Hades Descendants (The Games of the Gods Book 1)

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Hades Descendants (The Games of the Gods Book 1) Page 5

by Nikki Kardnov


  “I won’t.”

  Eyes still trained on the floor, I sit baking in the silence and the heat.

  Finally Hades says, “You’re dismissed,” and I jerkily rise to my feet.

  “Thank you, my lord.” I bow, low and deep.

  When I’m free of the office and the door is shut behind me, I suck in a full breath. I’m not entirely sure which direction to take, so I just choose one and go.

  I’m relieved that I survived the meeting, but my stomach is still in knots. All my hope (though frail it was) is now gone. I’m not getting out of Hades’s house. I’m not getting out of the trial.

  I’m not going home.

  Tears burn in my eyes at the realization. I’m stuck here, destined to fail, and surrounded entirely by boys that clearly hate me.

  When your first plan doesn’t work, mortals like to say, Time for Plan B. I read that in one of Hestia’s books.

  Plan B. Plan B. Okay...what’s my plan B?

  I take another deep breath and surge forward. Though there are no windows in this hallway, I can still sense the sun rising outside. So I’ll take a long, hot shower and see if anything comes to me. And if it doesn’t...well, there’s always tomorrow. I’ll keep trying to escape this horror…

  Until I do.

  Chapter 10

  After grabbing what looked like pajamas from my room, I make my way up the stairs to the dormitory bathrooms. Max said all of the descendants share the bathrooms, and as I’m standing there in the doorway to the large space I realize what this means: I’m sharing a bathroom with nine other boys in a house that’s historically only ever been boys.

  Great.

  No one is modest in Olympus. I spent half my childhood running naked through the poppy fields on the western side of the mountain and you can’t turn a corner in Olympus City without running into a nude statue or painting of one of the divine gods, but somehow this is different.

  Somehow this feels like a vulnerable place to be.

  I turn my ear to the bathroom and listen for any signs that I’m not alone.

  There’s only the dripping of one of the faucets.

  Plink. Plink-plink. Plink.

  Maybe if I hurry, I can be done and out before anyone even realizes I’m here.

  I set my clean clothes on the wood bench outside one of the shower stalls and take my towel in with me to hang it on the iron hook. Once the stall door is locked behind me, I hurriedly undress and toss my clothes into the wet corner.

  The water is deliciously hot when it comes out of the copper pipes. We only had one shower at Hestia’s, so most of my washing has been done in a giant tub in bath water we shared.

  This long, hot shower almost feels like a luxury.

  I could get used to this.

  I allow myself to linger just a few minutes longer after I’m clean, face turned into the spray of the showerhead, before I finally make myself reach over and turn it off.

  I quickly wrap the towel around my body and push the stall door open…

  ...and nearly slam into Haven Knightfall.

  I let out a startled yip that makes Haven’s friends laugh.

  “She must be part mutt,” the large boy on Haven’s left says. He’s the same boy who Clea and I met on the path to the amphitheater. Was that only last night? It seems like eons ago. Like another life.

  I think the boy’s name is Pearce if I remember correctly. His red hair is mussed like he has yet to be introduced to a comb. Next to Pearce stand two other boys I can’t name.

  They stand between Haven and the door, blocking my escape.

  Shit.

  Shit. Shit.

  “Hello, orphan,” Haven says.

  I meet his gaze and then quickly look away.

  It’s hard to look into his white eye and not catch a chill.

  “Um. Hi.” I tighten the towel around myself and blindly grope for my clothes on the bench behind me.

  “Looking for these?” Pearce says and lifts my bra by a finger. It’s not even technically my bra. It showed up in my wardrobe like everything else. But seeing it hanging in the proverbial breeze still makes me flush red.

  I grit my teeth. “What do you want?”

  The faucet drips faster.

  Haven’s eyes pinch at the corners as if he’s sizing me up. “What do I want? I want you to leave, orphan.”

