The first elite team came from Zeus himself. They lasted twenty-seven years. Then, Hephaestus took over, but his warriors only survived eight months. Then it was Artemis’s turn, then Apollo’s, then Athena’s, then Aphrodite’s.
Now, it’s our turn.
All we can do is fight supernaturals until we die.
And it’s not only normal supernaturals, either. Sometimes, demons escape from the Underworld, and we have no choice but to put them down.
At least Ares seems to give a shit about us. He provides us with the materials we need to succeed. Perhaps it’s merely because of his competitive nature—he’s desperate for us to last longer than his ex’s warriors—but it gives us an edge in combat.
Sitting upright in bed, I consider my bookshelf. It’s been way too fucking long since I had the chance to simply sit and read a book. Before I can select a title, however, I become aware of eyes on me, the feeling accompanied by a prickling sensation.
“Did you need something, Krystian?” I ask, not bothering to turn from the shelf.
Krystian takes my question as an invitation to enter my personal space. He practically throws himself onto the foot of my bed. “If we’re leaving in a few hours, it’s going to be dark.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll watch after him,” I tell Krystian, knowing exactly what he’s worried about.
Krystian dramatically wiggles, shaking my entire bed as he drags himself until his head is dangling over the side.
“I know. I know. I’m just… Ugh. I just don’t remember this being such a big deal before we were put to sleep.”
“I understand,” I tell Krystian seriously.
Honestly, I don’t know how the fuck I turned into the built-in therapist for all of my team members. Maybe it’s because I’m a naturally quiet person, preferring to watch and study from theshadows. Either way, they all come to me when they need advice or if they simply want to vent.
“I know it can’t be easy on you.”
“Just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, okay?” Krystian sits up and spears me with an uncharacteristically serious expression. “Promise?”
“Of course.”
He asks me this almost every night, and I always have to reassure him. I understand why he’s nervous—what he goes through is unnerving as fuck—but he has no reason to be fearful.
“I wonder what we’re hunting down this time around.” Krystian blows out a breath, stirring a strand of white-gold hair in the process. “I hope it’s a demon.”
“Why a demon?” I absently bring a hand to my side, remembering the feel of claws raking across my skin.
Fucking demon.
“Because they’re mindless idiots and don’t beg for mercy when we kill them,” Krystian answers simply.
I frown, unable to disagree with him.
Sometimes, our victims’ cries make me feel a little bit like the monsters we hunt and kill.
“You can’t feel guilty for what we do,” I tell Krystian firmly. “We only hunt down the worst of the worst. They don’t deserve to live after what they did.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Krystian doesn’t speak right away, and I almost think he fell asleep. I’m seconds from kicking him off my bed and onto the ground when he sits upright with a sigh. “Just…keep an eye on Krys tonight, yeah? You know how he can be when he’s on a mission.”
“Everything will be fine,” I tell Krystian, wishing I could believe it myself.
When did “fine” start losing its meaning?
How can we be “fine” when we’re prisoners to a war we don’t even understand?
Sometimes, I feel like we’re nothing but pawns on a game board the gods designed themselves. They move us around like we’re stringless puppets and don’t hesitate to beat us down when it serves their purpose.
Krystian leaves, no doubt to bother Everett until nightfall, and I finally decide on a book.
