Page 153 of Bonds of Hercules
Augustus placed his hand on my lower back as he escorted me out of the room and Kharon trailed behind us, his fingers resting possessively on the top of my spine.
My skin tingled from where they touched.
In the dimly lit tunnel, Kharon moved so he flanked my other side, his thumb caressing the priceless necklace.
Four guards marched at our front, electric batons sizzling in their hands.
I glanced back.One, two, three …Eight Olympians marched behind us.
It wasn’t a fair fight—they should have brought more guards.
Vorex wasn’t the only one I recognized. Alessander, Titus’s crony from the crucible, also marched beside him in a matching blue suit embroidered with the House of Poseidon symbol.
Alessander’s gaze flicked to mine. His weapon lowered as he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something to me. Vorex shot him a glare and he pursed his lips shut.
Alessander was shorter than I remembered.How was I ever afraid of him?
Augustus’s nails dug into my lower back as his fingers tensed. “Are you okay?” he asked in my ear as he followed my gaze. His eyes flashed with recognition.
“Yes,” I said, feeling the truth of the word in my bones.
Alessander was no threat to me.
Kharon’s calloused thumb stroked the back of my neck soothingly.
My husbands pressed closer to me as we were escorted up through the maze of tunnels, out of the torchlight, into the orange rays of the setting sun.
This time we didn’t climb the steps—we were led out onto the sand.
Four Chthonic flags waved in the breeze where they were planted in the middle of the arena. The corresponding leaders stood in front of them, spiky crowns glinting atop their heads.
A long white marble altar sat to the left of the flags. Standing unobtrusively, the block of stone looked distinctly out of place.
People screamed down at us, the coliseum much louder than during the massacre. The siren section was now packed with hundreds, as were the other creature sections. They sat too far away to make out individual people.
The sheer magnitude of the crowd was overwhelming.
It was easy to forget that Sparta was made up of thousands of creatures because of the constant Chthonic versus Olympian politics.
Sharp feedback rang in my left ear, and I swallowed a wince.
Augustus grabbed the side of his head, and he glanced down at me with recognition.
He felt my pain.
I looked away from his too-knowing eyes and studied the packed stadium, where eight Olympian House flags waved in the wind, fluttering with bright colors.
“Non desistas, non exieris … non desistas, non exieris …” chanted loudly through the air.
Never give up, never surrender.
Dusk painted everything in a muted radiance, and the ancient civilization didn’t seem real.
The sun slowly lowered behind the mountain peaks.
The dead bodies had been removed, but the sand was still splattered in blood, the scent of copper lingering in the air.
As we approached the Chthonic flags, my breath caught.