  I snort. “Tried that. Hades won’t let me.”

  The boys behind him share a glance.

  Haven’s expression hardens into a scowl. “Then why not just quit?”

  Good question.

  It isn’t like I have a hope of winning. And I’ve already proven I can’t just weasel my way out.

  So what’re my other options?

  Quitting has never been in my nature though, and I’ve often wondered if it’s a characteristic I inherited from my godparent.

  I hate quitters.

  I hate losing.

  By the time I was ten years old, everyone at Hestia House refused to play games with me.

  “You’re a sore loser, Ana,” Clea had said when I argued with her about one of the moves she’d made in our game of Flower & Foe. “I forfeit. You win. Are you happy now?”

  “Yes,” I’d said, perhaps a bit arrogantly. “Clearly I made my point.”

  “Oh, you made it very clear indeed.” And then she’d stalked off, vowing never to play with me ever again.

  Why not just quit? Because I’m already abandoned and unwanted, I can’t stand the thought of being banished and forgotten as well. I might not have found a place to belong here in Olympus, but I surely will have no place in the mortal realm.

  Maybe I have little chance of winning, but I’ll have zero chance if I give up.

  Towel still clutched around me, I straighten and say, “I wouldn’t want to make things easy for you, Knightfall.”

  Haven’s friends oooh.

  Haven narrows his eyes. “Careful, orphan. Or being banned from Olympus might be the least of your worries.”

  “Oh?” I arch a brow. “What do you think you can do to me? Hurt me? Kill me? I’m immortal just like you. In fact, I might be more immortal.” I’m not exactly sure if immortality can be quantified, but it’s a well-known fact that demi-gods far outlive descendants, so if my father is Hades and not just my great-great-great-great grandfather, then I’m more immortal than Haven. Of course, pierce either of us through the heart, and it’s quite possible we’ll keel over and die.

  There are some wounds even demi-gods can’t survive.

  “Go ahead and do your worst,” I goad Haven. “You’re just a descendant several hundred years removed.”

  Quicker than I can comprehend, his hand is around my throat and we’re crashing through the shower door.

  He slams me against the black tile and my teeth clack violently together.

  “There are things worse than death,” he growls.

  My heart hammers in my ears.

  I hadn’t meant to get in a standoff with Haven Knightfall with nothing but a towel between us.

  The faucet drips faster still.

  Plink plink plink-plink-plink.

  The air in my lungs flutters uselessly in the base of my throat.

  Haven’s grip tightens and my feet scrabble for purchase on the wet floor.

  I wrap my hand around his wrist and flail at him with my other hand, trying to find a way through his defenses.

  He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

  It’s like fighting a statue.

  His face hardens and turns cruel. And somehow achingly more beautiful.

  I have to get out of here.

  I have to get away from him.

  The dripping slows.

  My feet find the floor.

  Heat runs through my body. An electric energy coils in my gut as I clamp my teeth together and squeeze Haven’s wrist.

  A pinch of worry appears between his brows.

  I squeeze harder.

  The dripping stops.

  Have
n’s arm starts to turn black. His grip loosens as his mouth drops open. A plume of steam lifts from the tile as the temperature of the room grows hotter and hotter.

  “What the fuck?” someone says.

  Haven lets me go. Oxygen fills my lungs and my resolve. The blackness spreads up Haven’s arm and disappears beneath the sleeve of his shirt. Pain etches into his face a second later.

  “Hey,” one of his friends says. “Hey, stop it!”

  Haven backpedals and slams into the opposite wall. I press against him as the blackness creeps up his neck and his lips turn blue.

  “Fuck. Get her off him!”

  Hands grab at me and quickly snap away.

  “Shit. She’s ice cold,” one of them says.

  Now it’s Haven gasping for air.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I say, my voice somehow even and calm and yet far away. It’s like I’ve left my body. Like I’m watching from above. A second ago, I didn’t feel this coiled resolve, this need to strike back, but now it’s nearly blinding me.

