Blood of Hercules (Villains of Lore, #1)

by Jasmine Mas

This book is dedicated to all the girls who like morally gray fictional men and who screamed out loud the first time they read “Who did this to you?” This one’s for you.

There has been no great wisdom without an element of madness.

“Father John sounds like a stupid idiot—you’re too young to know what you speak of,” Nyx said. “When you’re older, you’ll think differently.” She was definitely going to hell for saying that.

She screamed in my face—I screamed back. Oh, look, we’re harmonizing. Mozart would have loved this.

The world exploded—the window next to us shattered into a million pieces. Glass rained. Oh, look, it’s a crescendo.

“Kid, I’m not a babysitter. I’m a full-time nanny, without any of the benefits of getting to kill people. My life is tragic.”

He moved on to the next door. “This is the bathroom—a privilege you don’t deserve. Back in my day, we shit in a hole.” He puffed up his chest like he was proud of that statement.

Personally, I preferred to be mentally weak—it made life more interesting. Will I kill myself today dramatically or barely survive? Every day was a new mystery.

I closed my eyes and immediately fell into a peaceful, trancelike state. Just kidding—I fell asleep sitting up.

Our future hinges on you getting the fuck up.” A man was speaking, so I stopped listening.

“If you dare harm yourself,” he rasped softly, high cheekbones glinting like razor blades, “I’ll bring you back to life and torture you for all of eternity.”

Sometimes I cried in the water, sometimes I laughed, and once (three separate times) I flipped my curls over so I looked like a founding father and pretended to give a revolutionary speech—but each time, my speech was too good (the town sheriff shot me for insurrection, and I flailed dramatically in the shower—died—while my fellow rebels watched in horror).

“Wahoooooo.” Nyx slithered up my leg. “That’s my girl.” She made a sniffling noise. “I’m so proud right now...this is the best day of my life. I knew you had it in you, bestie. Pussy power, crush the patriarchy! Don’t stop now—murder them all. KILL EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!”

Men who hurt women didn’t deserve to live.

“Uh, two?” I said. Yes, I was voluntarily participating in my own murder. No, I didn’t want to talk about it.