A Betrayal so Cruel (The Reckoning Book 2) Read online

  We pick up the pace, and I make the mistake of glancing behind us.

  A dog—no, more like a wolf—leaps through the cavern, rushing past the souls to reach us. Three heads sit upon its neck; each head looking less and less like a normal wolf head. The cavern gives way to a dock, and I nearly push Mike into the pitch-black waters, too fixated on the three-headed wolf.

  “Where’s the ferryman?” Dagon asks, grimacing.

  The wolf pounces before us as a grouchy old voice says, “Here. Waiting for payment, though.” The wolf grows in size, doubling in a matter of seconds. I’m too focused on the wolf to look at the dirty, haggard ferryman. “And I ain’t taking her across. She stays.”

  The three-headed wolf stops growing when Erin nods. “It’s okay.” She goes to the wolf, resting a hand in its fur. The wolf seems to calm; each of the heads stop snarling. “He’s here for me.”

  “Erin,” Mike says, falling to his knees, reaching an arm out to his daughter.

  “Go, Dad. I’ll be okay.” Erin gives him a sad smile. “I’m already dead.”

  The ruler of the Underworld appears in a mist of dark smoke, setting a hand on her head, petting her much like a dog. “Yes, you are,” Hades says with a smirk, hand falling to the back of her neck. “Thanks to you, Daddy.”

  “Get in the boat,” I hiss, and Dagon works to help Mike’s slouched form onto the small ferry. The ferryman mutters something about getting his boat dirty, something I don’t think he should worry about since the water he sails on is like black tar.

  With both Dagon and Mike on the ferry, I step back, but Hades appears before me, his eyes dark and mean. His armor full of faces caught in sneers and wails shines in the dim light, his pointed crown menacing. “Do you truly think you can get one of my blood to overpower my Mark?” He smiles, and it’s a smile that chills me to the bone. “You are nothing to them—” He stops when I hold up my arm, showing him the golden band. “Of course. I did wonder how you entered my domain without my knowledge. I must remember to have a talk with dear Athena.”

  I don’t bat an eye at Athena’s name, and I can’t recall exactly what she’s the Greek goddess of. “Yes, Athena. She also called me Champion half a dozen times, so clearly I mean a little more than nothing.”

  Hades doesn’t like the sound of that.

  I never break eye contact, stepping back into the boat. When the ferryman asks about payment, I grab the old, hole-filled robes around his neck and shout, “Take us across, now.” His beady eyes fall to the bracelet, and he holds in his grumpy retort, swallowing.

  We leave Hades as we move across the river, and not once does either of us turn away. Hades remains, with his hand around Erin’s neck, sending me the evilest glare I’ve ever seen. His wolf snaps its many jaws at our departure, saliva dripping off its sharp fangs. He’s just letting us go? Why?

  “It’s been a while since I’ve ferried someone out of the Underworld,” the ferryman muses. “Now a woman like that—” He stops when Dagon shoots daggers. “Right. Should’ve known. Never mind.”

  The rest of the ride is quiet, and soon Hades is just a blob on the distance. I sit next to Mike, watching him steadily, and eventually the ferry comes to a slow halt.

  “Get out, get out,” the ferryman spits, ushering us off. “And get some clothes, will you?” he says to Dagon, who growls at him. “And some manners, while you’re at it.” As if he has any right to talk about manners.

  None of us do.

  We head toward what I assume is the exit, and a few people walk by us, clutching golden coins, looking confused. One man is missing an arm, and I have to turn my head away and focus on what’s in front of us, past the line of dead people with various diseases and deformities.

  A pool of water.

  Not a swimming pool with lights and a heater and a side ladder. That would’ve been nice. It’s a pool of cavernous water, ebbing with an invisible tide. The azure hue is a staggering contrast to the cave’s brown walls.

  I gesture to the water. “Boys first.”

  Chapter Two

  It just has to be water, doesn’t it?

  My most favorite thing.

  We go down in the water…but we go up the moment we’re fully submerged. It makes no sense. My eyes remain open, yet my lungs want to burst. It’s like I know I can’t breathe, and never have I wanted to breathe a deep breath more.

