“What’s wrong?” I asked, scrambling away from him, but failing to regain my footing. My legs were wobbly from the effects of the spell and the ensuing chaos. “It worked.”
“Silas has that look in his eye.” Atlas picked me up, physically plopped me next to him as he rose to his full, impressive height. He cracked his knuckles, cocked his head to one side, studying his brother from a distance.
“What look?” I asked.
“The one where he wants to kill me,” Atlas said grimly. “What an idiot.”
I licked my lips, wanting to say that surely Atlas was exaggerating. Surely, murder was not on the agenda for this afternoon, especially not after Atlas had Phased all the way here, from wherever the hell Olympian descendants whiled away their free time, just to save his brother.
I didn’t care what had happened between the siblings in the past. Atlas had come here today to help Silas. That had to count for something, one would think.
Then I looked across the garden at Silas, and I understood Atlas wasn’t exaggerating. There was murder in Silas’s eyes. Straight up death.
“Yikes,” I whispered. “He really hates you.”
“You could say that,” Atlas said through gritted teeth. “And having you land in my lap didn’t help matters.”
“You saved his life.”
“No, sweetheart, you did that.” Atlas gave a sly, side-eye at me. “But I think what bothers him is that your hands were all over me.”
“My hands were not all over you!” I retorted. “I don’t even know what happened. I woke up, and we were...” I gestured toward the ground to say, entangled.
“I don’t think my brother sees things that way.” Atlas rolled up his sleeves.
Silas had done the same movement across the hypothetical ring, exposing forearms full of tattoos or markings of some sort. The complete opposite of Atlas’s pure bronze skin. Hercules against Hades. A very hot, very sweet Hades. Just, you know, also dark and deadly.
“Silas,” I called, but it was too late.
A flash, and fist crunched jaw. I was pretty sure Silas drew first blood, though whether Atlas had let it happen, or Silas was just that fast, it was hard to say.
Atlas shook his head and worked said crunched jaw as Silas materialized on the other side of the garden. The two grown men were using Wisteria Cottage as a battlefield, a beautiful boxing ring to air old grievances.
Blood ran down Atlas’s face, though he didn’t look bothered. In fact, he looked calm. Scary calm and still, like he was waiting for something. Waiting, listening, eyeing every movement from his brother with practiced patience.
Silas moved then, so fast I was convinced he’d Phased in and out. Another blow to Atlas. The man’s head snapped backward. Fresh blood spurted from his nose and sprayed the grounds around him. The leaves of lupines were dotted with specs of red.
“That’s enough, brother.” Atlas’s voice was a low rumble. Soft, lethal.
I could barely hear it, but apparently Silas’s senses were a lot more powerful than mine because he scoffed. A terribly furious sound. All I could think of was that these two were not out for blood—they were out for death.
Atlas and Silas began to move, slowly, circling one another.
“I see it now,” Atlas said. “I won’t touch her again.”
Silas licked his lips. No blood on his beautiful face. “Once is still too great a number when it comes to her.”
“But—” I gave a little cough. “Surely, you’re not talking about me?”
Both heads whipped in my direction. Then they whipped back, like the two were in some sort of choreographed dance, and I wasn’t a part of it. I was just a mostly annoying spectator in the audience.
“I see the bond, brother,” Atlas hissed. “I apologize. But I won’t sit by and bleed any longer. I’ve taken my blows as punishment. You strike me again, and I’ll hit back.”
Silas nodded, and for a moment, I thought these two lovebirds were on the verge of reconciliation. I actually let out a relieved breath.
Then all hell broke loose.
I couldn’t tell who was moving, darting, striking. Blood ran freely, fists pounded like thunder rolling in from Zeus himself. They were moving so fast, appearing and disappearing in flashes, I didn’t know how they kept track of their own limbs. Phasing in and out, maybe? The speed of Greek gods? All I knew was that complete and utter annihilation was on my doorstep.
