward sexual degenerate.
Kharon narrowed his ice-blue eyes. “So help me Kronos, Alexis, if you try that little strip routine again, I will—”
“I wasn’t going to do anything, Karen.” I rolled my eyes (I’d been considering it).
He breathed roughly through his nose like he was having an episode.
“She’ll be fine.” Augustus grinned at me. “We’ll take care of her. She has us by her side now, right, my carus?”
Scales slithered around my neck. “Oh yeah, I’m sure he’ll take care of you with his—” Nyx paused for dramatic effect “—throbbing, engorged cock.”
I choked. “Never say that again.”
“Never say what?” Nyx clicked her teeth together. “Cock and balls?”
Kharon scowled. “What is the echidna saying? Why are you hissing like that and making that face?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m just a pervert.”
They narrowed their eyes like they couldn’t figure out if I was joking, or if this was a cry for help.
It was both.