Fates and Furies (The Sphinx Book 4)

by Raye Wagner

  Before Hope could decide, the distance between the two demigods disappeared, and they hammered on each other. Xavier favored closed-fist strikes, and Xan alternated between open and closed hands. Even though both were adept at blocking, plenty of hits were landed. Xan and Xavier were both bleeding, but neither seemed to be waning in intensity.

  Xan shifted into a stance Hope had seen a thousand times during their sparring. She knew the combination that was coming. The triple round kicks were nothing more than a distraction, but it sucked Xavier in, and when Xan immediately followed the kicks with a jab, the other demigod flinched and blocked with his forearm, which left the opening Xan had perfectly set up.

  The uppercut connected with a crack, and Xavier swayed, but where anyone else would’ve crumpled to the ground, the demigod grabbed Xan’s shirt and spun, his forearm tucking up under Xan’s chin.

  “I’ll kill you, you bastard.” Xavier huffed the words between gasping breaths.

  Xan closed his eyes, and his head lolled. His arms fell to his sides, but his right hand fumbled to grasp something.

  Hope had no time to think. The blade clutched in her hand was his only chance. She brought her arm back and tossed the knife. It landed with a sickening thump, and Xavier released Xan.

  With gaze fixed on Hope, Xavier pulled out the immortal weapon. When he saw the jeweled hilt, he smirked. “Thank you.”

  But Xan had capitalized on the distraction, and before Xavier could turn back to his brother, Xan dropped his shoulder and charged. He collided with Xavier, the force throwing the two into the smartboard, and the screen flickered with the impact. Both men fell to the floor, Xan on top of Xavier, who was twitching.

  Xan cleared his throat and stood but then bent over to pull his blade out of the other demigod’s stomach. He also grabbed the matching weapon from Xavier’s hand and slid both blades away in their sheaths.

  “Holy Hades,” Hope said with a large exhale.

  Xan faced her, and she ran toward him to help, but there was nothing left to do. She reached out with a trembling hand and touched his scabbed lip. “That was . . .”

  There weren’t even words for that kind of crazy.

  “Come on,” Xan said, reaching for her hand. “We need to get into the sanctuary before he heals, or I’ll have to fight him again.”

  Xan pulled her past the prostrate form of his brother. They circled the table, and Xan led them to a discrete wooden door with no handle between several screens. He drew his blade, shoved it into the wood, then pulled open the entrance to the inner sanctum.

  Warm, dry air smelling of dirt rushed out at them. Hope’s stomach turned as memories of the Underworld assaulted her. “I can’t go in there.”

  Xan stopped and appraised her. Bruises still marred his face, and he touched his tongue to the wound on his lip before speaking. “Aye, lass. You can. Push it away, whatever it is. We need to do this. You can freak out on me later. But right now, we need to go.”

  He pulled at her arm, but Hope resisted. Panic flooded her, and her heart and thoughts raced in fear. Bad things happened in that kind of dark. Like the betrayal of gods.

  “Please,” she whispered. There were two steps leading down into an opening as black as pitch. Her vision blurred, her mouth was dry, and if she took a step, she was sure to crumple to the ground. “At least tell me where it goes?”

  “It’s a bomb shelter made to withstand any attack. I know it stinks, but we need to go in now, or—” Xan glanced behind Hope, possibly assessing his sibling, eyes growing wide.

  It didn’t matter what he said. She couldn’t do it. “I don’t think—”

  But Xan didn’t wait for her to finish. He swept her up in his arms and carried her down the stairs, the door closing behind them with a soft click.

  Inky darkness swallowed them whole, and Hope stifled a squeal. Her heart hammered in her chest, the beating so forceful against her ribs she was sure something was bruising. She buried her face in his neck as her lungs tightened, and she struggled to get a breath. The air would not come in quickly enough. She could not breathe. She could not . . .

  “Shhh,” Xan whispered into her hair. “It’s okay. We’re here.”

  Something cracked, and a thin line of artificial green light dropped from Xan’s hand to the ground.

