29
“When everything has gone wrong, rejoice. Something must now go right.”
—How to Give Mind-blowing Orgasms
—How Boys Become Men
Siobhan’s glass hung in Hades’s private bedchamber. The bed had a six-foot-tall panel at the footboard, and he’d placed her in the center, giving her a direct view of his mattress while he lounged against a mound of pillows.
She’d beaten at her prison wall until the flesh had ripped from her hands. She’d screamed until her throat had become as raw as ground meat and breathing became an act of sheer torture. Hades had simply peered at her, waiting for her to break and show him different possible futures.
The ultimate staring contest. Who would flinch first?
Well, there was no reason to engage. No reason to help him. She scanned her new surroundings. The spacious room was filled with fine velvets, antique furnishings and mystical artifacts. A bouquet of red roses decorated the nightstand. A glowing blue sword rested on the dresser. A portrait of a pink-haired woman hung over the bed’s headboard—Keeley, the Red Queen. Once Hades’s fiancée.
Why did he have a portrait of his former fiancée? Did he love her still?
Siobhan hated the woman on principal. Loving a man like Hades made you a fool.
“I can do this all day,” Hades said, his voice a silky purr. He looked every inch the pampered male. A bowl made of incandescent dragon glass rested beside him, overflowing with grapes. He tossed a piece of fruit into his mouth and chewed, the movement of his jaw somehow sensual, indecent, even. “Give me what I want. Show me who wins the war and how victory is achieved.”
He wanted an edge over his enemy. She wanted to show him a devastating loss.
Strategize. Lead. Strike.
She had to proceed with caution. Hurting him under the guise of helping him meant hurting herself. If she brought about his death, without finding his true love, she added time to her sentence. If she aided him now, she could maybe, finally, gain her freedom.
Help now, hurt later.
Decision made.
She helped. The first problem arose. Siobhan couldn’t see Hades’s futures. Because I escape and force him to take my place? Fingers crossed!
As glass rippled and split, Hades jolted upright, his fruit forgotten. With no other recourse, she revealed the same futures she’d shown to Cameo. This time, however, Siobhan’s vision launched further into the future. She saw what would happen if Lazarus killed Hera and shuddered.
Demons. So many demons.
In a strange, tangled loop, the past began to blend with the future. Long ago, the former queen of the Greeks made a deal with Lucifer the Destroyer. Help him capture the Morning Star, and Lucifer would do what Hera couldn’t. He would punish her husband, Zeus. She’d agreed to his terms and sneaked a thousand demons from the hell realms...by hiding them inside her own body. She’d planned to release the fiends upon Earth, where the Morning Star roamed, so that they could hunt the being. But the demons hadn’t wanted to leave her. They’d liked their new home. Liked driving her mad. They bonded to her.
In a rare moment of lucidity, she’d created a box made from the bones of her friend, the goddess of Oppression. Hera used the box to extract a quarter of the fiends inside her, not realizing the box had a limited capacity. Lucky her. The culling process nearly killed her. But as she lay dying, she somehow found a way to save herself...
Again, Siobhan couldn’t see how.
How had the Morning Star gotten trapped inside the box? Siobhan couldn’t see. Also couldn’t see how Hera had saved herself. Too many snags between past and future...
Past: Lucifer betrayed Hera and told Zeus what his wife planned. He offered the demigod the world in exchange for the box.
Zeus stole the box, but rather than give it to the Destroyer, he placed it in the hands of a woman Hera wouldn’t kill, thanks to her warped morals, and a woman Lucifer couldn’t tempt. The loyal Pandora. Then the Lords of the Underworld stole and opened the box.
In the ensuing chaos, Hera retrieved the box and spirited it away. Since it had been emptied, she was able to remove another quarter of the remaining demons possessing her, leaving her with only half of the demonic squatters. That meant five hundred remained inside her, and two hundred and fifty still filled the box. As for the Morning Star? No one knew if the being had escaped or remained inside. Not even Hera.
Present: if Lazarus killed Hera, as one of Siobhan’s visions predicted, Hera’s demons would be let loose upon an ill-prepared world. The fiends would be crazed, free to wreak havoc on innocents.
Lazarus, Cameo and even Hera had made decisions that resulted in a defined outcome. One way or another, Lazarus would face his nemesis, and he would face her today.
A pallid Hades leaped from the bed. “William!” he shouted. His son had taken off hours ago to search for Gillian, a female he hoped to steal from her husband. “Return to me. Now. There’s going to be trouble.”
* * *
Lazarus’s final words played inside Cameo’s mind again and again. Lazarus, known to all as Cameo’s man. He’d meant what he’d said. The way he’d looked at her with no attempt to disguise the fire and lust and longing in his eyes. She shivered. Mostly, though, he’d looked at her with betrayal.
Her shoulders sagged. She had hurt his man. Badly.
