by Raye Wagner
She sounded like a broken record. No, worse. She sounded broken.
“Please stop,” Hope begged. “I’m okay. See.” She waved her arm down the front of her body. “It’s fine.”
They climbed in the car. It wasn’t until they were on I-5 headed south that Hope realized they weren’t going to Priska’s apartment.
“Where are we going?”
“Portland. San Francisco. L.A. Take your pick. We need to disappear.” Priska’s gaze darted to Hope before locking on the road ahead. “You need to disappear. Do you know what you’ve started?”
Hope grimaced.
“Artemis came to me. Not even an hour ago. Athena was going to kill you.” Priska paused as if the words themselves were unbelievable. After a deep breath, she continued, “It seems that war is brewing on Olympus again.”
Kill her? For real? Did Xan know? Oh gods. And war? “What are they fighting about?”
Priska’s shoulders sagged. “What they always fight about. Power. Control. Pride.” She sighed. “I don’t want you to get caught in the crossfire.”
Intuition told Hope there was more to it than that. But it didn’t matter. “I know what I need to do next. Will you help me?”
Sadness and worry lined the older demigod’s face, and Hope finally noticed that it looked like Priska hadn’t slept for days.
“I’ll do anything I can to help you,” Priska said. “Anything.”
There was no more anger. At some point over the last couple of months, it had disappeared. An ache in her heart swelled. This was Priska. Her mentor. Her friend. The closest thing she had to family. Hope leaned over the consul and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “I missed you.”
“Oh, sweet girl. I’ve missed you, too.” Tears dripped down Priska’s face. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
And somehow, Hope knew no matter what happened, for that one moment all was well in her world.
And that was enough.
INTENSE, STABBING PAIN THROBBED up his leg and deep into his belly. With the sharp sensations came a wave of nausea, a vice on his stomach, and he retched. And retched. And retched. There could be nothing left, but the agony didn’t stop, and neither did the vomiting. A small part of his consciousness, really just a sliver, hoped that throwing up was just a dream.
He shivered as the nausea waned. A prickle of needles crawled over him, ice cold on his skin, and then, as they penetrated the skin, the needles turned to daggers. He was being bludgeoned, stabbed over and over. He was vomiting again, and the pain consumed him.
His soul screamed for release. The torture waned, the briefest moment, and then the chill returned, this time a crushing pressure on his chest, spreading over his body. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. As though he had been buried in ice, the cold penetrated his bones. He gasped, but the air couldn’t reach his lungs. His heart lay heavy in his chest, even more weight to struggle against.
He slipped in and out of the darkness. At times his mind overrode the pain and he’d try to fight through the darkness, a sad attempt to focus, his thoughts always fleeting images of Hope. Always Hope. But the pain came back, over and over, so severe, so intense; it was a relief to collapse into the nothingness.
The darkness waned and an icy chill brushed over his skin, making him shudder. The icy grip of the Skia’s blade no longer immobilized him, and Athan’s body protested as he rolled over. By the gods, he was sore.
How long had he been out? Not more than a week, certainly. He relished the clarity of his thoughts. His stomach growled, and the familiar gnaw of hunger protested any further time in bed. He threw the green sheets and blankets back and pushed to the edge of the bed.
The last occupant of the room had left the curtains drawn and the lighting dim. He glanced around for his clock, and when that wasn’t visible, he looked at the nightstand for his phone. The cord dangled empty from the electrical socket.
He stood and almost collapsed to the floor, his legs shaking like jelly. A short chuckle escaped his lips as he caught himself on the edge of the bed. He sat, as if strength would come with rest, but he knew it would only come once he got to the kitchen. He stood again and braced himself against the bed and then the wall as he crossed to the door.
The hallway was dark and devoid of life. His eyes sought out Hope’s door, but it was closed. He could wait. They’d seemed on the edge of a breakthrough when he’d seen the Skia; surely a few days wouldn’t have changed much.
He kept one hand on the wall for stability, not trusting in his limited strength, and by the time he was at the stairwell, his breath came in short gasps. He couldn’t have walked more than fifty feet, but it felt as though he’d just finished fifty miles. He brushed the trickle of sweat from his face and surveyed the sixteen daunting steps ahead of him.
It didn’t take a genius to know he wasn’t walking down those stairs. He eased down until he was sitting and then scooted his way down. One by one, all sixteen steps. Finally, with a deep breath, he stood and, still holding to the wall, walked into the kitchen. As luck would have it, there was a faint glow coming from the open refrigerator door.
Athan cleared his throat as he shuffled through the doorway.
Dion straightened, and his prominent features shifted from guilt to surprise when he saw Athan. “Filos mou!” Dion closed the door of the fridge, and dark wine sloshed over the side of his glass. He crossed the room, leaving small puddles of the red liquid in his wake. He wrapped his free arm around Athan’s waist and then helped him to the table. “You look like you’ve had too much to drink.”
Athan grunted as he collapsed into a wooden chair at the kitchen table. “Thank you.”
“No. No. It is good to see you up!” Dion’s blurry eyes struggled to focus. “Would you want kati?” He held out his now half-empty wine glass.
