Page 162 of Bonds of Hercules
Achilles glared over at me as he ripped his shirt open, buttons popping and falling to the sand, then he stalked toward the marble altar.
“Revelations—” Zeus announced. “Zero defeats.”
The stadium cheered, and everyone got to their feet. “Achilles … Achilles … Achilles” was chanted all around.
The people’s hero.
As Achilles stood tall, glowering at Zeus and awaiting his fate, Hera openly fanned herself while Apollo admired his exposed chest.
Is everyone in Sparta a pervert?
I was starting to sense a theme.
Zeus threw down the dice, electricity sparking off his fingers onto the table.
An evil smile curled his lips. “EIGHT LABORS!” Zeus shouted and the stands erupted. “TWO rounds in the arena …withouthis muzzle.” The cheers were thunderous.
Sharp feedback pierced my left ear.
Achilles turned around to walk back to the line, open shirt fluttering to reveal a thin trail of dark hair over the deep grooves of his stomach.
“Yep, that’s my type,” Nyx hissed unhelpfully.
Achilles’s eyes met mine—they narrowed with malice.
From the disdain wafting off him, he wasn’t happy with my choice to stay with my husbands, and he wasn’t going to be getting over it soon.
I leaned into Kharon’s touch.
Fate tapped her clipboard. “Drex!” she called out.
There was a smattering of applause and a buzz of conversation. From the sound of it, Sparta didn’t know what to make of an Olympian mutt competing in the SGC.
With clumsy fingers, Drex unbuttoned his shirt and showed off the unmarked skin of his chest, face flaming red.
Zeus grimaced as he rolled the dice. “One round—two labors!” There was relief in his voice.
Thank God.An extremely lucky roll.
I exhaled and so did Drex.
“Kharon.”
My left side went cold as he disappeared, his hand falling away.
As he prowled toward the altar, the crowd quieted.
Kharon ripped off his shirt—revealing his tattooed, mutilated chest.
He turned in a circle with his hands wide, face apathetic.
The stadium fell dead silent.
Zeus cleared his throat, eyeing Kharon like he was a wild animal that might attack at any moment. “Revelations—he has been dishonored by … eleven of his labors.”
Kharon bared his teeth.
Augustus’s stubble brushed across the side of my face. “In Kharon’s first games,” he whispered, barely audible, “he was just eighteen and hadn’t come into his full powers … He drew eleven labors … the most anyone haseverfaced—they were all Minotaurs.”
