Page 248 of Blood of Hercules
No. Stay awake. Keep it together. She needs you.
I pulled with all my might. Shaking, panting, covered in sweat, I kept bludgeoning myself for what felt like an eternity.
Helen screamed.
Yelling, I yanked with everything I had—bloody handsfinallyslipped out—I threw myself across the shed.
On my knees, I swiped at the patch of disturbed dirt until I felt Nyx. Jerkily, I grabbed her and pushed her into the front of my dress so I couldn’t lose her. As I stumbled to my feet, she moaned in pain, but slithered down and wrapped tightly around my leg.
I was free.
But Helen was still tied up, and I had no way of getting her out. The crowbar was the only instrument, and it wasn’t sharp enough to cut through the rope.
She shouted something, but my ear rang louder.
I couldn’t understand.
Moaning in pain, I ripped off her elephant head. Her wide tear-filled eyes stared at my ruined hands with horror.
A long moment passed, then she shook her head like she was coming out of a daze.
“Knife!” she said, and I read her lips. “I have a knife on my inner thigh. Patro makes me carry it for protection.”
God help me.
I jerkily pushed up her dress and stared down at my mangled hands, then at the thin weapon. There was no way I could hold it. Not like this. It wasn’t humanly possible.
You’re not fully human.
You’re Spartan.
I didn’t move.
Pain throbbed in both my hands, my vision blurred, the world spun.
Just fucking do it, Alexis, don’t you dare think about it.
I was paralyzed.
Helen stared at the weapon, then at my bloody hands. Her lips quivered with sorrow.
A Titan screamed outside, the sound close. Very close.
Tears filled her eyes, and she slumped with despair, like she knew she was doomed.
Don’t think. Just fucking act. Right now. Or she’s going to die.
I forced my fingers to pick up the knife.
Shrieking through gritted teeth, I clenched my ruined hand tighter around the thin hilt and started sawing at the piece of rope between Helen’s hands.
The knife was sharp, but the rope was thick, and the cutting motion sent unimaginable waves of agony streaking up my forearm. My fingers slipped up the hilt. Sharp pain stung as I accidentally grabbed the blade.
Blood from the fresh cuts made the handle slippery, so I had to flex my hand to grip it.
Sawing at the rope, I screamed and pushed harder.
This was hell.