  Hope lifted her head to get a better view of their new surroundings. It was a single room and could only be described as a bunker. Two cots were shoved up against either wall, and two additional ones were built into the wall above the others. One was pulled down with a rough wool blanket thrown over it. There were no pillows. Somehow that detail made Hope feel nostalgic for home. In between the bunks was a rectangular table with a deck of cards laid out in an unfinished game of solitaire.

  Brown cardboard boxes lined an entire wall from floor to ceiling. They were labeled: oats, macaroni, rice, black beans, apple slices, medical supplies. There was a small partitioned area Hope guessed was a bathroom, or maybe she hoped it was. The kitchen, if one could call it that, consisted of a single burner on a table in the opposite corner of the partitioned area.

  This was not living. This was survival.

  “This is the inner sanctuary?” She couldn’t help but blink again and again, as though the scene might shift like it had in the sanctuary for Artemis.

  Xan nodded and set her down. As soon as she was on her feet, he pointed to a bunk. “Go ahead and pull up a seat. We might be here awhile.” He walked to the boxes lining the wall. “I’m going to dig around and see what we’ve got. And I need to get out of these bloody clothes.”

  Xan turned down the lantern light until its pale glow was a firefly in the darkness. The trauma of the morning had left them both exhausted, and after eating, Xan peeled off his bloody clothes and then rinsed them out and hung them to dry over the back of the kitchen chairs. He’d wrapped himself in a blanket, and now they reclined on the firm cots, alternately talking and resting in the safe, silent company of each other. They’d been in the bunker for several hours, long enough for it to become familiar, and Hope no longer jumped when she heard the settling creaks and groans.

  With the darkness came a sense of anonymity, and feelings Hope had buried surfaced, followed by questions she’d been too afraid to ask. Somehow, the anonymity allowed Hope to broach those questions. “Have you ever been to Olympus?”

  “No,” Xan answered. His voice had dropped to the husky rumble just before sleep. “Why would I want to have to deal with more gods than my father? He was bad enough.”

  Hope thought of all she knew of Ares: god of war, bloodshed, and battle. He was known to be hot-tempered, passionate, brutal, and fearless. She was about to ask another question when someone spoke.

  “Then why are you here, Son?”

  The disembodied voice was close, just past her cot, and Hope could sense his presence.

  Xan hissed, rolled out of bed, and in less than a second, turned the brightness up on the lantern. The shadows danced away to reveal the deity from Olympus.

  Ares was nothing like Hope would’ve imagined. Judging by his priest upstairs, Hope thought he’d be dressed in a suit. But the god wore designer jeans, a fitted button-down plaid shirt, and military dog tags around his neck, just peeking out from his open collar. He had coloring much like his son, dark hair, and vibrant electric-blue eyes.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” the god continued, staring at his son. “I thought you said you’d never ask me for anything again.” Ares glanced around the room, his gaze resting on Hope for only a second. With a sigh, he perched on the edge of Hope’s bed.

  She drew her feet up away from the god. Why was he sitting on her bed and not Xan’s?

  “Sit down, Xan.”

  Xan sat on the edge of his bed, scowling at his father. Xan wore black boxer briefs, and when his gaze slid to Hope, he pulled his blanket over his lap and reached for his still damp shirt. “I did say that.”

  Ares’s square jaw was cleanly shaven, and his full lips w
ere turned down in an epic frown. “Then why are you here? Do you have something to tell me?”

  The temperature in the room dropped.

  Animosity radiated between them, almost like shards of glass. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in the crossfire.

  “Did you come to tell me how the ash bow ended up in the Olympian temple after a blast obliterated everyone in it?” Ares’s gaze narrowed, and he leaned toward his son. “Please tell me you . . . lost the bow in a gambling debt, maybe?”

  Xan shook his head.

  She wouldn’t let Xan take the fall for her either.

  “He’s here for me,” she spoke up, and her voice seemed to break the spell.

  Ares shifted, putting his leg up on her bed as he faced her. He studied her, his gaze greedily taking her in, most likely analyzing for weakness. “Are you his lover?”

  Xan snorted, but his father remained focused on her, waiting for her response.

  “If we were lovers, do you think we’d be in separate beds?” she snapped.