  If Haven Knightfall wants to play a game, I’m suddenly eager to match his moves. I’m suddenly eager to win.

  “There’s something you should know about me, Knightfall,” I say, “I never, ever give up.”

  I let him go and he leans against the wall, inhaling deeply.

  The blackness in his skin recedes and then disappears. He shakes out his arm like the nerves have fallen asleep.

  With a blink, he’s regained his composure. He straightens. “There’s something you should know about me too, orphan.” His amber eye glitters with rage.

  “What’s that?”

  “I play dirty.”

  He grabs hold of the hem of my towel and gives it a yank. Unprepared for it, the material easily slips through my fingers and in an instant, I’m standing there naked in front of him.

  My first instinct is to cover myself with my hands and my arms—I’ve never been naked in front of a boy before—but then I realize that’s exactly what he wants me to do. Exactly what he needs to know he’s gotten to me.

  So I don’t.

  Instead, I level my shoulders, curl a hand around my hip and just stand there staring at him like, now what?

  His eyes rake over me and I can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. Does he think ogling me will somehow get to me?

  When his mismatched eyes return to my face, there’s no longer disdain in his gaze. There’s something else.

  Something fiery and ravenous.

  He seems to realize it at the same time I do.

  His nostrils flare as he sucks in a breath, flexes his jaw like he’s gritting his teeth. “Watch your back, orphan,” he says and tosses the towel into a puddle of water.

  His friends laugh nervously as they quickly follow him out the door.

  When they’re gone, I lean into the shower wall and close my eyes.

  The dripping has returned to its even pattern and I realize so has my breathing.

  I try to assess how I feel about this. Am I angry? Embarrassed? Ashamed?

  Well, I’m definitely confused. What was with the blackness spreading up Haven’s arm? Had I done that?

  I have a flash of the bluebonnets withering in my fist.

  Haven’s skin had a similar decaying blackness to it.

  I find my clean clothes strewn over the wet floor outside the shower stall. I scoop them up and quickly slip into them, cursing the whole way. Wet clothes are about as fun as a sliver in the ass.

  Finding the hallway to the dorms empty, I make my way quickly to the stairs and then down to my dorm.

  Ten minutes later, door locked, I change into a fresh set of pajamas and climb into bed. The mattress molds to my body and the black down-filled comforter is breathable and warm all at the same time.

  At least I (sorta) survived my first day at Hades’s House.

  Chapter 11

  After sleeping restlessly for most of the day, I wake mid-afternoon to find a letter folded on my nightstand.

  I lurch upright, blinking into the afternoon’s murky light pouring through my half open shutters.

  I locked the door before I went to bed. I know I did.

  My name is written on the front of the letter in an elegant, looping cursive. I unfurl the paper and scan the short note.

  You’re due at your first trial meeting today at 4:00 P.M. OST in the library. Those who are late will be given a disadvantage at their first trial.

  Sincerely,

  Professor Monstrat

  The clock above my fireplace says it’s just after three.

  Great.

  At least I took a shower last night.

  I slip into another Hades “uniform” and then lace up a pair of black leather boots I find in the back of my wardrobe. They fit perfectly. Everything left for me in the wardrobe fits like it was sewn by Sura’s very hand.

  I leave my room with a half hour to spare and look left, then right. I’m pretty sure the library isn’t left, because that hallway opens into another hallway that leads to the conservatory and then the back garden. I think anyway.

  So, right it is.

  I pass a work room and then another and then a closed and locked door.

  Down another hallway, I pass the kitchen and scullery where steam wafts into the air smelling of fresh baked bread and other delectable things.

  My stomach growls.

  I keep looking.

  I really should have been paying attention yesterday when Max gave me the tour.

  In all honesty, I half expected to be gone by now and so memorizing the house’s layout seemed pointless. I’m regretting that decision. Amongst many others.

  Finally, when I’ve been wandering around for what feels like forever, I pass another of the descendants.

