Page 157 of Bonds of Hercules
“The historic Spartan Gladiator Competition showcases Chthonic power.” Zeus’s voice projected, sparks dancing across his lips as he stood before the altar, his arms raised.
The stadium roared.
Olympian leaders glared behind him in their line.
Kharon scoffed on my left. “It’s a humiliation ritual,” he muttered under his breath, his thumb still stroking my neck.
Augustus’s nails dug into my lower back as he flexed his fingers.
He’d tried to rebuild his calm facade, but it wasn’t as convincing as before—cracks were showing. His eyes shone a little too brightly, his expression a little too sharp.
It was almost as if his headaches had stifled him, and now that he was pain free, his true nature was breaking free.
“This year there are thirteen Assembly of Death competitors,” Zeus said, looking over each of us. “Per tradition—we will have a thirteen-day contest starting tomorrow. One day for each Chth …” His gaze stopped on Drex, and he grimaced, like he’d forgotten about him. “Contestant.”
Drex tilted his chin up high like he was unaffected, but his face paled.
“Thirteen days of Spartan showmanship with no guns allowed,” Zeus continued with a golden smile. “Spartans, knives, and protectors only … just as our ancestors fought on these sacred sands. This is our modern ode to them.”
I shivered.
Only thirteen days?
From the way everyone talked about the competition, and the snippets of extreme bloodshed that played on the Spartan Lifestyle Page, I’d assumed it would be a month-long affair.
One day.
I just had to survive a single day.
Easy, you can do this.
Zeus rambled on about honor, violence, and the pride of showing off Spartan power.
Kharon and Augustus glanced down at me, faces twisted with concern—I’d subconsciously grabbed both their arms and pulled them closer to me—with a deep breath, I forced my fingers to relax.
“Don’t,” Kharon whispered under his breath. “Don’t stop touching me … please.”
I retightened my grip.
His jaw worked back and forth, and he was staring down at me like a starving man, eyes smoldering.
My heart sped up.
We were standing in front of the powerful Spartan leaders who ruled the world, preparing to compete in what was rumored to be the most dangerous competition on earth, and my husbands were eye fucking me.
My face flushed.
Are there support groups for perverts?
Augustus’s dark lashes fanned across his tan skin. “Are you okay, my carus?”
I nodded.
Nyx slithered up from where she’d been sleeping on my leg, and tightened around my arm. “You should have sex with them already—it’s getting weird.”
No, it’s been weird.
Feeling exposed—and like a deviant with a man problem (both were true)—I tried to ignore my husbands, but their hands on my neck and lower back were like brands.
