Page 4 of The Brothers Bane

The big room is cozy despite how large it is, with more than a dozen long wooden tables, worn from heavy use. A fireplace sits dark and dormant at one end, with an assortment of leather armchairs arranged around it. A shield hangs on the wall above it, painted with a scene depicting dark, feminine silhouettes engaged in battle.

When Mel sits, she continues in between bites of food. “He lived with us for about a year—just long enough for us to almost forget that he had a dick. We’ve always isolated ourselves from the world of men, but Alcides made us start to believe men weren’t all that bad. That maybe it was just the gods who were assholes.”

She didn’t provide plates or utensils, so I eat with my fingers right off the cutting board like she does, chewing and swallowing before I respond.

“I don’t know him that well, but I suppose the fact that he brought me here says something. I trusted the wrong man and wound up in prison. Story of my life.” I let out a rueful chuckle and rip into a hunk of bread, layering meat and cheese on it before taking a big bite while I brood over my poor life choices.

“Well, despite how he left things, him bringing you here tells me he hasn’t changed. I mean, he was a shit for deserting my sister, but I was always surprised he stayed as long as he did. He was too tortured over what that cunt made him do not to finish his labors andatone.” She shoots a wary gaze to the ceiling.

“You mean when his stepmother drove him to madness and made him murder his family?”

Mel scoots her chair a little closer to mine and lowers her voice. “He told you?”

“Not in detail, but it’s not like I could ask him to recount the event. Do you know what happened?”

“You know who his father is, right?”

“Zeu—” I begin, but she shushes me.

“He’s the worst of them,” she says with a grimace. “But his wife isn’t much better. Nothing is everhisfault. You’d think gods would be capable of holding each other accountable. I can’t tell you the number of women who’ve come to us after an encounter with him, provided his wife didn’t get to them first. The Furies themselves couldn’t dole out enough torture to even the score with either of them.”

The look on her face strays from mere distaste to a banked rage, emphasized when she produces a large hunting knife from a sheath at her belt and stabs into an apple in a bowl in the center of the table.

“Hmm,” I say, nodding and feeling just a little guilty about digging into Alcides’ past this way, instead of just asking him. But how do you broach the topic of the time a guy massacred his family while under the divine influence of a vengeful stepmother?

Mel proceeds to slice the apple into quarters and core it. She offers me a piece, which I take, my belly happily buzzing with the satisfaction of being slowly filled. I haven’t eaten since breakfast with Asterius, I realize. The last thing I swallowed was Chrysaor’s cum. Which was tasty. Who knew demigod semen could be so delicious?

Mel chews and swallows, then takes a deep breath. “Anyway, she has always had it out for her husband’s bastards. Any chance she can get to torment them, she takes. And that poor bastard caught the worst of her wrath.” She stabs the point of her knife toward the door. “By all accounts, he’d settled down to just live his life among mortals—wife, kids, the whole package. If she’d left well enough alone, he might have faded into the background and been utterly forgotten. But seeing him happy must have rubbed her raw.”

“So she destroyed what he had,” I say with a nod. “Worse, she madehimdo it himself. No wonder he keeps his distance.”

Mel stands and disappears back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a pair of dew-laden bottles and two frosty glass mugs. She sets them down before raising a bottle and mug, then gently tilting the mug to decant the fizzy golden brew into it.

Once filled, she hands me the glass, setting the empty bottle down on the table to pour her own. I peer at the label, which depicts a hop flower surrounded by a meandering labyrinthine design.“Nemean Brew,” the label reads.

“You brew this here?”

“The hop and barley fields are on the other side of the compound,” she says, gesturing with her glass as she licks a foam moustache off her upper lip. “Chief brewmaster and vintner are two of many roles I fill here. I’ll be training you as well.”

I take a long swallow of the cold beverage and moan in pleasure at the perfect, semi-fruity crispness and the wash of floral aroma from the hops. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted beer so delicious.

She chuckles. “Careful, it packs a punch.”

“I should warn you I’m not exactly athletic.”

“Training with us is less about strength than it is about discipline. But for the sake of argument, let’s see what you’ve got.” She shoves the remnants of our snack aside and props her elbow on the table, waving her fingers in the air. “Give me your hand.”

I stare for a second before understanding hits. “You want to arm wrestle?”

“Just want to get a baseline. Not that some of the residents aren’t game for the kind of training you’re used to, that’s not something we rely on here.”

“You mean sex.” I rest my elbow on the table and clasp my hand over hers.

“If Hippolyta lets him stay, you can still practice with Alcides. But you won’t necessarily have the option to fuck the Titans once you face them, so it’s best to train in other ways too. Ready?”

I give a nod. She nods back and tightens her grip. The lights overhead flicker momentarily as my pulse picks up. I want to prove myself now, even if it’s just to show I’m not a complete weakling. I grit my teeth and focus, staring hard at our hands and gripping back, leveraging my hand against hers as the strain tightens my biceps.

But before I can blink, our forearms are flat against the table and Mel gasps, then stares at me.

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