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Chapter Thirty-One

Prometheus

I turn back to Hebe, her skin still bubbling from the horrors Zeus’ trap inflicted on her. It would still be whole if I had thought to give her the Nubian hide before this. At least her injuries would have been mitigated . Atum would have been able to her completely—

“He’s in no condition to exercise his abilities until his temple has rebuilt itself.”

Glancing up, I find Dionysus stepping back around us. He glances at Hebe and winces. “I have no healing abilities of my own. But you’ll find wine in my basket. It’ll dull the pain at least.” With that, he pulls Atum’s limp body into his arms.

If it didn’t mean abandoning my hold on Hebe, I would lunge for Dionysus. “Where are you going with him?!”

“Atum is no good to you like this.” Dionysus frowns at his friend hanging awkwardly from his arms. “I am also out of season, but I have some ambrosia left. It might help. But even then . . .” He glances past me to the temple. “Without that temple anchoring Atum to his domain, he’s as helpless as your mortal.”

I glance back at the rubble that was once Atum’s seat of power— and his source of it.

The ceiling is caved in on one side. One column stubbornly holds up the other side, but the vines that once adorned it are gone. All the plants are ash now; the symbols of life now undiscernible from the seeds of Zeus’ fire. I have never seen a temple— let alone an Olympian temple— brought so low.

Atum will not be able to finish healing Hebe for some time. Will she even survive long enough for him to recover and finish healing her?

“Hebe?” I whisper.

I want to draw her so close that not even Death can separation between us. I wish we could be one flesh so I could give her my wholeness. I would bargain anything to spare her this pain.

Never in all the eons I spent protecting my own skin did I think another’s life could become as valuable to me as my own.

“You both may shelter yourselves in my temple when you’re ready,” Dionysus whispers, his voice wretchedly gentle before fading away.

“Prometheus?” a softer voice whispers.

When I turn back to Hebe, her eyes are still closed. I place my hand over her chest, searching for a heartbeat in case I imagined my name. “It would please me, wife of mine, if you didn’t die.”

“I . . . don’t want to die . . . either.” Hebe’s eyes squeeze together in a horrid grimace.

I lean closer so I don’t miss a single word.

My teeth throb with the new proximity. Confused, I run my tongue over them. I puncture it on canines that are far sharper than before.

“The Fates can entwine two souls if an offer is made and a choice is proclaimed.”

“But . . . the pain.” A tear leaks from Hebe’s eye, trailing down her unburnt face. “The pain is too much.”

Still clutching Hebe with one arm, I desperately reach for the basket. Bread and grapes spill out, but I only care for the wineskin.

I lift her head before drawing the wineskin to her lips.

Another tear flows down Hebe’s face, and no blade has ever cut me deeper.

Still holding her steady, I bend over, my lips brushing her smoke-scented hair.

My canine teeth scrape my lips.

“They cling to their mortality and sometimes not even Death can pry it away from them.”

I pull away, my fingers touching my teeth, though my mouth is mostly closed. “I think I know why we couldn’t bond.”

“Because I wasn’t . . . your equal?” Hebe convulses. “You’ll be free soon.”

“No!” I pull Hebe onto my lap. “Because it wasn’t what you wanted. You have to surrender willingly .”

Hebe doesn’t respond.

I fight every instinct to hold her more tightly and possibly aggravate an injury. “Hebe, do you want to be my bride forever?”

“I don’t want to die . . . like this.”

“I’m not asking how you want to die. Do you want to live ?”

Hebe’s head lulls back, and her left eye peels open. “Yes.”

All strength seems to leave her with that word. Her eye closes again and her neck goes limp. But she’s done what she’s needed to do.

Closing the distance between her exposed neck and me, I pierce her skin with my newfound fangs.

It’s disconcerting, since I’ve done nothing like this— at least, not in my current form. I once found myself in an unfortunate feeding situation as a vampire bat while searching for a particularly remote Tablet.

But this isn’t anything like that experience beyond the initial puncture of flesh. I’m not drinking her blood or drawing anything out of her. Instead, I feel something from me flowing into her . My power? My soul? Whatever it is, I can only hope it can sustain her life.

Hebe goes completely still. I cannot even hear her raspy breaths.

Does my heart still beat?

Please, Creator, You know I never come to You for anything. But for this one time, please grant my request. Let my little warrior live to fight another day . . .