One way or another, I’m putting an end to this damn curse…and I’m already in the perfect place to do it.
Time to have it out with a god.
3
The Last Mistake I’ll Ever Make
Raw emotions bubble inside me like a poisonous potion in a witch’s cauldron.
I haven’t entirely decided what I’m going to do when I get to the temple. I’m either going to beg that egotistical fucking god Zeus to remove his punishment or I’m going to do something worse.
One way or the other, my problem will be solved.
And, unlike earlier, now I don’t give a shit that midnight is the start of the Crucible and all the “rules” that come with the cryptic festival.
We mortals know only how the festival begins, how it ends, and how we celebrate in between. They begin with each of the major Olympian gods and goddesses choosing a mortal champion during the rites at the start. The festivities end when some of the mortals selected return. Some don’t. The ones who do make it back don’t remember a thing, or maybe they’re too scared to talk about it. And the ones who don’t, well, their families are showered in blessings, so it’s supposedly an honor to be chosen either way.
Regardless, mortals have been throwing this festival every hundred years since what feels like the dawn of time, everyone hoping they’ll be chosen by their favored god. What can I say? Humans are foolish.
Zeus is probably in his heavenly city on Mount Olympus, busy preparing for the start of the Selection Ceremony, but I’m having it out with him right now.
It can’t wait. I just need to get his attention is all. Luckily, everyone knows the one thing Zeus is most attached to in our world—his fucking temple.
Adrenaline pumps in my veins as I hurry through the trees. The temple is already cordoned off, but at least I’ve got enough thief training to be able to get around the barriers with no one noticing.
I skirt past a row of perfectly manicured bushes and approach the place from the back, where I’m less likely to be seen. The arcs of lightning overhead fill the air this close to the temple with charged electricity, masking the sounds of my footsteps as the hairs on my arms stand on end like toy soldiers.
I should take that as a warning.
I don’t.
I keep going.
Staring at the pristine columns surrounding the walled-off inner temple rooms in the center, I try to formulate a plan. Praying and begging first would be the smart move. But now that I’m standing here, alone in the dark, with my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides, every unbearable, excruciating millisecond of misery caused by Zeus’ curse flashes through my head.
I’m shaking so hard with a vile concoction of anger and heartache and mortification that I rock on my feet. But the worst part of all is that, maybe for the first time ever, I admit to myself how fucking lonely I am.
I’ve never known what it’s like to whisper secrets to a friend, or hold someone’s hand, or have someone to just sit with me when I’m feeling low. We wouldn’t even have to talk.
And I just…
In a haze, almost as if I’m watching myself from the outside, I search the ground around me and grab a rock. Cocking my arm back, I go to hurl it at the nearest column.
Only, a hand clamps around my wrist mid-throw, and I’m jerked back against a broad chest. Strong arms encircle me. “I don’t think so,” a deep voice says in my ear.
I forget every self-defense technique drilled into me and instead thrash against my captor’s hold. “Let me go!”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and for some reason, I believe him. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be free, though. I have shit to deal with.
“I said”—I grit out each word—“Let. Me. Go.”
His grip tightens. “Not if you’re going to hurl rocks at the temple. I don’t feel like dealing with Zeus tonight.”
“Well, I do!” I kick out, trying to twist away.
“He’s an asshole, I get it. Trust me,” my captor mutters in a low voice. “But if I thought throwing a tantrum would change that, I’d have brought that temple down with my bare hands years ago.”
It’s not just the words—something in his tone makes me still in his arms, almost as though the two of us are sharing the same emotion. The same anger. The feeling steals my breath, and I find myself leaning back, reveling in the moment. As if, for the first time in my life, I don’t feel utterly alone.
Is this what it’s like to connect with someone?
Crickets chirp in the distance, their slow cadence in sync with his even breaths. In sync with mine now, too, I realize.
“If I let you go, do you promise not to attack a defenseless building again?” he asks softly.
“No,” I admit, and I feel a sigh rumble in his chest. So I add, “That fuckhead doesn’t deserve any prayers.”
“Careful.” His voice wobbles. Is he laughing?
“Why?” I ask, a surprising grin spreading across my lips when only a few seconds ago, I was ready to throw down with a god. “You worried someone might want to hit me with a bolt of lightning while I’m in your arms?”
“Talk like that could win a few hearts.” His voice is soft, his breath rustling the hair at my ear.
I go stiff against him, my chin falling to my chest.
“Highly unlikely,” I mutter at the ground. “Zeus made sure no one can ever love me.”