  I can’t remember his name, but so far he hasn’t abused, harassed, or sneered at me so I’m hopeful he’s not a giant asshole.

  “Which way is the library?” I ask and fall into pace with him.

  “This way.” He points down the hallway. “Then we’ll take a couple of turns. I’m headed there now if you want to walk with me.”

  “Oh, thank the gods. Yes, I’d love that.”

  “I’m Elyius by the way. Ely for short.” He smiles over at me. “And you’re The Girl.”

  “Ana. Is it that obvious?” I joke.

  “Wandering the halls gave it away.”

  “Well, I really appreciate you being nice to me. I can’t say that’s a common attribute around here.”

  He shrugs and a lock of his blond hair falls over his eyes. “This particular class isn’t known for its mercy.”

  “And by class you mean Haven and his cronies.”

  He smiles again and the light catches his eyes and I find I really, really like it.

  Could I actually be making my second friend here?

  Of course, Ely is technically my competition so I shouldn’t be getting too involved. But a girl can have fun, right? While Hades’s house is mostly boys, Hestia’s House has always been primarily girls. There was an orphan male from a few years back, but he was quickly claimed by his godparent Poseidon when he started commanding fish with his mind.

  I’m not quite sure what to do with myself in a house full of boys.

  Retreat to a hole? Throw a party? Revel in my female power?

  I’d always expected to live out my life at Hestia’s House and die a virginal orphan.

  “Here we are,” Ely says and holds the door open for me.

  We’re the last to arrive, but the clock says we still have six minutes to spare. Cutting it a little close though.

  As I enter the library, I catch Haven’s eye. He gives me a contemptuous smile, but when he sees who I’m with, his expression hardens.

  What’s the saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Or something like that.

  If Haven hates Ely as much as he hates me then I’m even more grateful for Ely.

  The chosen are sitting at the worktables set up in a grid in the
center of the library. Ely and I take the table near the back. I don’t see the professor yet so I take the free moment to check out the library. Yesterday, Max and I only popped our heads in. I didn’t get a chance to explore.

  The library is twice the size of the library at Hestia’s House with upper shelving that can only be reached by a sliding ladder. Behind us, in front of the bank of windows, a spiral staircase leads up to a lofted second floor where one could literally get lost in the stacks.

  The floor is hardwood but beneath the tables are layered Olympian rugs woven with intricate floral patterns. I’m sure that if I removed my shoes, my toes would sink into the thick looped threads.

  A man enters the library and says, “Great, you all made it on time.”

  I can’t decide if the man is supposed to be an assassin or our professor.

  He’s wearing a white linen shirt buttoned up to the neck, gray tweed trousers and a matching vest. A gold chain loops through one of the buttonholes on his vest. The arm of a pair of round, tortoiseshell glasses are hooked over his shirt collar.

  His dark hair is close cropped to his scalp revealing two thin black lines tattooed around his scalp from temple to temple. Though his clothes seem tailor-made for him with sharp, clean lines, his biceps still strain against the white linen as if no cloth, mortal or immortal spun, could contain him.

  There is a hardness to him that can’t be ignored. Like he’s only playing at being our professor until a foe needs killing.

  “That’s Professor Monstrat,” Ely whispers in my ear.

  Monstrat leans his weight onto the edge of the head table and crosses his arms over his chest. I wonder if his biceps might just burst from his shirt.

  He looks over us in the room, as if sizing us up, but when he reaches me, he lingers and my face heats up beneath his stare.

  Does he think me a joke like everyone else here?

  Probably.

  Finally, his gaze darts away and I expel a breath of relief.

  “As you all know, chosen ones receive a gift from their god upon their arrival at the house. Hades will bestow those gifts tonight after dinner in preparation for your first trial tomorrow, but first we must assess the gifts you were born with so that we, and your fellow chosen ones, have full understanding of the competition. We don’t like surprises here at Hade’s House.”

 

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