Page 251 of Bonds of Hercules
Fluffy Jr. howled as he kicked sand at my feet, another ripping sound echoed, but I didn’t have time to look down.
I raised my arm and pointed the sharp end of the bloody rod up at the beasts.
The Titans screeched.
I was already running, sprinting across the sand—rod held high.
Wings flapped and they shot toward me, flashes of black.
Lungs heaving, my side throbbing, I pumped my legs, sand spraying as I sprinted with all my might.
Air whistled.
I dodged swiping talons and swung the heavy rod with both hands like a baseball bat.
White-hot agony scoured my already ruined side as theirtalons sliced at me—they screeched in my face—I screamed back. Our pitch was flat.Mozart would not have loved this.
Black wings beat loudly as all three of us stumbled—I’d clipped both of them with my swing, and pain was exploding inside my chest as my power activated. My blood was inside them,devouring.
The Titans fell to their knees, foam streaming from their lips.
I clutched at my side—sticky blood poured from deep talon grooves that aligned perfectly with lion claw marks, coating my fingers in liquid.
The Titans’ gurgles quieted, ligaments snapping as they looked up at me in unison.
Eighteen-year-old Mary Shelley winked at me as she pennedFrankenstein.
I backed away.
There was nowhere to run—the steel gate was still lowered. The round wasn’t over, and electric lines hummed above—I couldn’t leap away.
My wounds throbbed.
I was losing too much blood.
I stumbled across the bloody sand, away from the monsters, and my own failings—toward Fluffy Jr.—grunting through the pain.
The stadium was dead silent.
Dropping my rod—it sizzled into a puddle of blood—I fell to my knees beside Fluffy Jr., twisting so I didn’t put pressure on Nyx.
He was still collapsed on his stomach, panting heavily.
Mucus and … something pointy was sprawled behind him. Half covered in sand, it was impossible to tell what it was with my limited vision.
I didn’t have time left to figure it out.
I clutched at his muzzle and peppered kisses across his face.
“I love you. I love you, I love you,” I whispered, the mantra falling from my lips, tears pouring from my eyes.
Titans screeched behind me.
I ran my hand down my leg, across Nyx’s blood-crusted scales. Words, whispers, pleas—I wasn’t even sure what I was saying.
As a child, I’d always thought I’d die in the cold, alone in Montana, surrounded by monsters of the human variety, starved and weak, all alone.
Instead, I would perish loved by many, and my death would start an apocalyptic war—both thoughts were comforting.
