Page 92 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

Sweat streaks down the sides of my face and my body, coating every inch of visible skin, but I don’t care. Regis scales the wall below, moving slow but still with decisive steps.

Don’t think about him, I urge myself, refocusing on the flag that hangs against the pole just ahead. There’s no breeze save for the air that slides past me as I run. It makes these exercises all the more difficult and all the hotter.

One step. Two. Regis’ hands closes over the edge of the roof.

No! I mentally scream as I turn the last ten-foot difference between me and the flagpole into nothing as I stop and jump. I soar forward, catching the flag with the tips of my fingers. Just as Regis rolls to his feet upon the shingles, I tear it away and hold it up.

“I won!” I cry, chest heaving. Holy shit. I actually won.

Adrenaline still shooting through my body makes my steps shaky as I take one stumbling step towards Regis and hold up the flag as proof of my victory. “I won,” I state again, brandishing the white piece of cloth.

His lips twist into a scowl. “You probably used your Divinity,” he sneers. “Can’t take a human without that power of yours, huh?”

I blink at him and slowly lower my arm and my prize with it. “I didn’t use my Divinity,” I snap. “I beat you fair and square.”

He rolls his eyes and turns away. “Fucking Mortal God.”

Regis doesn’t get two feet towards the edge of the roof where I’m sure he’s planning to leap back down so that we can be on our way to meet up with our trainer. He doesn’t get there.

I throw the flag against his back and it hits him right between his shoulders before thumping to the shingles below our feet. Regis looks back, noting the fallen flag, and then pivots to face me slowly.

“Why are you such a dick?” I demand, planting my hands on my hips as my chest rises and falls in sharp, stuttering breaths. “I haven’t done anything to you!”

“You’re of Divine blood,” he snaps back, nose wrinkling as he toes away the white cloth at his feet as if it’s been contaminated now that I’ve touched it. “That’s reason enough to dislike you.”

I jab a finger at him. “You’re … you’re…” I don’t know what to say but my fury hasn’t abated and all I really want to do is punch him. So, that’s what I do. I drop my finger and take a running jump at the jerk who’s made my training miserable for the last year.

I see the widening of surprise in his eyes right before I slam into Regis. The two of us fall to the rooftop in a tangle of limbs and tiny fists. I punch him in the gut, relishing in the soft whoosh of air that escapes him before he flips me over and slams me into the curved shingles.

Kicking and punching, I feel the prickle of angry tears at the corners of my eyes and shove them back. Even if he’s a dick, I still remember the words he told me when we met in the induction area of the Underworld—no one will care if I cry anymore, least of all him.

Regis knocks me off himself when I attempt to crawl back on top of him to get a better position for punching. “For fuck’s sake!” he snaps, getting back to his feet. “Just leave me alone, you little runt.”

“We’re both in the Underworld,” I huff as I, too, clamber back up on shaking legs, holding my fists up as I wait for him to try and hit me back. “We have to work together.”

He doesn’t. Instead, his upper lip curls back in disgust and he shakes his head. “I don’t know why Ophelia took you in and I don’t care. I don’t care about you and I certainly won’t help you with any of our future missions.” He points to me and glares. “I’ll give you this one warning, runt. You are nothing to me and it’s because of your people that my brother was taken from me. I don’t care what Ophelia says. Don’t ever expect me to help you.”

With that, Regis turns and stalks away. I frown, lowering my fists, and glance down as his booted foot stomps right over the white flag—the first one I ever won. This time, when the tears come, I don’t hold them back. I let them roll over my cheeks for several minutes before wiping them away and reaching down to pick up the now stained flag.

Holding it close to my chest, I sniff. “I didn’t do anything,” I whisper. “I’m just trying to survive.”

My only audience, the flag, doesn’t reply.

17 years old…

The whisper of my dagger slides through flesh like a hot knife through butter. Blood spills, drenching my fingers. I wait a beat and then release my victim’s mouth as he falls to the ground, lifeless.

Wiping the stained edge of my dagger against the black fabric of my trousers that won’t show the blood stain, I step over the corpse and keep moving into the dark tunnel leading from the edge of the mountain towards the God city, Nysa. The sound of footsteps and low voices in the vicinity echo off the stone surrounding me. I plaster my body against the wall, the bite of ice stabbing through the thick cloak I wear to penetrate my senses.

“Hurry, bring him this way.” The words are courtesy of a fat bulbous man with a ring of thin hair circling his head. He lumbers ahead of two men dragging a third between them. Despite the first man’s obvious access to food, the two following him and his orders are rail thin, their eyes sunken with cheekbones jutting from their faces from lack of nutrition.

I lick my dry lips and keep to the shadows as the group passes right by my hiding place. The fat one holds up a single torch to light their way, his eyes bouncing right and left. None of them see the body of the guard I’ve killed.

Pathetic. I shake my head. Truly pathetic.

“Where is Krychek?” the fat man gripes. “Damned guards are worthless.”

My eyes glance down to the corpse at my feet. The ‘Krychek’ the man is talking about, I guess. I almost feel bad about the man getting a bad reputation, but then again, he’s dead so the fat man is right. He is worthless now.

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