  A slow smile spread across the god’s face, and he inclined his head. “Touché, my dear.” He stroked his chin as he perused her leisurely with his gaze. “So, what can I help you with?”

  Hope took a fortifying breath. She glanced at Xan, who was glaring daggers at his father. Xan caught her eye and shook his head. As if they had another choice.

  “I want to get to Olympus.” She broke eye contact with Xan and turned her full attention to Ares. “I would like to speak to the gods about a curse.”

  Ares lifted his eyebrows. “You’re immortal, but not a demigod?”

  Hope swallowed and shook her head.

  Ares turned to Xan and shook his head. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  Xan clenched his hands into fists. “You were bloody wrong.”

  Ares reached out, grabbed her ankle, extending her leg out straight, and groped up to her thigh.

  Hope couldn’t help the terrified gasp that escaped her lips. She tried to pull away but couldn’t get him to release his grip. “Let go!”

  Instead, the god of war gripped tighter as he leaned toward her. He smelled of steel and char, sweat and smoke. He smelled of pure destruction. His eyes blazed with power. “What kind of monster are you?”

  She didn’t want to tell him, but she wanted to go to Olympus. He was their ticket, their only ticket. Maybe if she answered him, he’d grant her request, too. “I’m the Sphinx.”

  He raised his eyebrows and loosened his grip.

  Xan pushed her toward the end of the cot and sat between her and his father.

  Ares leaned to the side, his gaze dancing between the two of them. A cunning smile twitched the corners of his mouth. Rubbing his hands together, he said, “Really? How . . . fortunate. And you’d like to petition Olympus?”

  She hesitated as tendrils of unease unfurled in her.

  The silence stretched, and Ares raised his eyebrows. “Is that your goal? To get to Olympus? I’m surprised,” he continued as though she’d answered his question. “You already have a human body and immortality, so what more could you ask of us?”

  Did the gods really not get it? Could they really not appreciate the importance of agency? Were they really so selfish they couldn’t see past themselves and their own wants?

  “You can do everything my worthless son can do, and probably more.” He sat up. “Are you wanting a divine lover?”

  “How dare you?” Hope bit her tongue before anything else could come out.

  Ares smirked, taking pleasure in her discomfort. “Not that then. Interesting. So you want me to take you to Olympus? That’s why you’re here?”

  Hope nodded then looked to Xan, who inclined his head with only a small tilt of his chin. His gaze was fixed on the face of the god of war.

  “Do you even know the significance of what you’re proposing?” Ares shook his head as he answered his own question, “I think not. You are so ignorant.”

  Hope swallowed back a retort to his insult. She didn’t care what he thought of her if she could get to Olympus. “Will you take us?”

  “No.”

  Hope’s gaze returned to Xan, but he still said nothing as he glared at his father.

  Ares raised his eyebrows, as though waiting for her to ask the inevitable question.

  He might have a good reason, but Hope seriously doubted it. He looked far too pleased with his son’s reaction, and the corners of his lips twitched, fighting a smile.

  What a jerk.

  In that moment, Hope didn’t care if she ever got to Olympus if it meant owing a debt of gratitude to Ares. All of her frustration that had been simmering for months finally boiled over.

  “I should’ve known better. You act like I want something from you. I don’t want anything except the freedom to choose. A freedom you, and every god, and even the mortals in the world already have. I want to choose who I love without punishment from Olympus. But clearly that’s asking too much.” Every single one of the gods had an agenda. Every single one was selfish. Something inside of her snapped. She was so sick of all the manipulative, controlling, self-centered agendas of the gods. “Never mind.”

  The god’s presence filled the room. Something about him smothered her, and all she wanted was to run away.

  Ares leaned toward them, a gleam in his eyes that promised trouble. “Now, tell me, did either of you happen to be at the Olympian temple in Bellevue recently?”

  Hope froze, and her gaze slid to Xan, who sat in front of her.

  “No,” Xan said.

  “No? Really?” Ares’s face hardened as he clenched his jaw. “How did my bow get there?”

