Blood of Hercules (Villains of Lore Book 1)
Blood of Hercules: Chapter 10

Kharon: A few hours earlier

I stood in the boat, dying of boredom as I waited for the idiot boys to finish their first lap of the circuit.

When the federation had randomly forced me to work the crucible this year (a decision that still didn’t make any sense), I’d assumed the torturing of Olympian spawn would make it a little fun.

I was wrong.

Ennui had already set in.

My fingers itched with the urge to palm my knife and stab something. Preferably, someone.

I wanted to be in the forest hunting Titans.

Needed it like I needed oxygen.

Craved it like a Cyclops desired blood.

Hell let out a yawn of boredom, and Hound flopped over, which caused the boat to rock.

Yes, I’d named my hellhound protectors what they were. No one else could see them anyway, just another perk of having a monstrous creature lineage.

All three of us were exhausted by the act of standing still.

We weren’t bred to be patient.

We were bred to devour.

The violence—the chase—was everything. Every second stuck in the stupid boat was a second I could be tracking my prey through a forest. Following them for hours, then attacking when they weren’t expecting it.

Now I was stuck in the bumfuck dolomites twiddling my thumbs.

Fuck the federation and their political machinations. If they think forcing me to babysit their toddlers will make me more empathetic toward Olympians, they’re gonna be in for a rude awakening. I’ll kill them all.

The fact that they forced us into the Assembly of Death in the first place proved how brainless they were. The federation thought they were keeping Chthonics occupied by forcing us to fight Titans for a living.

Little did they know, it was exactly what all of us wanted to be doing anyway.

We were just sharpening our skills.

Biding our time.

Unlike useless Olympians, Chthonics were handcrafted by Kronos himself. We were born to kill, and we did it well.

It was our pleasure to slaughter.

To fight.

The violence was divine.

Sitting up straighter in the fucking dingy they called a boat, I stared at the towering mountain pass and waited for the Olympian bastards to arrive so I could torture them to death.

I cracked my knuckles.

The fact that the federation was trying to soil our Chthonic bloodlines by forcing us to marry weak, pathetic, whiny Olympians was beyond absurd. Taking a marriage oath and binding my dark soul to one of those fuckers was a fate worse than death.

When Chthonics bonded, they got stronger, but when Chthonics bonded with Olympians, they weakened.

It was unacceptable.

I refused to be neutered.

Olympians called their puny characteristics “abilities,” but we Chthonics knew the truth.

They were powerless.

They couldn’t taste the bloodlust like we did. They didn’t crave the games, the hunt. They didn’t know the glory of ripping apart prey with their bare hands while their heart pounded with the pain of using real power.

They didn’t experience the rush of the kill, because they weren’t predators like us.

Olympians were the Spartans who weren’t strong enough to wield true power.

They were barely better than pathetic humans, and compared to our illustrious bloodlines, they were nothing.

I spat into the River Styx with disgust.

The new marriage law was proof of how desperate the federation was getting.

They were doing everything in their power to keep us constrained because they knew we were superior to them in every single way.

It was only a matter of time before we finished what the Great War had started.

Zeus and the other Olympian leaders were barely holding on to their power.

We were all just waiting.

To attack.

I stood straighter, and the ravaged muscles in my right leg tightened, so I rolled my ankle, trying to alleviate the ache. Fuck the Gladiator Competition. Fuck all the Olympians. Fuck this Kronos-damned dingy.

My ruined leg was a reminder.

Even as a child, the federation had tried to destroy me. I hadn’t been old enough for the crucible, but according to the federation, I’d been old enough to be hunted in the Dolomites Coliseum and maimed like a feral creature.

That was what Olympians did when they realized someone had real power—they attacked.

Pain intensified.

Panic clawed at my chest, and I breathed deeply to calm myself down. I rubbed at the brands on my chest.

There was a reason I hunted all day and night; if I stopped moving, I felt the agony. I remembered the trauma. However, if I kept myself distracted, then I couldn’t remember. Mostly.

Gritting my teeth, I rubbed at my tired eyes.

I couldn’t recall the last time I’d slept. The problem was the second I lay down, my subconscious tortured me with the heinous memories.

So I stayed awake.

I didn’t run from my demons. I fed them, and now I was the demon.

The Olympians called me many names.

Insomniac.

Sociopath.

Hunter.

Killer.

All of them were true.

Tapping my foot faster, I debated capsizing just to give myself something to do.

Hell and Hound whined as they flopped over with a huff.

The urge to slaughter anything pounded through me like a living force, and from the body language of my hellhounds, they agreed. We were not made for this.

Time crawled forward.

I played with my knives.

What felt like hours later, I sighed with relief as the spawn finally made an appearance. I debated shooting at them for fun, but didn’t want to deal with the paperwork.

