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This book is dedicated to all the people who spend their nights reading fan fiction about relationships that make them wonder “Am I okay?”
living on Crete—avoiding Satan and Evil Incarnate (my husbands)
I’d finally accepted the truth. I wasn’t made for a life of ease—I was destined to make those who hurt me suffer. Sparta would learn. I would wield my powers, or I’d die trying. Most likely the latter.
No one fears the sane.”
Hades stepped closer. “You and I are two of the most dangerous Spartans on earth. But danger is nothing without power—and power doesn’t exist without fear . . . Make them fear you, daughter.”
Rural Montana had prepared me for two things: selling my organs on the black market, and cult life.
God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers. I prayed for death.
Agatha was an Empusa, a rare type of shape-shifting creature that ate men. She inspired me.
Alexis and Drex were moving like snails. It was only a marathon, for fuck’s sake; it wasn’t even that long.
They. Shot. My. Wife. Augustus bellowed.
Apparently, I wasn’t asexual; I was just into tattooed, violent, Machiavellian men. A fate worse than death.
I pulled out the Taser Persephone had gifted me and slammed down on the black button. It was an emergency; my husband was an ass.
Yes, I am a pervert. Next question.
Poco didn’t care that I was the eldest Chthonic heir. Strangely, he was one of the few animals I’d ever met that wasn’t afraid of me. He just wanted to cuddle and play with my hair.
I’d grown my hair out ever since; I kept it long for him. He was everything to me. I’d slaughter anyone who dared try to hurt him.
Kharon and Patro had pulled apart, both looking guilty, like they were trying to hide the fact that they were fighting from Achilles.
Poco hissed at Achilles, then he pointed his tiny finger and mimed shooting at him. Kharon had spent the last months teaching him the gesture.
“Medusa . . . escaped from the Underworld.”
We could regenerate soft tissues like brains, eyes, and organs.
He suffered from anxious biting syndrome. Poco whined, and I handed him a cookie from my pocket.
Patro and Achilles were both staring at me—one with haughty smugness, the other danger. I’d chosen them because they were the lesser of two evils, but from the way Achilles’s eyes were narrowed, I wasn’t so sure that was true.
“It’s to keep the enemy out,” Augustus said coldly. The Titans or Medusa? “The Olympians.”
Poco climbed up to the top of his head and carefully separated three strands of his hair. Wait, can the raccoon braid?
Well, that explained why they stalked around the villa looking like they’d rather snap a neck than do housework (relatable).
Poco joined the hug. Then he chittered and proudly held up a section of Augustus’s hair so everyone could see his work. Never mind, he can’t braid. It was a giant knot.
“What the fuck is on the side of your head?” Patro asked Augustus. Poco hissed and grabbed his creation protectively (knotted wad of hair).
“It will be fine,” I lied. “We can do this,” she lied back. Nothing in life was more powerful than two women affirming each other’s horrible life choices.
Patro was wrapped possessively around Achilles. He winked at me. Does he have something in his eye?
He clapped loudly and everything plunged into darkness. Drex and I both gasped with awe. I thought clapper lights were just a myth.
I was good at calculating obscure mathematical problems and writing scintillating (inappropriate) fan fiction. I was a true Renaissance woman.
“Three.” His voice vibrated with violence. Does he have a counting kink or something? “Two.” My breath caught and I pressed my thighs together. Wait . . . Do I?
Sure, I had the potential to be physically fit and athletically competent. The problem was, I didn’t want to be. I enjoyed sitting. A lot.
Being the world’s first introverted perverted prude is surprisingly exhausting.
Kharon had found pants. I was a devastated woman (read: pervert).
Sometimes I wondered if it would have been better to be born in rags because the fall would have hurt less.
Fluffy Jr. crouched at my feet; Poco sat on his neck, holding his ears with tiny black fingers, like they were reins.
You had to save yourself. Always.
Oh great, men making all the important decisions. I was worried.
“Yesss,” Nyx hissed encouragingly. “Ruin him. Men don’t deserve to feel good about themselves. Make him cry.”
“Don’t kill them,” I said miserably as I jogged forward blindly. Nyx clicked her teeth. “Not yet.” Nyx hissed proudly. “That’s my girl.”
I was over Chthonic men. From what I could tell, they were all emotionally stunted. I’d met organ snatchers who were more well-adjusted than them (there were some good, hardworking harvesters out there).
Agony had a second name—Chthonic. Either we were the loneliest beings on earth, or we loved obsessively, with our entire soul. Complete devotion or nothing. There was no in-between.
I should leap away, but then Augustus would be right that I needed men to look after me. These days, all I had was spite. I’m a strong independent woman.
My thoughts raced desperately—a times x squared plus b times x plus c equals zero. New plan: never think again.
All I had was poisonous blood and an unhealthy amount of theoretical math knowledge.
“Don’t you dare.” Nyx clicked her teeth. “Alexis, I have not raised you from a hatchling for you to throw it all away for some random humans.”
Has ambidexterity always been so hot?
Augustus looked positively feral. Maybe it was the blood loss. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the fact that Augustus was disturbingly capable of eliminating evil. But suddenly, I couldn’t understand how I’d ever thought I was asexual.
Wait . . . He sliced the blade clean through his left ear. Someone screamed silently in horror. It was me.
Poco perched on his shoulder with narrowed eyes—his fluffy raccoon arm was raised, pointing at the Titans, his thumb flexing rapidly. Wait, is that a finger gun?
