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Chapter Thirteen

Hebe

P rometheus is paying me back for falling on him back when we first met.

Pulled out of a daze caused by too much terror, I do my best to catch Prometheus underneath his arms and hold him. However, he doesn’t even try to support his own weight. And with his current height, I’m helpless against it with no assistance from him.

My knees buckle, and then I’m crashing to the dust. Prometheus follows me down.

His head lulls at an angle, but I manage to keep his torso upright with mine. Then I lay him on the grass.

Prometheus doesn’t make a sound as he stares back at me, his eyes half-lidded.

“Are you injured?” I demand.

He doesn’t respond, so I look over his body, doing my best not to take note of how much of his flesh is revealed. There isn’t a flaw in his unnaturally beautiful form— and there isn’t a sign of an injury either, which is what I was looking for, obviously.

Prometheus’ legs are twisted at strange angles. I do my best to straighten them out, though they feel as heavy as logs. And there’s only the most necessary of garments covering him—

Tearing my gaze away from my husband’s form, I kneel beside his face.

His eyes are almost completely closed now, but I can see Prometheus’ pupils follow me.

I gingerly touch his face, directing it toward me. “Prometheus?”

“You two . . . look like you had . . . an adventure.”

Turning, I find Atum about a cubit behind me, doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“Atum!” I cry, leaving my husband and rushing to his master’s side.

Prometheus makes a low groaning sound. Is he in pain despite the lack of surface injuries?

I come to a halt in front of Atum and gesture back at Prometheus. “What’s wrong with him? He just collapsed!”

Atum glances past me. “I don’t see any blood . . . Is it possible he might have broken bones?”

“Is it?! I don’t know what injuries ‘Primordials’ can sustain.” I rush back to Prometheus’ side, dropping to my knees beside him.

Considering how the lion crushed him, I check Prometheus’ chest first. Ignoring the intimacy of such a touch, I run my hands low across his chest, checking for broken ribs.

Prometheus moans again, but I don’t feel anything wrong. There isn’t even a trace of bruising.

Panic grips me, and I straddle him, sliding my hands beneath him the best I can. My fingers just barely brush his spine, and I run my hands up and down his back, looking for any sign of damage. Everything feels like it’s in the proper place, but this is an awkward angle, so it’s hard to be sure.

Prometheus’ eyes have drifted close, and I lean forward, my face hovering over his lips. I heave a relieved sigh when I feel his breath against my skin.

Atum watches with an enigmatic expression. “Mayhap his arms are broken?”

Still perched in this awkward expression, I run my fingers down Prometheus’ right arm. I feel no breakages, but the definition of his musculature is undeniable.

Flushing from my lack of experience in such things— I am certainly no healer— I check his left arm next. But it is the same there.

“Wait— I know what this is!”

I turn to Atum. “What?”

“He’s exhausted. He overexerted his power protecting us from the storm and then fighting the lion. Once his realm restores his strength, he’ll be perfectly fine again.”

Glancing down at Prometheus, I note the placid expression on his face. His fiery hair is splayed around his head, and he looks so peaceful now that he is not hurling insults like spears. In fact, with Prometheus’ tongue stilled and his expression serene, his beauty is even more notable. Or that might be the fact that he no longer wearing his chiton . . . “I thought you were the only one of your people who could sleep.”

“Oh, I am. Prometheus is awake. He just doesn’t have the strength to keep his eyes open.”

“He’s awake?!” My words are a squeak, and I jump away from the man I had been straddling in my desperation.

“Oh, yes. He’d probably recover faster if he was capable of sleep, but merely resting will have to do.”

Standing, I smooth down my ruined dress and glance around. It’s growing dark— with dusk this time instead of a storm— and we are out in the open. There are caves nearby, but I am not so deluded to think Atum and I can carry Prometheus to them together. “How long will he be like this?”

Atum sighs, the friendly smile falling from his face for the first time since this interaction began. “It’s hard to say. I haven’t seen Prometheus driven to this state since near the beginning of the war. It might be a night, or it might be a fortnight. When it comes to those who were born with what was once limitless strength, it is hard to say how the weakness will manifest itself.”

I purse my lips at the irony of my husband, who acted like he was above such things, being so vulnerable. “But Zeus evidently knows where we are.” I glance at the dead lion.

“He has limited power as well, thanks to the war he caused. We should be safe from him until dawn, at least, while his own power replenishes.”

“But you said it could take a fortnight!”

Atum places a gentle hand on my shoulder, as he stands a little straighter than before. “My strength has returned to mortal levels at least, so I can help you. We will depart at dawn.” He glances down at his prostrate companion. “All of us.”

I’m not sure if Atum gives that assurance to comfort Prometheus or else scold him for threatening to abandon me.

“In the meantime, see if you can skin some of that lion for supper while I look for firewood.” Atum collects the spear from inside the lion and breaks off the spearhead, which he tosses onto the ground by my feet. “Existence would be so wretched without fire, don’t you think?”

With that pronouncement, Atum ambles away, using the broken spear as a walking stick.

Frowning, I scan the area again, but there is no sign of storm, beast, or anything else that could pose an immediate threat. At least, not where I can see, but the shadows draw closer.

Hopefully Atum returns with the firewood soon.

Not sure what else to do, I collect the spearhead. I have no desire to approach the lion just in case it is very good at pretending. However, I don’t know what else to do. My thoughts blow away with the breeze, and skinning a lion is a simple enough task.

I’m too tired to be afraid anyway, so I close the distance between the lion and me. I nudge it with my foot, ready to run if it retaliates. But it doesn’t move.

Then, because I’m also too tired to stand, I collapse next to the beast. I comb my fingers through the tangled mane until I find the neck. Frowning, I try to slice through since that seems as good a place to start as any.

I take the spearhead to it— and watch it bounce away just like when I threw the spear.

Oh, right; its hide is invulnerable. Not that it spared the lion’s life.

Groaning, I stare at the useless carcass, too tired to care that I’m starving.

A different groan draws my attention back to my prostrate husband.

Prometheus’ head is turned toward me, and his eyes are half-open. One hand is stretched out toward me, a finger pointing.

I trace the gesture to the lion’s paw. It bears claws as long as my spearhead—but much sharper.

Tentatively, I take the paw, which is as heavy as one of Prometheus’ legs, and drag it against the lion’s hide.

The claws puncture the flesh.

When I glance back at Prometheus, his eyes have closed again, but there is half of a smile on his lips.

Turning back to the lion, I focus all my strength into skinning the beast like it was the prey my father never returned with.