Kharon pulled his hand away and took a step back, eyes returning to normal.
Sweat trickled down the side of my face as I watched him warily.
“Chthonic lives are important,” he whispered harshly, still leaning toward me. “Patro and Achilleswillbecome generals, and youwillsurvive the crucible to make it happen. If you try to deviate from that plan in any way, I’ll kidnap and torture you for the rest of your immortal life. Just for fun.”
I blanched.
Long lashes fluttered over the dark shadows that rimmed his piercing eyes. “I promise you—you’llneverrecover,” he said raspingly as he backed up and put more distance between us. “It will just be me and you—for all eternity.”
Wait, what are we talking about?
“Don’t worry—the two of us are going to have a lot of fun in the future,” he said cryptically.
I was beyond worried.
His smile was feral. “But if you let yourself get hurt, you’ll become my mortal enemy.”
I inhaled swiftly.
“Do youknowwhat I do to my enemies?” he asked, voice rough and menacing. “Have you heard the rumors?”
He bared his teeth. “Tell me—do you want to find out?”
“Uh, n-no,” I said shakily.
“Iknowwhat you did to Christos.” He smirked. “I know you were killing him.”
I blanched and shook my head frantically. “No. No. I was trying to save him and?—”
“Stopwith the fucking lies.” He made a slashing motion with his hand. “Don’t you dare try to play games with me,” he said darkly, as if my dishonesty was a foregone conclusion. “I’ll back you into the type of corner that you’ll never see coming.”
Why did he say I was killing him? We both know he did it. Is it because Christos was splashing around and I was trying to save him? How could he misinterpret it that badly?
Kharon’s words were saying one thing, but his depraved tone was saying something else.
There were layers of context I was missing.
I opened my mouth to respond (plead for mercy and beg for a quick death), but he’d already disappeared down the hall.
Well . . . that was a lot.
My head fell forward, and I slammed it against the table.
Kharon’s threat was nothing like Patro’s; it was infinitely worse.
I could already feel his fingers tightening around my throat, squeezing the life out of me while he smiled.
Long minutes passed as I sat at the table, trying to find the courage to move. When I finally did, I was half-delirious by the time I’d made it back to my bedroom.
In a daze, I stripped out of the stupid toga and staggered into the shower. The water scalded my skin, so I turned it up hotter. Then I yanked it up more, hating that it felt so heavenly.
Sitting down on the tiles, I sobbed under the scalding flow.
A high-pitched ringing stung my left ear.
Head throbbing, vision blurry, my abused throat burned from the force of my grief.
I didn’t want amortalenemy.