  I kick my legs, but I seem to be sinking, unlike Mike and Dagon, who have no trouble swimming toward the surface, even with their injuries. There could be mermaids and bioluminescent fish around me—I could be swimming past the lost city of Atlantis—but none of that matters. I can’t focus on anything but my lungs, and my flailing attempts at swimming. No matter what I try, I cannot reach Mike and Dagon. I hold out my arms, seeking to use both arms in synch with my legs, hoping to propel me.

  This is it.

  I’m going to drown. I’m going to breathe in water and die. But I can’t die, so what would happen to me? I’d be stuck for all eternity, drowning every few minutes? That literally sounds like the worst thing ever.

  I close my eyes, not wanting to see the length that I have to swim to reach the surface. Hint: it’s still very far. I kick and try to move, try to swim, but I don’t doubt that I fail spectacularly. My skin feels something brushing against it, but I’m too busy holding my breath, feeling my lungs ache, to pay much attention.

  I’m not going to make it.

  Water is the thing that’s going to get me.

  Seems kind of silly, really, since water’s such a necessary part of life. Ironic, maybe. I’d come up with a snarky remark, but my brain is spazzing with the whole about-to-drown business.

  I do the one thing I desperately don’t want, and simultaneously the one thing I have to do: I breathe in. A deep, lung-filling breath that I regret the moment I take. Water. Water fills me up; I can’t even gag, because it’s all water. Everywhere. Suffocating. I can’t breathe in, because my lungs are full of water, but no oxygen, or none that I can use. I’m not a fish. I zone in and out, frantic. I lose feeling in my body; it’s too much to try and open my eyes. I can’t do it. They stay shut.

  Too late, too late. It’s too late.

  We must hit the surface, and the air around me begs to be breathed in. I would welcome it, but my lungs are currently in a monogamous relationship with water, and I’m bad with breakups, due to the fact that I’ve never had one. My body is abnormally heavy. I try to cough some of the water out and breathe, but it’s like taking down a brick wall with nothing but a spork: impossible.

  I’m set on the sand, and I feel hands push the man who carried me through the water aside. Compressions, mouth-to-mouth…by the stubble, I can guess the man is Mike—which is an odd feeling, since I’m alive and conscious. After a few alternations, my chest pushes out the water, and I open my eyes to the brown sepia sun, heaving out a generous amount of liquid.

  As I dig my fingers through the sand, trying to forget the feeling of water in my lungs, Mike mutters, “I think I’m going to take a nap.” And he rightly passes out without another word.

  The sand is rocky and coarse; not beach sand. This is Lakeview sand. Burnt, giant houses sit around the circular lake, the trees around them nothing but ashy skeletons thanks to the bomb that was set off not far from here. The Horseman, thankfully, is nowhere nearby.

  Color me shocked.

  Well, not really. Thinking back, it doesn’t surprise me that there’s an entrance to the Underworld less than ten minutes from my parents’ house.

  My arms give out, and I fall. Why couldn’t we escape to the ocean? I’d like to visit a real beach before I die, and at the rate I’m going, I’ll get there soon, regardless of the fact that I never seem to actually die. Hot skin touches me, and Dagon comes into view, still naked and injured from stab wounds and the chains. He seems to not care about himself, though.

  Wiping the wet hair from my face, he frowns. “If you would have told me you couldn’t swim, I would have helpe
d you,” he tells me, “and you could’ve avoided that.” I wonder if he resents Mike for what he did, or if he understands that us soul-less folk don’t have choices when it comes to our masters.

  I say something in response, but he doesn’t hear me.

  “What?”

  I say it louder this time, quite forceful considering the amount of water that was recently in my lungs, “I’m not having your baby.” I work to stand, and it’s so very hard. My body wants to lay down and sleep for days on end. I shoot him a glare as he gets to his feet, still one hundred percent naked, stuff hanging down and everything, which doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. I keep my eyes up, though my peripherals are far too good for my liking.

  What Hades said rings in my mind. “Have you ever seen any female Seraphs?” No, though I’ve only seen two Angels, but I can guess what he meant—there are no women Seraphs. Impregnating a Human woman is the only way for them to have children, and those children are always boys. Most Seraphs probably haven’t done so, but the Devil fell from Heaven. He had nothing left to lose. Why not impregnate a woman and procreate?