  Xan turned so he was facing his father and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You lie,” Ares growled. “You dare to come to my temple and insult me?” He seethed, and the air around him crackled with energy. He stood and loomed over Hope and Xan, his anger pulsing in the air. He balled his hands into fists, the muscles tightening up his arms and to his neck. He stepped past Xan. “You, little monster, are nothing.”

  Panic coursed through her veins, and her heart pounded. The oxygen seemed to suck out of the air, and she gasped, looking at Xan, hoping for something. She didn’t even know what.

  Xan stood and pushed Ares away from Hope. “That’s enough, Father. Hope isn’t going to let you push her around. You said no, so let us leave.”

  Ares moved so fast Hope wasn’t sure what she was seeing until the crack of his palm against Xan’s face broke the silence. “You should’ve known better than to bring a monster here.”

  Xan extended his hand to Hope. A red welt was forming across his cheek in the shape of Ares’s hand, and Xan’s eyes watered. “Let’s go. I’m sorry.”

  “You apologize to her?” Ares roared. He reached back and withdrew a staff from the air. “You betray me. You lie to me. And then you think you can leave?”

  Fear lashed at Hope, and she flinched as she anticipated the strike.

  Xan must’ve read her face and understood. He pushed her back onto the bed and then turned to face his father. The rod whistled through the air, and Xan shifted to the side, avoiding the first blow. He jumped toward his father, drove an elbow into the god’s side, and then stepped behind him. With a kick to the back of Ares’s knee, Xan attempted to take the god down.

  The staff morphed to a sword in the god’s hands, and Ares dipped only slightly with the well-placed kick, recovering faster than any human or demigod could. He swung the deadly blade at his son, and Xan again dodged. This time he closed the gap, and grabbing Ares’s arm, Xan dug his thumb into the pressure point below the god’s elbow.

  Ares countered by slamming his forehead into Xan’s face. Blood spurted and ran from a gash over his cheekbone.

  Hope pulled out Athan’s blade and grabbed Xan’s bag off the floor. She blindly rummaged until she felt the sting of Xan’s knife cut into her hand. With a yelp, she pulled out the weapon and waited for a time to give it to him.

 
But Ares was unrelenting in his pursuit. His broad sword morphed again, and he held two blades, very similar to the ones Xan owned. With unnatural speed, the god of war advanced.

  Xan blocked the first strike with his forearm and hissed as the blade sliced deep. Blood dripped down his arm, leaving small black circles, staining the concrete floor. He avoided the second blow and circled back to Hope. She extended her hands so he could grab the hilt of the weapons.

  But the weapons were too little too late, and Hope watched in horror as Ares continued his advance on his son. For every blow Xan avoided, he took another. Some were mere flesh wounds, but others were deep, and the floor grew slick and dark. Xan stumbled more and more, and it was clear the god was only toying with him.

  “You dare to attack a temple? The gods blamed me, and I was made to look a fool when they found my bow. The bow I specifically remember giving to you.”

  “I didn’t,” Xan gasped.

  Watching Ares pick Xan apart was brutal. Tears streamed down her face, and she forgot to breathe. Xan was by far the best fighter she’d ever seen. But he was nothing compared to his father.

  “Liar,” Ares said through clenched teeth. He held Xan up by his scalp and then backhanded him across the room. But Ares didn’t stop. “You killed the priests and priestesses of every single Olympian, and now you will pay with your life.”

  Anger ballooned until it felt like it would explode out of her chest. She had to do something. Clutching the one remaining immortal blade, she screamed, “He didn’t. Apollo did.”

  Xan slipped, and Ares ducked behind him and again grabbed his hair, holding his son up by the scalp. The god’s blade rested at the base of Xan’s throat.

  Hope panicked. Without thought of the consequences, she plowed into Ares and Xan. The force was enough that the god loosened his hold on Xan, and Hope pushed him aside as she drove the blade in her hand deep into Ares’s abdomen.

  He screamed something, unintelligible words that sounded like anger and fire and pain. Dropping Xan, Ares backhanded Hope.

  Blinding pain exploded across her face as she flew through the air and then crashed into the stacked boxes. She crumpled to the ground, curling in on herself as she gasped for air. The excruciating pain drove away all thought, and small mewling sounds escaped through her lips.