“I don’t know.”
What was more, it meant Hera was innocent—or as innocent as she could be. She hadn’t killed Hestia. Instead, she must have set it up to look like she had. Why?
I rocked back on my heels. Hera whimpered and sagged against her restraints. It was then I noticed the bloody marks on her wrists and the awkward way her left leg twisted beneath her. Blearily, her eyes fluttered shut. My gut churned. Something was wrong—more than just the captivity.
“Hestia, what exactly happened?” I asked her.
“The person who did this…they drugged me, I think.” Her words wheezed out of her. “It’s making it impossible for me to heal myself.”
Frowning, I examined the wound closer. Beneath the manacles, her skin was puckered and red, like she’d been burned. “You’ve been here like this for a few days. You need to feed.”
“They might come back,” she said sharply. “It’s daytime. That’s when they come.”
“Wait. When was the last time they came?”
“Yesterday.” Her eyes blurred. More tears tumbled down her face. “At least I think it was yesterday. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed.”
If they’d come here only yesterday, it couldn’t have been Hera. But if she wasn’t behind this…who the fuck was? Another monarch? If so, which one?
It was an unnerving thought. If one of the others had done this, they clearly had a plan. One that could very easily lead to the destruction of us all. And while I would be more than happy to watch the Thirteen Crowns implode, I’d likely go down, too.
“All right,” I said, more to myself than to Hestia, “our first step is getting some blood in you.”
Before she could object, I bit into the skin of my inner wrist, my canines slicing through the thinner skin there. Blood bloomed instantly. I lifted my wrist to her arm and pressed it against her lips. With a sharp intake of breath, Hestia clasped onto my arm and drank. Power hummed inside of me, sweeping through my veins to bleed into Hestia’s mouth. Her hand tightened on my arm; hunger drove her eyes to a deeper crimson—so deep they almost looked black.
After her ordeal, she was clearly starving. Desperation drove her to dig her teeth deeper into my skin, and a sharp pain lanced through my wrist.
Gently, I extracted my arm from her death grip. My blood fell like rain on the stone floor, and Hestia eagerly licked up what I spilled. I tugged my sleeve back over my arm, straightened my gown. By the time she rose, her eyes had cleared. That feverish twist of her lips had vanished, though my blood still coated her chin.
“Better?” I asked.
She rubbed her head, then glanced at her swollen wrists. “I’m not healing.”
I frowned. That wasn’t normal. Even mortals healed when they drank enough vampire blood, and Hestia had certainly had her fill. But her skin was still angry and burning red.
“It must be that poison.” I tried to wrack my brain for what it could be, but I’d never heard of anything that could poison a vampire this effectively. “What did it taste like?”
But before she could answer, a heavy clanking echoed through the domed room, as wicked of a warning as a snake’s deadly rattle. Footsteps pounded the stone. Everything within me went cold.
Someone had followed me here.
It might very well be whoever had taken Hestia captive.
And I had a sneaking suspicion they would not be pleased I’d found her.
28
SELENE
Iyearned to shout at Hector to hide, but it was far too late for that. The intruder was already inside the room, armored feet clattering against the smooth marble floor. The steps slowed, then picked up speed. They’d spotted me now.
Rising, I turned toward them and whipped out my dagger. The armored vampire loomed before me, steel plates glinting in the sunlight streaming in through the barred window. A low growl rumbled from the depths of the helmet, and goosebumps cascaded down my arms.
“Achilles,” I said. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re the one who did this.”
In fact, it was the only thing that made sense. The Olympians had made it clear—none of them would bring harm to Hestia. They loved her, as much as any of them could evenfeellove, I supposed. That only left the guards. Achilles prowled around more than the rest of them.
“I’m not Achilles,” came a deep, muffled voice. The vampire tore the helmet off his head and tossed it into the corner. It clattered as it tumbled across the floor, and it was all I could do not to gape. A familiar head of silver hair curled across his face, softening the anger that tightened his features. With the way his eyes glowed, he looked positivelylivid.
