Neon Gods (Dark Olympus #1)(7)

Damn it, I shouldn’t have let emotions get the best of me. If I’d just waited for Psyche to bring me my purse, none of this would be happening… Would it?

Time ceases to have meaning. The seconds are measured in each harsh exhale tearing itself from my chest. I can’t think, can’t stop, am nearly sprinting. Gods, my feet hurt.

At first, I barely register the rushing sound of the river. It’s almost impossible to hear over my own ragged breathing. But then it’s there in front of me, a wet, black ribbon too wide, too fast to swim safely, even if it were summer. In the winter, it’s a death sentence.

I spin around to find the men closer. I can’t quite make out their faces in the shadows, which is right around the time I realize how quiet the night’s gotten. The sound of that bar is barely a murmur in the distance.

No one is coming to save me.

No one even knows I’m here.

The man on the right, the taller of the two, laughs in a way that has my body fighting off shudders that have nothing to do with the cold. “Zeus would like a word.”

Zeus.

Had I imagined this situation couldn’t get worse? Foolish of me. These aren’t random predators. They were sent after me like dogs retrieving a runaway hare. I hadn’t really thought he’d stand idly by and let me escape, had I? Apparently so, because shock steals what little thought I have left. If I stop running, they will collect me and return me to my fiancé. He will cage me. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I won’t get another opportunity to escape.

I don’t think. I don’t plan.

I kick off my heels and run for my life.

Behind me, they curse, and then their footsteps pound. Too close. The river curves here, and I follow the bank. I don’t even know where I’m headed. Away. I have to get away. I don’t care what it looks like. I’d throw myself into the icy river itself to escape Zeus. Anything is better than the monster who rules the upper city.

Cypress Bridge rises up in front of me, an ancient stone bridge with columns that are larger around than I am and twice as tall. They create an arch that gives the impression of leaving this world behind.

“Stop!”

I ignore the yell and plunge through the arch. It hurts. Fuck, everything hurts. My skin stings as if being scraped raw by some invisible barrier, and my feet feel like I’m sprinting on glass. I don’t care. I can’t stop now, not with them so close. I barely notice the fog rising around me, coming off the river in waves.

I’m halfway across the bridge when I catch sight of the man standing on the other bank. He’s wrapped in a black coat with his hands in his pockets, fog curling around his legs like a dog with its master. A fanciful thought, which is only further confirmation that I am not okay. I’m not even in the same realm as okay.

“Help!” I don’t know who this stranger is, but he’s got to be better than what pursues me. “Please help!”

He doesn’t move.

My steps falter, my body finally beginning to shut down from the cold and fear and strange slicing pain of crossing this bridge. I stumble, nearly going to my knees, and meet the stranger’s eyes. Pleading.

He looks down at me, still as a statue draped in black, for what feels like an eternity. Then he seems to make a choice: lifting a hand, palm extended toward me, he beckons me across what remains of the River Styx. I’m finally close enough to see his dark hair and beard, to imagine the intensity of his dark gaze as the strange buzzing tension in the air seems to relax around me, allowing me to push through those final steps to the other side without pain. “Come,” he says simply.

Somewhere in the depths of my panic, my mind is screaming that this is a terrible mistake. I don’t care. I dredge up the last bit of my strength and sprint for him.

I don’t know who this stranger is, but anyone is preferable to Zeus.

No matter the price.





Chapter 3


Hades

The woman doesn’t belong on my side of the River Styx. That alone should be enough to make me turn away, but I can’t help but notice her limping sprint. The fact that she’s barefoot without a fucking coat in the middle of January. The plea in her eyes.

Not to mention the two men chasing her down, trying to get to her before she reaches this side. They don’t want her to cross the bridge, which tells me all I need to know—they owe allegiance to one of the Thirteen. Normal citizens of Olympus avoid crossing the river, preferring to stick to their respective sides of the River Styx without fully understanding what makes them turn back when they reach one of the three bridges, but these two are acting like they realize she’ll be out of their reach once she touches this bank.

I motion with my hand. “Faster.”

She glances behind her, and panic sounds from her body as loudly as if she’d screamed. She’s more afraid of them than she is of me, which might be a revelation if I stopped to think about it too hard. She’s almost to me, a few short yards away.

That’s when I realize I recognize her. I’ve seen those big hazel eyes and that pretty face plastered on all the gossip sites that love following the Thirteen and their circles of friends and family. This woman is Demeter’s second daughter, Persephone.

What is she doing here?

“Please,” she gasps again.

There’s nowhere for her to run. They’re on one side of the bridge. I’m on the other. She must be truly desperate to make the crossing, to push past those invisible barriers and throw her safety in with a man like me. “Run,” I say. The treaty keeps me from being able to go to her, but once she reaches me—