Don’t look at him. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
Herakles’ question is brushed aside by Hades. As he fucking should. I’d somehow kill him if he dared tell that male what happened to me. Those secrets are mine alone. “I didn’t save you, Megara. I gave you the means of surviving this place. The God of Power is your ticket out of Atë’s curse. He’s here to free you.”
I sputter at the insanity of that final sentence. “You’ve miscalculated, oh great King. I’d rather be thrown back into Atë’s realm here than take any help from him.”
Hades’ bottomless, black irises glint. “And if I told you the quest will finish ruining him?”
“Not. Enough.” I’m so incensed that my jaw threatens to crack from the force of my clenched teeth.
Herakles—or Kles, as Hades keeps calling him for some reason—approaches me slowly. Cautiously.
He’s clearly very aware how far my animosity for him goes.
Then why in the hell is he still moving closer?
“If me losing myself isn’t enough for you, I get it, Meg. I deserve nothing more than obliteration for leaving you behind.”
He knows.
Hades must’ve told him.
I’m going to destroy them both!
The God of the Underworld holds up a finger, effectively forcing me to stop again, and I think I hate him as much as I hate his nephew at this point. “You think I’ve told him, but consider this: do you honestly think any part of the God of Power would still be intact if I had? Look at him, Meg. He’s only begun losing himself to the darkness inside him.”
A rough sound leaves Herakles.
Not that I care. “I don’t want his atonement,” I tell Hades. “He doesn’t deserve a chance to make up for what he did.”
“But you deserve your freedom, Meg.”
Why the fuck does Herakles keep addressing me when I’m clearly not speaking to him? “Don’t you dare presume to tell me what I do and don’t deserve, asshole.”
“Children. Children.” Hades shakes his head and steps between us. “Kles, clearly you understand your place here. Let me handle this. Meg, if you want to see him suffer, I guarantee this is a perfect opportunity. Bonus? His willingness to sacrifice tips the scales and releases your shackles to this realm.”
“You can release those shackles, if you chose.”
“And mess with the balance I fought so hard to create? No, thank you. This is the only way you can gain your freedom, exit my service, and do so without there being repercussions that mess with my domain. Kles’ willingness to suffer for you is the only way.”
I keep my gaze glued to Hades in order to ignore the searing blue orbs drilling into the side of my face. “If it doesn’t end with his death, I. Don’t. Want. It.”
“Meg—”
“Kill me, then.”
Silence follows that mumble.
Eyebrows raised, Hades spins slightly in his nephew’s direction. “Pardon? You wish to die.”
“What I want is Meg’s freedom . . . and to make up to her whatever happened after I made my choice.”
“You could never make it up to me, you hear me?” I spit, nearly foaming at the mouth from my fury.
That unnerving, unforgettable stare moves back to me. “Then let me free you and after you can kill me.”
By the expression on his face, it’s clear that he means what he’s saying.
He’s actually offering me the immortal life he forfeited everything to gain to counterbalance what it cost me.
Which makes me want to deny him on principle alone.
Herakles shouldn’t ever have the choice to atone. The only thing he’s entitled to is punishment. Plain and simple.
“You were trained to be more logical than this, Megara of Thebes,” Hades says, as if he can hear each thought going through my head.
Sometimes when I’m in his presence, it feels like he does have that ability and just hasn’t let anyone know yet. His way of picking up on a being’s deepest emotions is uncanny.
“What would his ‘sacrifice’ to free me entail?”
“I need both of you to go kill the idiots causing so many issues in the mortal world.”
There it is. The catch I was expecting. I give them both my back, debating the merits of attempting an attack on Herakles once more. “Hard pass. I’m not spending a single second in his company unless it’s to kill him immediately.”
“Because that went so well for you in his penthouse.”
That’s exactly why I refuse to spend time alone with that asshole! Whirling on Hades, I feel my pupils beginning to dilate, searching out the weaknesses in my prey—although the God of the Underworld has only ever had one weakness, and she’s been gone for thousands of years now. “You aren’t trying to help me. You’re trying to further damage me.”
“The Fates call for this, Meg. It’s the only way. And Herakles has offered you his life in the end once the tasks have been completed. He’ll be dead and you’ll be free to go forge whatever life you desire.”
Whatever life I can. As one of his assassins, I’ve been free to wander enough. Maybe not all the time, but the few dimensions I’ve visited have showed me what life for a Nymph is like out there.
I’ll still need to feed.
I’ll still be both a pariah and one of the most desired types of females out there.
Sometimes shunned.
Something hunted.
Always feared.
But wouldn’t it still be better than what this place has to offer? that tiny voice I worked endlessly to suppress spirals to life, the hope it represents threatening to take root.
A hope I learned to kill early on in my immortality. A dangerous, deceiving force.
However, that’s the thing about hope. Isn’t it? All it takes is a sliver of light. The whisper of its touch. Once it’s there, it’s near impossible to eradicate.
“As I said, Megara. Logic. You were trained to possess it.”
Fuck him and his nephew. Forever and always. “Swear to me he dies by my hand as soon as it’s over.”