They staggered down to the base of the mountain, then collapsed onto the ground in various states of misery.

I snorted.

The crucible was nothing compared to the training at the Assembly of Death. They wouldn’t last a second.

Hell growled low in his throat and tipped his head over the boat as he stared at an initiate with his razor-sharp teeth bared.

“What is it?” I asked.

My protectors only ever growled at Augustus because hellhounds were extremely territorial—but only around other predators. Since they were top of the food chain, it wasn’t often that they got riled up.

Hell bared his teeth wider, and his head turned toward the lithe figure kneeling apart from the group with their head down. He let out a toe-curling sound of aggression.

I focused on the initiate.

Golden skin practically glowed in the sunlight.

Curls shone like silk.

The initiate looked up. A white and black eye stared directly at me—the different colors were shocking.

It was her again.

Alexis Hert.

The abandoned girl everyone in Sparta was talking about. The one I’d played nursemaid to back at the shanty Patro and Achilles called home, after the massacre when they’d been called away to fight Titans.

I’d thought the hellhounds had been growling because they’d smelled Augustus on me, but it really had been the girl.

Interesting.

She’d been out of her mind with delirium and pain, but even writhing on blood-covered sheets, there’d been something intense about her.

It was a feeling without a name.

Whatever it was, as I held her chin and fed her pills, recognition had stirred within me. There was an energy about her, an aura that felt like I’d known her before.

She’d been so helpless, at my complete (nonexistent) mercy, and yet even half-asleep, she’d fought like a wildcat.

I smiled at the memory.

Sparta was small, and there weren’t enough Spartans and creatures on earth to keep me entertained, so it was rare that I was interested in anyone.

But with her, I wanted to play.

Even covered in sweat, kneeling in the dirt a few yards away, there was something arresting about Alexis. It went beyond her physical appearance, which resembled a wild thing.

The way she observed the world was intriguing, like she was constantly on alert and surprised by her surroundings.

The last person I’d felt this drawn to was Augustus.

But with him, it made sense, since he was scarred and tormented, just like me. The hardness in his eyes, the blackness in his soul, was what had enticed me in the first place. Like recognized like.

But Alexis looked weak and breakable. She was all long gangly limbs and wide, innocent eyes.

She came across as a naive.

How the fuck did she survive the massacre? She looks like she’s been starved.

Hell growled louder. Hound stood up next to him and let out a warning howl. Their canines flashed as they hunched low, like they were getting ready to fight a ruthless predator.

They were both fixated on her.

What are your secrets—carissima? Are you more than you seem?

Twisted interest burned inside my sternum as a new obsession kindled to life.

Is her innocent air all an act? Is she dangerous?

I smiled wider.

Suddenly, Titans weren’t the only things I wanted to hurt.

How fun it will be to crack her open. Break her and reveal all her secrets.

There was a shout, then all ten of the initiates dove into the river.

My attention was rapt as Alexis swam deftly through the water and I followed in my boat, chasing after her, chest tightening with pure adrenaline and anticipation.

Then a boy near her started screaming. He shrieked louder, the sound of a dying animal, like something, someone, was killing him.

I looked around for a source.

Hell and Hound went wild, growling and barking in the direction of Alexis, who had stopped swimming and was treading water next to him.

She lunged at him.

Her face turned toward me.

An insane realization hit me, and my breath left my lungs like I’d been punched.

Oh my Kronos—she’s killing him.

The boy screamed louder, like he was being torn to pieces as she grappled with him.

Whatever Alexis was doing—she was filthy powerful.

The obsession that had kindled exploded into a bonfire of pure want. I adjusted my belt to loosen the growing pressure in my pants.

Holy fuck, she’s murdering him.

She’s vicious.

The boy screamed louder while splashing to get away from her.

Alexis yelled something as she drowned him, but I couldn’t hear it over the rushing in my ears.

I call dibs.

She disentangled herself and swam away.

Pure euphoria filled me.

Kneeling, I touched the boy’s forehead and unleashed my power to finish the job. Pain stabbed through my chest. His screams intensified as I let him see my protectors, and he flailed while Hell and Hound jumped in to feast, but all my attention was still on her.

A plan unfolded before me.

It would work.

It had to.

I was the hunter of my generation because I knew how to play the long game—I always caught my prey.

I’m going to devour her.

I stood up, the boy forgotten, as I slowly turned my boat toward her.

Alexis swam away frantically.

I tipped my head back and laughed as I followed.

Glory be to Kronos. Thank you for delivering this exquisite creature to me like a lamb for slaughter.

It was a great fucking day to be a Chthonic monster.

Alea iacta est—the die was cast.

A great day indeed.