Zeus’s jaw took on a pointed shape, and his eyelids sealed as the skin began to knit itself. The wound was shrinking, the edges of it drawing together.
No. No. No. No.Whatever they were doing wasn’t working.
Perhaps they needed help from me as well? But even as the thought flickered through my mind, a fresh surge of panic threatened to overwhelm me. We couldn’t fail. Not again.
Before the gap in his chest could close, I bolted toward him, my heart pounding in my ears, a frantic drum against the silence. My feet made scarcely a whisper before my hand was clamping down on his furiously pounding heart.
Zeus smiled, his skin tightening around my wrist. I pulled with gritted teeth, but I was too weak. My strength was depleted after days without food and water, and I felt as frail as a child.
Come on, I thought.
Feeling the blood’s warmth, I tugged even harder, my hands slick with it. His heart didn’t move. It pounded violently between my fingers, refusing to yield.
For a moment, Zeus’s gaze softened. “Under different conditions, I would have been fond of you.” With effortless strength, he pushed my hand out of his chest. “Farewell, Charisma Sinclair.”
His warm fingertips gently rested on my neck, a deceptively tender touch that sent a shiver of pure terror down my spine. His grip tightened. I kicked, lashing out with my leg, desperation fueling my movements. My shoe connected with his shin, and I followed with a furious swipe of my fingernails against his cheeks, drawing lines of crimson. The attempts were futile. He barely reacted.
“Please,” I whispered, tears rolling freely down my face as the ragged plea sprung out of my throat. “Please.”
Zeus’s lips twitched, and the world narrowed to a single point of contact—his face. There was only him—the King of them all— with eyes of glacial ice and the undeniable truth: he was going to kill me, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.
I gulped, the air thick and heavy in my lungs. As the inevitable approached, and the finality of the moment slammed into me, I closed my eyes, my eyelashes drowning in the pouring tears. The darkness behind my eyelids became a canvas of memories. I saw my mother, her beautiful face smiling at me. Her tortured whispers that had broken my heart over and over. Her dazzling green eyes. Through those images of her, a phantom presence lingered: Eros. His intoxicating scent. His full lips. His laughter, echoing with a soothing melody.
Then, as I swam through those recollections, clinging to them, a sickening crack echoed, loud and abrupt, splitting the silence in the room.
A blinding light consumed everything, followed by immediate darkness. And everything went black.
Chapter 38
Eros
The color of the gown Hera was wearing had transformed from the light shade of powder pink to a shade of deep, dark crimson. The instant she attempted to scream again, her expression contorted as she removed her fist from her chest, her fingers curled around her heart. Her face retained the same grimace, her eyes reflecting the agonizing pain that she was being forced to endure. The very last breath that resided within her lungs escaped and struck him in the face, signaling that the life in her eyes had finally vanished.
His brow arched, unbothered. Eros’s gaze dropped to her hand, and he released a satisfied chuckle at the sight of the beating heart pulsating against her fingers. With no warning, Hera’s body dropped to the floor, and the organ rolled away on the mat, finally coming to a stop just inches from his feet.
“I trust your husband andbrotheris now dead,” he stated slowly, scrutinizing her lifeless body.
All that was needed was a cautious movement of his hand, allowing his fingers to grip the heart and raise it to his face to analyze it better.
One last heartbeat resonated through his hand with a quiet stubbornness, its soft echoes bringing forth memories of a time when it held tremendous strength.
He clutched the organ with a tighter grip. Yet his heart started racing, as if it was on the verge of bursting from his chest.
Charisma.
The second heartbeat caught his attention as it came irregular, unsteady, and wavered, presenting itself as a tremor instead of a proper beat.
As his heart rate sped up, he instinctively reached out with his other hand, seeking the spot where he could most easily feel the rhythm of his pulse.
Charisma, what is happening to you?
The last pulse faded and a horrifying, paralyzing silence fell upon him as his own heart seemed to die at the same time. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed by a flash of absolute terror that seemed to freeze every cell within his body as all the surrounding noises dissolved into a quiet stillness. As if a searing wire was pulled taut just beneath the surface of his skin, he experienced a sharp pain in his neck, and each breath he took felt stolen.
He tried to shout as his mouth opened, but no words came out. With pain blossoming, he instinctively raised his hands to his neck, seeking to find some relief from the ache that was intensifying and spreading upward to his jaw.
The entire scenery of Hera’s murder began to dim at the edges, all the colors draining. The pain fragmented him into sharp pieces.
And then, it all suddenly ceased.