“Hey,” Hades comments, in that modern way most us immortals have. Each time the generations pass, we’re forced to assimilate the speech patterns in order to better blend in with the world outside—the world now mostly ruled by the mortals. “The male seems willing to swear his own death to you. Why not ask him?”
“I’m demanding it from you both, damn it.”
“I swear it,” Herakles proclaims without preamble.
I’d be lying if I said I’m not taken by surprise at how quickly he’s laid his immortality at my feet. One thing I never knew as a mortal? When an immortal swears to anything, it’s a binding pledge. The Fates, Universe, or whatever take it very seriously.
It’s the kind of unbreakable not even Zeus could ever escape from.
Hence why that seedy lowlife probably never swore to anything in his immortal life.
Hades tilts his head toward me. “You heard him.”
“Y-you too.” Hate that slight stutter, but my mind continues to reel from Herakles’ declaration.
From the fact that he, the male who so easily turned his newly glowing back on me to enter the gates of Olympus, is this willing to die.
For me.
“Alright. Alright. Megara, I give you my oath as the King of the Underworld that if you chose to kill Herakles, the God of Power, upon the completion of your tasks together, I will do nothing to stand in your way. Or punish you.”
Destiny is a jarring, ground-shifting call in the air around me. That gut-sinking feeling that one’s life will never be the same again. “And which of your many pests are you sending us to kill?”
“Oi Éxi.”
Sonofabitch. I should’ve known.
This opportunistic motherfucker is sending us after The Six.
Or, The Resurrected Six, to be exact.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
I should’ve known to read the fine print before agreeing to a
ny bargain presented to me by Hades, ever scheming Lord of the fucking Underworld.
CHAPTER 6
HERAKLES
Megara’s hardened yet glowing violet eyes glare daggers through Hades. I’m almost too lost in them to ask—too consumed in the memories and this unexpected reality to keep my mind straight.
If saving her hadn’t become the most important thing in my life, I probably wouldn’t be able to make heads or fucking tails of what’s happening.
“Who is ‘The Six’?” I ask, unable to stare away from her. Don’t think I’ll ever want to. This female, who I loved and abandoned like a fool, now has final say of when I take my last breath. Once it happens, I’ll probably be one of the empty souls wandering this dimension.
She’ll be free to go live her life as she should’ve always been.
I don’t think I’m going to look away from her throughout this entire quest. Never thought I’d see her again, and each one of these moments will have to last me an eternity.
Megara jumps in before Hades has a chance, facing me with that bitter, hate-filled expression that’s now tinged with triumph. “Oh, you’re going to love this, Golden Boy.” One by one, she ticks them off with her gloved fingers, each name landing like a bomb between us. “Cyclops. Hydra. Scylla and Charybdis. Medusa. Siren. Argus. Minotaur. And your old buddy, Cerberus.”
I’m gaping at her, at the infeasibility of that being true, when Hades addresses her.
“You’re both more than capable of surviving battle against them. Especially you, Erinye. And the God of Power isn’t so useless himself. His legend has survived where others have not for a reason.”
Megara doesn’t seem pleased at the reminder of how famous I became.
I remain shocked in place, confused at how any of those beings could have come back to life without my ever hearing about it.
And didn’t Hades mention them causing issues in the mortal world?
I’ve kept myself isolated from mortal affairs to an obsessive degree, yes, but that’s the kind of seismic blast heard all around the world.
Whether one wants to hear it or not.
“See the look on his face?” Meg turns away while waving a hand in my direction. “Regretting his choice already. Sure you picked the right male for the job?”
Hades actually shrugs like none of this is a big deal. “You’re definitely the right assassin for the job.”
“Great. Then I can go alone.”
That snaps me out of my daze. “The hell you will!” Hydra alone took everything I had to give as a demigod.
Legend says my supposed nephew Iolaus helped me cut off each head and cauterize the end before it could grow three more.
First off, I never had a nephew, and secondly, I took that bastard, mutant snake on all by myself.
I know firsthand what dealing with it is like.
And something tells me the “resurrected” version of Hydra might be even more powerful.
Wait a minute . . . “How is Hydra out in the modern world? Cyclops? Any of them?”
“Their souls are now in humanoid form. Wel, most of them. Powers multiplied. Cunning astronomical. Scylla and Charybdis are now two minds in one body. You know, the works,” Hades supplies easily, completely unconcerned.
I run a re-gloved hand down my face.
Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered doning the white gloves again, yet it was an afterthought I’m grateful for now.
We’ve got enough shit going on. Not sure I’m ready for Meg to see the newly-formed black scars on the backs of my hands.
Although, soon they’ll be joined by more. As I lose myself to the thing within me, I’ll be covered in them. They’ll be no hiding what I’m becoming.
“I’m assuming we’re taking the Sempiternal Road?” Megara asks.
“The what?”
Hades is the one that answers me. “It’s a road between the Grove and the Elysium Fields. Grants access to various places on other planes. You’ll be able to travel directly to where you need to go through there.”
Granted, I didn’t get a full tour on my last visit, but I’m taken by surprise no less.
“You.” Megara flashes before me, head tilted back. “Swear to me you’ll get on your knees once this is done and allow me to take your fucking head.”