  “No, you’re not,” he agrees irately.

  Not what I expect him to say, and it catches me off-guard. “Oh…okay. Good. You can find another woman to impregnate.”

  He’s aghast. “I am not having a child with anyone.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Let me hazard a guess,” he says, interrupting me, his eyes narrowing at me, furthering my annoyance, “Hades told you. Let me ease your fears: I do not want your womb. I do not want a child.”

  “Well, I’m sorry for believing him, but it made sense to me.”

  He’s close to me, head bent down as he whispers harshly, “You think you understand, but you know nothing.”

  I remember the morning I woke with him in my bed, my dream, how close we were to kissing. How close I was to giving into him without even knowing that it was him. Of course I know nothing. He was, as I said, just sowing oats. I was never naïve enough to think more. Fuming, I slap him, right on the chest, directly on a stab wound, making the proud Devil-in-training wince. “Stop interrupting me,” I hiss, “and get out of my face.”

  I storm away, offering him a certain finger. When I get fifty or so feet away, I shout, “You’re welcome for the rescue!”

  As if the butt-crack deserved a rescue. How wrong I was for everything. I should’ve left him down there to rot in the Underworld, let Hades do whatever he wanted to him. I shouldn’t have let my guilt guide me. Stupid morality. I should embrace my soul-less-ness and revel in evil.

  But that’s not me. I can’t do that, just like I couldn’t let Dagon remain in Hades’s grip. I wouldn’t be able to sleep through the night if I did. I’m not cold-hearted, even though my soul was never mine.

  The houses I pass are in shambles, blown by the bomb that destroyed my parents’ house. Trees are knocked over, their leaves gone. It’s a sad, post-apocalyptic sight, one that I’d see a lot of if I make it through this. But I won’t. I rub my Mark, the wrist without the band—because Marked Humans won’t be welcomed. Where will I go? I glance back at Dagon and Mike, their figures small on the horizon.

  Doesn’t matter. Not yet. I’ll worry about that when the time comes.

  I plop in the sand, studying the golden brace on my wrist. I need to find someone to take over Hades’s Mark on Mike. I trace the serpent in the center, wondering if Athena would do me another favor. Is it a just cause? Would she help, or would she laugh if I called for her? Would she even come?

  Would any of them?

  I still don’t quite know what I’m the Champion of.

  Champion of almost dying.

  I plop backwards and close my eyes. To think I used to believe things were horrible before. My parents sold my soul—so what? What does my struggle have to compare to the end of the world? I would’ve gladly sold my own soul (if I had another to give out) to stop the Horsemen. To stop Hades. Heck, to reverse time and return to simpler, pre-college years.

  Too late. I’m stuck with Dagon, regardless of how much of a jerk he is. At my sides, my fists clench, and I will him from my mind. I’m so sick of playing the part of hesitant girl in this dance. I don’t want to dance at all. I was never ruled by my hormones; it just wasn’t in the hand I was dealt. I decided in my early teenage years that I wouldn’t go dating or fall in love because I never knew when the owner of my soul would come and claim me. It didn’t make sense to. Not only did I believe that I was protecting myself, I was also protecting others from getting too close to me.

  That’s not to say I never wanted to date. I did. Many times, especially during homecoming season. Yeah, my parents never got over the fact that I never went to a single dance, that I’d rather hang out with David and help catalog his shop instead.

  I refuse to be one of those whiny girls who fumble at everything because of a guy, especially because of whose son this particular guy is.

  “All right, all right. I hear you.” A high-pitched, light voice flutters into my ears, startling me. As I jump up, prepared to, I don’t know, fight, I freeze when I see the woman before me. A light, flimsy fabric covers her curvy body, a corset tight around her waist and under her chest, making her breasts pop out that much more. With a wave of her dark skin, she gives me a smile. “And now I’m here.” One of her bare feet cocks inward, and she looks very much like a Victoria’s Secret model. Her thick, black hair curls in a dark halo, her manicured nails resting on her hips. All she’s missing is the fake wings, and she’d be ready for the runway.

