Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 477(@200wpm)___ 382(@250wpm)___ 318(@300wpm)
“Circe’s faltering. She—”
“Killed Eros.” I hold her gaze as I say it. “She shot him dead while you watched. She killed him, Hermes. If that wasn’t enough to prove how little she cares for the people you value, then I don’t know what will be enough. She would have killed me if she were less sloppy.”
“Circe isn’t sloppy,” she says softly. “She left you alive on purpose.”
I refuse to think about that statement—or the strange sensation it draws forth inside me. That knife fight was… I exhale slowly and turn away. It’s been a long time since I’ve been tested so thoroughly, and I’m not liar enough to pretend my blood didn’t sing through the whole combat.
So, yeah, I guess a part of me understands Hermes’s inability to stay away from that woman. Circe is a flickering flame, beckoning the unwary and wary both, overriding hard-won survival instincts. A promise of warmth and pleasure, a delivery of pain and death.
“Do what you need to do,” I say finally. “If we both survive it, I guess I’ll see you on the other side.”
“Atalanta.” She shoves to her feet. “I’m sorry, okay? When I get close to her, my mind goes all soft and goofy. It was a mistake.”
All the right words, but she’s forgetting I know her better than anyone else on this earth. I match her soft tone, injecting gentleness I don’t feel. “It might have been a mistake, but it will happen again and again and again. She didn’t break down the door to this safe house last night. You went to her.”
“Not on purpose.” The worst part is that I believe her. Their shared history is a thread neither of them can break, even if they wanted to. And they clearly don’t want to.
She slept with Circe.
Jealousy lashes me again, sharper this time, biting deep. “You know what? I’m done with this conversation. I might love you, but it doesn’t mean a single damned thing. I have no claim on you.”
“I want you to have a claim on me,” she whispers.
“I know.” Without another word, I turn around and walk out of the room. She doesn’t follow me. I expected it, but it hurts all the same. Everything hurts.
I should be used to it by now. Loving Hermes is a lesson in pain and patience. Even so, I’m not fool enough to believe she’s a slot machine I can put energy and caring into and get out sex and love. She does love me. She wasn’t lying when she said it. That just makes this whole thing all the more tragic.
Because she will always choose Circe.
I press a hand to my chest, just below the stab wound. Ironic that both Circe and Hermes have hurt me in damn near the same place, if for wildly different reasons. I stop before the front door and let the emotions roll over me. They’ll potentially get me killed if I don’t deal with them now—or at least tuck them away safely to be dealt with later.
I love Hermes. She slept with Circe.
Circe left me alive. I’m attracted to her, even if I don’t like it.
If I get a chance, I will kill Circe. Hermes won’t forgive me for it, though she’ll lie and tell herself otherwise.
There’s a very solid chance none of this will matter because Hades and Zeus will have me killed when I return to the lower city after they specifically sent me away.
None of these things change my next action steps. The lower barrier is the only thing keeping Circe from taking the entirety of the city. It’s one goal the past Zeus never managed to accomplish, but he also never tried to launch a full-out assault across the River Styx.
I don’t know what happens if we kill Circe and drive out her soldiers. Hades has been clear in his intentions to stay in Olympus, and so has Zeus. Poseidon is a bit of a wild card, but he’s too damned honorable to leave the city if he decides the people need him. He’ll follow the others because he’ll see it as the path of least destruction.
Which puts us right back where we started. The last decade of my life, all the blood and sweat and tears, for nothing. Everything will be the same; the people who need the most protection will be the ones who the boot lands the hardest on.
That’s a worry for a future me. Right now, I need action.
Even though I tell myself not to, I glance over my shoulder. The hallway is as empty as it was when I stalked into it. Hermes still hasn’t followed me. There’s no reason for that to make the fissures in my heart crack open all the wider. It’s nothing more than I expected. It just fucking hurts.