Page 10 of The Survivors (The Children of the Sun God #4)

Persephone

“This is how it ends. I spat on the Fates, and they’ve abandoned me.”

I make it to the shelter just before the first snowflake falls. The icy wind nips at my cheeks. I stumble inside, grateful for the weak, flickering overhead lights and the faint smell of disinfectant that greets me.

The room buzzes with murmurs, the shuffle of bodies jostling for space, and the occasional shout from one corner or another. I ignore it all. My legs, shaky from exhaustion, carry me to the first empty bed I could find. I sink into the lumpy mattress without a second thought, dropping my meager bag next to me.

That bag held everything I owned—if you could call it “owning.” It had taken only one night of carelessness to learn that sleeping without your belongings tucked under you was an invitation to lose them. I’d found that homeless human females were more ruthless than the men who propositioned me daily. Survival turns even the softest faces into predators.

I curl around my bag, using it as a pillow, and close my eyes. My body aches from the double shift spent on my feet at the diner, washing an endless stream of greasy plates and stained mugs from the breakfast and lunch rush. Every muscle screams for rest, but my mind refuses to quiet.

If Ioannis could see me now, he’d gloat.

I can hear his voice in my head, dripping with disdain. His smug face taunts me every time I let my guard down.

“Helios, help me,” I whisper into the darkness of the shelter. “Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Is there forgiveness for someone like me? Is there any path back to salvation?”

The only answer is the hollow sounds of my own plea, bouncing around the recesses of my heart. Go home. It is the same answer my soul whispers every time I ask the question.

But I can’t go home. Not yet. Not like this.

I drift into a restless sleep with that prayer still on my lips.

My dreams are fleeting, fragmented images of faces I’d lost, places I’d abandoned, and mistakes I can’t undo. The pressure of them holds me down, but it’s the sharp yank on my ankles that tears me from sleep.

My head slams against the metal bedframe. Pain explodes in my skull. Stars dance in my vision, and for a moment, all I can hear is the pounding of my heartbeat.

“Who said you could sleep here?” a woman’s voice growls above me. Her words slur with anger.

I try to sit up, try to speak, but her boot collides with my stomach before I can manage either. Pain rips through me, and I double over, coughing and wheezing.

Something inside me snaps—a line that I hadn’t realized I’d been tiptoeing across.

I’m not like the others here. I can’t shift like the men in my herd, but I’m stronger than human females. I’d rolled over and taken my punishment for too long. I’d wallowed in my guilt, drowning in the belief that I deserved every blow life dealt me.

No more.

Her boot rises again, and this time, I catch it.

With a feral growl, I twist her ankle, sending her sprawling to the ground. I’m on her before she can recover, straddling her and pinning her down.

I unleash all my anger, all my pain, all my regret in a barrage of punches. Her face blurs beneath my fists. Each strike a release of the storm that has been brewing inside me for months. Sweat drips from my brow, stinging my eyes, but I don’t stop. I can’t.

It isn’t her face I see anymore—it’s his. Ioannis.

“You did this to me!” I scream. My hands close around his neck, squeezing with every ounce of strength I have left. “You ruined me! ”

The shelter falls silent around us. The distant murmurs, the shuffle of bodies—all gone. I’m dimly aware of the circle forming around us, watching without interfering.

Ioannis’ body convulses beneath me, his face turning red, then purple. I don’t let go. Not until his struggles cease and his eyes stare lifelessly up at me.

And then, in the stillness, his face vanishes.

It isn’t Ioannis beneath me. It’s her.

Her face is unrecognizable, a mess of blood and bruises. Her nose, her cheekbones, her jaw—everything is broken. What is left of her stares back at me, accusing and lifeless.

What have I done?

I scramble off her. My chest heaving with ragged breaths. The room closes in on me—the walls pressing tighter and tighter.

“I... I didn’t mean—” The words stick in my throat.

I can’t stay. I have to get out.

Without a glance back, I leave my bag and bolt. My feet slip in the slick pool of blood spreading across the floor, and I fall hard, catching myself on my hands and knees. My palms smear through the sticky mess, and bile rises in my throat.

Desperate to get away, I crawl until I reach the clean floor. Shaking, I force myself to stand.

And then I run. One foot in front of the other .

Out the door. Into the biting cold of the street. The wind tears at my skin, and the sweat and blood dripping from my face blurs my vision. I wipe my eyes, but I don’t stop running. I can’t.

The blare of a horn cuts through the chaos.

Tires screech.

The impact comes before I can react, lifting me off my feet and sending me hurtling through the air. The world spins, and for a moment, I’m weightless.

I should have gone home.