The thought of alcohol made Athan’s stomach turn, and he shook his head.
“Something to eat, please. Perhaps, some . . .” Athan thought for a moment. “Psomi; maybe toast with butter?”
Dion nodded. “Still not feeling well?”
Athan rested his head on the table. “No, not really.” The hunger had waned with the effort to get downstairs. Perhaps he should just go back to bed.
“It will go away soon enough. Food will help.” Dion set a glass of water in front of Athan. “And you should have something to drink, no?”
Spoken like a man used to hangovers.
Moments later, Dion set a plate on the table. Two thick slices of a dark bread glistened with the sheen of melted butter. Athan picked up the toast and took a large bite. The sweetness of the bread was tempered with the salty richness of the butter. He’d never tasted anything so good.
Dion went back to the refrigerator, opened the door, and then came back to the table with a plate of cheeses: sliced cheddar and Havarti, a circle of brie, a soft log of what appeared to be goat cheese rolled in black sesame seeds, and a wedge of what Athan hoped was Manchego. Interspersed with the cheeses there were dark-red grapes and an assortment of berries.
“It is a good snack, no?” The demigod bit into a slice of the creamy Havarti.
Athan nodded as he put a large grape into his mouth. The fruit popped, and sweet juice tickled his taste buds. “Very good. Thank you.”
He sliced a thick piece of the Spanish cheese and put it on his bread before taking another bite.
“Of course. Just be sure you admit to helping me eat it, no?”
Athan’s brow creased, but his mouthful of food prevented him from answering.
“Obelia made it for tomorrow . . .” Dion contemplated the large clock on the wall. “Or rather today. It is today, so it’s okay.” He smiled. “Besides, if you eat it, she will not mind at all.” Dion took a slice from the wedge and bit off a small piece before sipping from his wine glass.
“If you help me back to bed, I’ll admit to whatever you want me to.” Athan rested his head on the table.
“Ouai, you are not well. You got up too soon, mi filos
.”
Dion’s chair scraped back.
The grating sound caused a flash of memories, and Athan’s head came up with a jerk. “Skata! What day is it?”
He scanned the kitchen as if it would tell him what he wanted to know.
“Wednesday.” Dion cleared his throat. “No, ah, it’s Thursday.”
Thursday? “I’ve only been out three days?” That couldn’t be right. But the alternative was terrible. “How long have I been out? Where’s Hope?” Panic blossomed in his chest. Had the fight in his room been a dream? Part of the nightmare of the Skia’s poison?
“Stasi!” The young man held out a hand. “Too many questions.” He set his empty glass on the table and rubbed at his temples.
An eternity of silence passed in those moments. More than anything, Athan wanted Hope to be okay. Just let her be okay.
“It is Thursday. You were sleeping just over a week, maybe ten days.” Dion stood and went back to the refrigerator and then filled his wine glass.
Athan noticed Dion’s hands were shaking, and the demigod avoided making eye contact. “What about Hope?”
“Hope is gone.” Xan flicked on the light and walked into the kitchen. His gaze landed on Athan.
He flinched as if the words from the demigod son of Ares were a physical blow.
“She left. It’s like she disappeared off the face of the Earth.” Xan snapped his fingers. “Just like that.” He crossed over to the table, flipped a chair backward, and sat. “And before you say it, I do remember how to do a search. I’ve looked everywhere. Even her friend Priska has completely disappeared.”
Athan didn’t want to think about what that could mean. How far would Hope go for answers on how to break the curse? But he knew. He already knew the answer. She would go to Hades and back if she had to.
Author’s Note
I hope you enjoyed Demigods and Monsters. If you wouldn’t mind taking a minute to leave a review on Amazon, I’d really appreciate it. It helps other readers know your honest feelings about a book, and helps many decide whether or not a story is worth investing in.
If you can’t get enough of the Sphinx series, be sure to check out Origin of the Sphinx, a prequel novella. It’s available on Amazon, but also free to my newsletter subscribers. I don’t spam. I’ll send you a newsletter once or twice a month to let you know of events, giveaways, or special opportunities to win prizes from me, or to keep you updated on future releases. Sign up here.
