Page 182 of Blood of Hercules
“Carl Gauss would never treat me like this,” I whispered miserably. “What happened to nice men who love math and treating a woman right?”
Nyx scoffed. “They died out because they were pathetic and embarrassing losers. No woman wants a nerd.”
“I do,” I said.
“No—you just thinkyou do,” Nyx hissed. “What you want is a real man who wants to slaughter for you.”
I shook my head. “You need help.” Tears dripped down my face.
“Well—you need to get dicked down.”
I cried harder because it was official: my best friend was a perverted lunatic. It was all too much. I couldn’t keep living like this.
My bones were rubber, muscles ridiculously weak.
Lena thought I was powerful; she’d looked at me with hope, like she’d believed in me. But some opponents were too heartless, too ruthless, to keep fighting. Sometimes, there was only one way forward.
I closed my eyes and hung limp.
Sometimes all you could do was play dead and wait for the storm to pass.
It hurt less that way.
Two voices whispered at the edge of my subconscious.
They were watching me.
Staring.
Stalking.
With a gasp, I woke up. My heart pounded painfully inside my sternum.
Nyx mumbled but didn’t awaken.
I was alone.
The softplop, plop, plopof candle wax and the crackling of fire were the only sounds.
Rubbing my eyes, I tried to orient myself.
Distantly, I recalled falling asleep while Augustus carried me back to the academy. I smiled as I remembered the events of the symposium before he’d ruined it.
You finally discovered your Spartan ability. You’re not powerless. You can talk to sentient creatures.
Relief made me light-headed.
That siren was screaming—she got hurt because of you.
I felt sick.
Sitting up, I took in the grandeur of the academy library.
I was sprawled out on a velvet chaise in front of a hearth, and someone had placed a knit blanket around me. The soft material was wrapped tightly around my feet, like the person had tucked me in.
A blanket was worth its weight in gold, since the fall temperatures had made the already chilled mountain miserable.
Had Augustus done it?No, he wouldn’t have. He hates me.