I let my eyes caress her features for a few seconds. The curve of her cheek. Her jaw. The auburn eyebrows, now set in what seems to be a perpetual, bitter frown. The violet irises that hypnotized me when we were both mortals and are now so bright that it’s like staring into headlights—the glow of an immortal.
If I didn’t know better, I’d call it the glow of a goddess.
Not goddess. Assassin . . . Nymph.
Or, to be more exact, Erinye.
Succubus.
The pull comes off her skin in invisible, pounding waves. Her scent, already delicious beyond imagination, is a merciless hook, drawing me in. In my travels, I encountered many Succubi. Was smart enough not to remain in their presence for too long, lest their effect became permanent.
Deadly.
They’re capable of causing a mortal addiction, even to immortals. The longer you’re in their proximity, the more it changes your cellular processes. Fusing you to them. Locking your atoms on their existence and nothing else.
It’s one of the most powerful, organic imperatives known to existence. On par with a vampire’s need to feed on blood. Nymph’s hold the power to make anyone their slave. Once you’ve been around them long enough, your entire body is devolved to a source of nourishment.
For Succubi, that means sex. Lots and lots of sex. Without it, they’re nothing. Without it, they die.
And once you’ve been pulled under into their spell, you need to provide that to whichever Nymph you’re hooked to. If not, you’ll be the one that dies.
It’s that affect surrounding me like a black cloud of death and wet desire, scrambling an already fucked up mind.
Megara knows it, too. As she awaits my reply, her furious gaze flickers over me, down the length of my body. Even lower, bypassing my groin with a spark of grudging interest. The hatred is like a knife to my chest, I won’t lie, yet her own hunger is sparking.
Rising.
Magnifying that already twisted tug that’s telling me to bring her to me.
Take her down onto her own knees.
Make her suck on my dick until she’s choking on what her biology so desperately needs.
It’s a blast of lust on a disabling level.
Yet that isn’t all it brings with it.
Knowledge. Cruel, unforgiving knowledge. She was turned into this by Hades so she’d survive what a half-buffalo, half-humanoid creature “did to her”.
Catoblepas.
It doesn’t take much to imagine what that was.
What he fucking did to my Meg.
“Look at those eyes go,” Hades mumbles with amusement, as Megara literally jumps back to put distance between us.
The underworld disappears and reappears, my vision flickering in and out. I can’t see it happening beneath my armor, but I sense more lines appearing. Cutting across once-flawless flesh.
And my eyes . . . Hades mentioned something about my eyes . . .
Who gives a flying fuck?
Hands shaking, I materialize Megara’s swords—what was once Perseus’ Harpe—and hold them up for her to see. “I swear I’ll let you take my head once each task is complete and you’re freed . . . but first”—Hades becomes the focus of my attention and I’m not surprised at his own lack of surprise; as if he knows what I’m about to demand—“where the fuck is Catoblepas?”
MEGARA
For over twenty centuries, my last abuser escaped my grasp. The Underworld is vast, something it seems ever-expanding, and it’s ruler never pointed me in the direction of that piece of shit animal that took his last turn with me.
Prior to him, I was raped countless times since Herakles’ sister dragged me here. Humanoids and beasts alike tore thro
ugh my still mortal body, taking their enjoyment in whatever way they saw fit.
But Catoblepas was the final one. The one that finished me off. That wrecked me past Atë’s supernatural hold on me, the same power that kept a weak mortal alive for centuries of abuse.
Not after Catoblepas. Not once he spilled into me that first and last time, after what felt like eons of fucking me into a pulp with his disgusting, hairy, hooved body. His breath and seed are toxic to anyone he comes into contact with, mortal and immortal alike.
For an eternity I’ve burned with my need for vengeance against him, almost as much as I’ve been corroded by my desire to see Herakles suffer.
Only to be denied Catoblepas’ location by Hades time and time again.
The same asshole that just handed over said location to a mutating God of Power.
What else can I call it?
Did his bright blue irises really splinter with black cracks earlier? Cracks that had tiny gold pinpricks in them. Hades seemed to have seen it, as well.
Not that that matters right now! We’re both broken apart, molecules in the wind, heading in the same direction.
I can’t catch up to him though. Sense him just in front of me, his rage a palpable thing, and he’s hellbent on arriving first.
On taking what should be mine.
What he has no right to take considering he’s the main reason I was down here to be raped in the first place.
Herakles is going to slaughter Catoblepas.
We slam back to form on the edge of the Fields of Mourning. In a cavernous pocket of the dimension that I believe lies right before the entrance to Tartarus.
We’re as low in this realm as we can go without entering its most hazardous place.
And just in front of us, seated on a crude, makeshift stone throne, is the animal himself.
The biped, broad chested, buffalo-faced son of a bitch that finished me off.
Catoblepas jerks straight in his seat, red eyes wide with recognition as they find my own.
Recognition . . . and sadistic hunger.
Perverse remembrance.
Thin black lips part into a pleased, evil smile. “Megara . . .”
The fucking idiot is so fixated on me he didn’t even notice Herakles’ arrival milliseconds prior to mine.
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