  She looks at herself, studying her hands. Not a single ring rests there. I watch her watch herself, relaxing even though I don’t know who this woman is.

  The woman giggles. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve felt such a strong pull.” Her nose wrinkles when she notices my shirt. “I like your shirt, sweetheart. Minus the blood, of course.” With a wave of her hand, my Pokémon shirt rematerializes, no longer torn or bloody. The tie around my neck disappears, and I feel the wound, at the fresh scab. “I won’t lie to you, girl—when the veil got flimsy, I snuck off our cloud and watched kids play those games. Those pocket monsters are adorable.”

  “Who are you?” I ask slowly.

  Her beautiful black eyes widen. “Who am I? I’m a little insulted, Lexa. You were the one who called, after all.” When it still doesn’t click, she sighs and waves her hand in the air. Glitter falls from nowhere, covering her in gold flecks. “Aphrodite, silly girl.”

  Though it should, it doesn’t surprise me. “Hi. I’m sorry, but I didn’t call you.”

  She lightly touches my nose. “Not directly, no, but I could feel your heartache from across the world. You should feel lucky; mortals haven’t seen us in millennia.”

  I frown. “And I wonder why that is.” My voice drips unenthused sarcasm.

  “Magic’s been locked away for a long time, and now it’s not. The veil has faded over the last few years.” She shrugs. Even though I don’t play for the other team, it’s very hard not to stare at her chest or her flawlessly carved cheekbones. “Don’t be upset, sugarplum. You should feel special. Us gods have a habit of only interfering with mortals who are destined for greatness.”

  I shake my head.

  “You might not see it,” she says gently, “but we do.” When I meet her stare, she gives me a wink. “And the goddess of love is never wrong.” She sees the band on my wrist. “And, as much as I hate to say it, Athena is not known for misjudging anyone.”

  “This is getting ridiculous.” I say, “All you Greek gods.”

  Aphrodite shrugs. “What can I say? We have a flair for the dramatic.” I glance back at where I left Dagon and Mike, and she adds, “They can’t see me. I wanted some one-on-one time with you, first.”

  Rubbing my temples, I say, “Magic hasn’t been locked away. There have always been Demons, and I’ve read stories about fairies and—”

  “That’s not the magic I’m talking about.” Sh
e gestures to the sepia sun. “I mean on a much larger scale. Magic that can change the world. The magic that brought us into existence. Your silly world with its Vampires and Were-beings. Tiny magic.” She holds her index and middle finger a centimeter apart. “Demons that like to hold dominion over Human souls, not including your hunk, of course.” The fingers move two inches apart. “Old, primordial magic.” She holds her arms apart for effect. “Though in my opinion, there is one magic stronger than the others.” She raises a perfectly plucked brow, waiting for me to guess.

  All I do is sigh, knowing it’s going to sound as stupid as I think it will.

  “Love,” she gushes, twirling. “There’s nothing stronger than love.”

  “Life isn’t a Disney movie,” I say. “Not everything can be fixed with love.”

  She gives me a look, wordlessly saying you’re so wrong and you don’t even know it. “Maybe it can’t fix everything, but it can make everything better. Words for the wise: everyone is capable of love. Everyone. Remember that, when you start to doubt.”

  I groan. This is ridiculous.

  “Like now, for instance,” Aphrodite says with a dazzling smile. She poufs up her hair. “Okay, take me to this man I have to save.” When I give her a questioning look, she laughs. “I’m not afraid of Hades. He can’t touch me. He used to be tolerable, when he…” She trails off, and her flawless outer shell dims a little. “Never you mind that, honey.”

  There’s a story behind Hades, that much is obvious, but I don’t really care what it is.

  I wait a moment before muttering, “Whatever.” My feet start the long trek back to the guys, who haven’t moved. Aphrodite skips at my side, covering her nose when we approach them.

  When she sees Dagon stand, she elbows me, referring to his nakedness, “You got lucky, girl.” The goddess notices my discomfort and rolls her eyes, waving her hand. In a glittery display, Dagon is now clean, clothed, and healed—wearing a paint-splattered t-shirt and tight dark blue jeans, boots tucked beneath their hems. “You’re welcome,” she whispers to me, moving toward the unconscious Mike.