Index of Mythological Figures
Aphrodite: Goddess of love, beauty, desire, and pleasure
Apollo: God of light, music, arts, knowledge, healing, plague, darkness, prophecy, poetry, purity, athleticism, manly beauty, and enlightenment
Ares: God of war, bloodshed, and violence
Artemis: Virgin goddess of the hunt, wilderness, animals, young girls, childbirth, night, and plague
Athena: Goddess of intelligence and skill, warfare, battle strategy, handicrafts, and wisdom
Boreas: God of winter and the north wind
Demeter: Goddess of grain, agriculture and the harvest, growth, and nourishment
Dionysus: God of wine, parties and festivals, madness, chaos, drunkenness, drugs, and ecstasy
Eros: God of love and desire
Hades: King of the underworld and the dead, and god of the earth’s hidden wealth, both agricultural produce and precious metals
Hephaestus: God of fire, metalworking, and crafts
Hera: Queen of the heavens and goddess of marriage, women, childbirth, heirs, kings, and empires
Hermes: God of boundaries, travel, communication, trade, thievery, trickery, language, writing, diplomacy, athletics, and animal husbandry
Hestia: Goddess of the hearth, home, and chastity
Hypnos: God of sleep
Leto: Titan goddess of Motherhood
Moirai: The Fates, the incarnation of destiny, namely: Clotho (spinner), Lachesis (allotter), and Atropos (unturnable)
Persephone: Queen of the underworld, wife of Hades, and goddess of spring growth
Poseidon: God of the sea, rivers, floods, droughts, earthquakes, and the creator of horses
Thanatos: God of death
Zeus: King of the gods, the ruler of Mount Olympus, and the god of the sky, weather, thunder, lightning, law, order, and fate
The Graeae: Three ancient sea spirits who personified the white foam of the sea; they shared one eye and one tooth between them. By name: Deino, Enyo, and Pemphredo
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I need to express my gratitude to my Creator, who dropped the story of the cursed Sphinx into my head. Writing and editing this story has taught me a lot about the creative process, the need for interdependence on others, and so, so, so much patience and persistence. Challenges come in various packages, and the journey of authorship has alternately felt like a blessing and a curse. But as is the case with most challenges, looking back I see not only the beauty of my effort, but also, how that effort has changed me.
I need to thank my family for their support. Jason, I wouldn’t be able to accomplish my dreams without you. You’re an integral part of each of them. Jacob, Seth, and Anna, you are the most fabulous of all creations! Mom and Dad, you continue to bless and enrich my life with your wisdom, support, perspective, and enthusiasm. Nate and La, Jared and Hilary, Luke and Kirs, Sam and Emily, DJ and Angie, Mari and Bobby, Peter and Ashlyn, Cindy, Jared, Robert, and Chandra, Dave and Rita, Abby, Maia, and EmJ, thanks for your continued support of my work.
And my bestie pals, Katie, Cassy, Alli, Annie, and Kathy, you truly make life more fun. Thank you for the heaps of support and encouragement.
To my critique partners, I’ve grown so much as a writer because of your feedback. Thank you April, Angela, and Jamie for taking the time with Demigods and Monsters.
To my editors, Rekha Radhakrishnan, Jen McConnel, Kelly Hashway, and Krystal Wade, I love how you polish up my work. My story is a better read because of each of you.
Nathan Adams at Studiopolis, you make the most beautiful covers and swag and you’re the best older brother a girl could ask for!
And finally, heaps of gratitude to you, the readers. Those that have decided to take a risk on a new author, and a new journey. I hope you not only enjoy your time in this alternate reality, but that you come away better for having indulged in Hope’s story.
About the Author
Raye Wagner grew up just outside of Seattle, Washington. As the second of eight children, she was surrounded by chaos, and escaped the mayhem by reading.
Raye studied the art of medicine long before she had an interest in the Gods or Mount Olympus, and still practices part-time as a nurse practitioner.
One sunny afternoon, the history of Apollo’s curse and the myth of the Sphinx unfolded in Raye’s mind, and she started writing.
She creates young adult fiction for teens and adults.
Connect with Raye on Facebook
Twitter @RayeWagner
Instagram RayeWagnerAuthor
Or via her website
Love Greek mythology? Can’t get enough of the gods? You’ll probably enjoy the Ignited series by Desni Dantone. I read all four books in a week (but I’m a slow reader). ;)
Turn the page for an exclusive excerpt from book one, Ignited!
Back at the cabin, Nathan twisted the caps off two beer bottles, and handed one to me.
“I think it’s about time we have a chat,” he said, and motioned for me to follow him onto the back porch.
He claimed a seat on the top step, and slid over to make room for me. The steps were narrow enough that our shoulders touched, but I got no comfort from that. I sipped my beer nervously, afraid to know what he had to tell me if he thought I needed a drink to hear it. This was what I had been waiting for, wasn’t it? So why was I so anxious?
Night had closed in fast. The tree line was barely visible, but Nathan stared at it like it had him captivated. I knew that wasn’t the case. He was stal
ling.
“Want to do that I ask and you answer thing we did last time?” I offered.
“I don’t think that will work this time.” I was about to ask why when he asked me a question of his own. “So, what all do you know so far?”
“Hmm, well, I’ve learned some people aren’t completely human,” I said conversationally in an attempt to mask the jitters. “You age slowly, are super strong, and are at war with a bunch of guys that are after me, but no one knows why. How’s that for summing it up?”
He didn’t look at me when he spoke. “Do you still want to know what I am?”
I swallowed to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Among other things.”
Nathan took a swig of beer. “They still teach Greek Mythology in school?”
I hesitated. I didn’t know what I had been expecting, but that was definitely not it. “Uh, yeah. Sophomore year.”
“Did you get a good grade?”
Was he kidding? Why did that matter? “I don’t remember.”
“Do you remember anything about it?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
He finally looked at me. “Trust me.”
You can find Desni’s completed series (on all major retailers) through her website: http://www.desnidantone.com/
