Page 106 of Blood of Hercules
Patro lunged in my direction, and I screamed.
He chuckled as I clutched my chest.
The jerk is taunting me.
Suddenly the old beliefs that women had “hysteria” problems didn’t seem so far-fetched.
I could see it.
Case in point, I was a woman, and I was hysterical.
Seemingly done taunting my frayed nerves, Patro leaned on the wall next to Achilles and whispered something in his ear. He stood on his toes to talk to him, and their body language almost seemed... tender.
Almostbeing the key word.
I cowered as the men stared at me with disappointment, and I tried to act nonchalant (unfortunately, I had not been relaxed a single day in my life).
“When did I get here?” I asked in a pathetic attempt to break the tension, but as I glanced inside the breezy cottage, doubt filled me.
Did I imagine everything at the mountain?
Was it all a bad dream?
Patro’s eyes flashed as he ran the towel through his short wavy hair. “Last night, you finished your first two weeks at the academy,” he spoke slowly like I was an idiot.
I started to make a face and mock him, but self-preservation kicked in, and I kept my expression blank.
A soft melody played in my mind, and I hummed.
Patro gave me an unimpressed look like he could see through me.
“We picked you up yesterday at noon,” he said. “After you’d run the circuit, you were delirious and caked in mud and didn’t recognize anyone—so we hosed you off out here.” He held his palms up. “Don’t freak out. You werefully clothed.”
He raised his eyebrows, like I should be grateful I’d been hosed down like a wild animal (I was).
However, since I’d been tortured into a comatose state, gratitude only got you so far.
“You’ve been asleep for over twelve hours.” Patro scowled. “We only have two and a half days to plan before you have to go back to the academy.”
My stomach dropped.
“I don’t want to go back,” I whispered.
Please don’t make me. Please. I’ll do anything.
“That’s not an option. Grow up.” Patro threw his towel to the side. “Let’s eat, I’m starved.” He walked away into the house, like the conversation was over.
I whimpered.
A cloud of clove-scented smoke billowed out the grate of Achilles’s muzzle as he followed Patro inside the house.
“That habit could k-kill you,” I said as I followed him. Years of warning Charlie about the dangers of drug use had ingrained the response into me.
Achilles looked back over his shoulder. Up close, his eyes were an extremely unsettling shade of red.
“Patro” was also tattooed in scarlet ink down the side of his neck.
I wrapped my fingers around the “C+A” tattoo on my forearm.
