Page 18 of Crown of Serpents (Curse of Olympus #1)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Medusa stood on the shore, gentle waves licking her feet and a salty breeze tangling her auburn curls. She inhaled the scent of Aegina — the dry, resinous tang of pine trees and the earthy aroma of grazing sheep. Medusa closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face, grateful for to live on land with the mortals rather than in the murky depths of the sea — even if that meant being apart from her family.

A shadow fell on her face, chilling her skin. The stench of seaweed and rusty bronze instantly identified the figure emerging from the surf, his towering form blotting out the sun. Him.

She spun on her heels and ran as fast as she could, her bare feet sinking into the sand and her wet dress dragging behind her. Gasping for breath, she raced toward the stone steps leading up to the temple.

She glanced over her shoulder. He was still standing in the surf, watching her struggle. Medusa could not see his face because it lay in the shadow, but she knew his turquoise eyes would sparkle with amusement. The sunlight gleamed on his bronze skin, highlighting the rippling muscles of his arms and torso. He was as magnificent as he was terrifying — an apex predator, a force of nature, the god of the sea.

Medusa stumbled and landed face-first in the sand. Thunder rumbled in the distance. She had to reach the temple before it was too late. She rushed to her feet, ignoring the pain in her ribs.

She reached the bottom of the stone stairs, her dress heavy with sand and seawater. She lifted her sodden skirt and began to climb, the rough stone burning her bare soles.

The sky darkened above her, and the earth trembled beneath her feet. He was coming.

When Medusa took the next step, she flinched as she realised that she had stepped into a puddle of icy water. She almost slipped but managed to steady herself. Her head swam, but she pressed on. The puddles on the steps coalesced into a downward stream, tugging at her gown with increasing force as she neared the temple. Medusa gritted her teeth. The water pierced her skin and froze her veins. It reached her calves now, slowing her down.

Medusa’s heart drummed, each step an agonising struggle. A dark wave crashed over her head, filling her mouth with brine.

Another wave slammed into her, almost knocking her down the stairs. The water rose to her chest now.

Tears filled her eyes as Medusa slipped again. Then, a strong hand caught hold of her ankle, pulling her underwater. Medusa choked on a strangled cry, seawater filling her lungs. She flailed desperately, her limbs growing leaden as the icy current dragged her down. Her vision blurred as her lungs screamed for air. The darkness closed in, a suffocating embrace promising oblivion.

…

Medusa was pinned against the marble floor. Hands twice the size of hers held her wrists as she lay face-down. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the pillars of Athena’s temple. She had made it, but it had not been her salvation .

She twisted under him in a futile attempt to escape his clutches. His low chuckle echoed in the giant hall, the earth rumbling beneath her.

He leaned close and blew hot air into her ear as he whispered, “Did you really think you could escape me, little titan?”

Then he began lifting the hem of her gown, still clinging to Medusa’s body, and panic surged through her. She knocked her head back and slammed it into his chin with all her force. Tears of pain and desperation burned in her eyes. It felt as if she had split her skull, but he didn’t even flinch, nudging her legs apart with his knees.

“Keep fighting me if you want. I like them feisty.”

Her body slackened as she realised that she would never be strong enough to fight him off. She was completely and utterly powerless beneath the mass of his body, for he was a god, and she was no one.

…

A blinding light engulfed Medusa, searing pain ripping through her body. She had been huddled at the foot of Athena's statue, armoured and imposing with lance and shield—sobbing, shivering, pleading for forgiveness. Her prayers had been heard, but Athena was not known for her mercy.

A searing pain burned her from the inside out, her fingers clawing at the stone floor. Waves of fire washed through her limbs, down her back, and skull, threatening to shatter her sanity. It was unbearable.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the agony subsided. Medusa gasped, her lungs fighting for air.

When she raised her hand to touch her still-throbbing head, she flinched as something sharp had pierced her skin. In disbelief, she stared at the red blood dripping on her white gown.

Slowly, she struggled to her feet, her knees buckling beneath her. As she raised her eyes, the gleaming reflection in Athena’s shining shield, a blood-curdling scream tore from her lips.

A monster stared back at her. Her once sun-kissed skin had turned ashen, sharp canines glinted between her lips and her fiery curls — the envy of her fellow priestesses — were gone. Instead, she wore a wreath of serpents, their emerald scales shimmering in the dim light, hissing and flicking their forked tongues. Only her eyes remained unchanged, wide with terror but still the same shade of green as the Aegean Sea.

…

Medusa woke with a jolt, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Cold sweat clung to her skin, but her face burned with a feverish heat. She groaned, leaning back against the ship's rough hull. It had been weeks since the Olympians had invaded her dreams, their cruel whispers echoing in her mind.

Her gaze fell to her leg, and a hiss escaped her lips. The wound had reopened, staining her filthy chiton with crimson. Carefully, she lifted the coarse fabric, revealing the gruesome sight beneath. Her thigh resembled a battlefield, the skin surrounding the arrow's entry point inflamed and oozing a mixture of blood and pus. Six days had passed since the attack, and the wound showed no signs of healing.

Medusa groaned. No wonder the fever had brought on such horrific visions. Her body was battling an infection, her mind a playground for the gods' cruel games.