Since they’d left the cavern, he hadn’t looked at her at all, and she didn’t have to guess why. Her eyes regarded him as the stranger he’d become, and every glance reminded him of what he’d lost. What they might have shared. He must feel like he was taking a dagger to the gut.
She did!
How had he convinced her to sleep with him? Had he enjoyed himself? Had Cameo climaxed?
No need to wonder. Yes. Yes, she had. Satisfaction still sang in her veins, a soft vibration against her bones.
Her first orgasm, and she couldn’t remember it. How she loathed Misery! He’d taken something precious from her. He would always take from her.
There was no escaping him. Except through death.
When the forest opened up, revealing a bank of moss, a rushing river and a wide, mile-long marble staircase leading over the water, Lazarus stopped. Every mile they’d gained, his pace had slowed a little more and his steps had become a lot more labored. He had to be injured, but when she’d questioned him about possible wounds, he’d said, “Want to know what’s wrong with me? Remember.”
“I can’t,” she’d snapped. “The demon—”
“He can’t take your memories without your permission.”
The claim still rattled around in her head.
Lazarus, known to all as Cameo’s man.
Without your permission.
Lazarus. Permission.
A lie, surely. Why would she ever grant permission? There was no reason great enough.
And yet, a terrible suspicion struck her. If she couldn’t remember the reasons she’d allowed Misery to wipe a select portion of her past, she would be destined to repeat the same mistakes, right? Wasn’t that the true definition of misery?
“The portal that will take you home is close,” Lazarus said. He clutched a dagger in each hand as he scanned for traps.
Clearly on guard, he began to climb up the steps, approaching the entrance of a temple.
Cameo stuck close to his heels. “How do you know?”
She’d noticed he never flinched when she spoke, and it had thrilled her every time.
“Portals radiate a certain type of power. I’ve been around enough of them to notice.” The formal tone he used disconcerted her.
She missed the warmth he’d expressed in the cave. Maybe he needed a reminder of their past. “You said...you love me?” The words were more of a question than a statement. How could anyone love her? “What made you fall for someone like me?”
Underneath his shirt, the muscles in his back knotted. “You mean someone strong and courageous? Someone who doesn’t cave to fear but overcomes it? Someone who is as much a weapon as the swords she creates? Someone as lonely as I’ve been, who dreams of a happily-ever-after? Someone who smiles for me and me alone? Someone who empowers me with only a glance? Someone who has never placed a condition on her feelings for me, who loves me and wants the best for me?”
She sucked in a breath. He’d thrown the last one at her as if the words were bombs set to detonate.
“Why would I ever fall for someone like that?” he asked softly.
Her heart thudded. The things he said to her... “Someone who inspires sorrow.”
“You didn’t inspire sorrow in me...until today.”
* * *
Lazarus lapsed into silence. If he continued to speak, he would rage. Control is fraying. As he’d led Cameo through the forest, bypassing different traps and predators, his mood had only darkened. Want what’s mine! Namely her affection. She’d become the best friend he’d ever had. Someone Lazarus trusted with every aspect of his life.
She had become his family.
But he didn’t have much time left. His every step had become an exercise in agony.
Get Cameo home to safety. Say goodbye. Would she kiss him one last time? Or would he spend the rest of eternity remembering her blank stare?
He trudged another step, then another. Despite every hardship they’d already endured in the forest, Lazarus suspected Hera had saved the worst trap for the temple. A means of guarding the portal. Except, he reached the top without a single incident.
The temple itself had been emptied. No furniture, and no portal, either. No pulse of power. No sign of Hera or his father. The only indication anyone had ever been here was a rust-colored stain beneath a huge cobweb on the marble floor.
A flame of rage escaped its tether, and he slammed a fist into a towering alabaster column. How was he supposed to get Cameo home to her family? He’d promised her. He could not fail her!
“Lazarus?”
And he could not bring himself to peer into those liquid silver eyes again. “What?” he bit out, staring at the ground between them.
“There’s a stuffed leopard attached to your go bag. It wasn’t there before. Or if it was, I failed to notice.”
Rathbone! Lazarus pulled the pack forward and sure enough, the toy smiled up at him. No matter how many times Lazarus had tossed the warrior’s newest incarnation somewhere in the jungle—in pits and quicksand—the immortal sovereign had returned.
With a flick of his wrist, Lazarus hurled the stuffed animal down the temple steps.
“What’s your beef with toys?” Cameo asked. “And why did you pack this one if you didn’t—”
“You want answers? Remember,” he snapped. Then he scrubbed a hand over his face. At this rate, he would scare her away.
Time to plan his next move. He’d sensed the portal from the forest, even on the steps. The power had only intensified as he’d ascended. Unless Hera could cast illusions? When she’d shown up at the Downfall, he’d suspected it.
Had she tricked him the same way he’d tricked so many others?
Cameo stalked through the empty chamber, tracing her fingertips over the columns. “Whose temple is this?” She asked the question hesitantly, as if she had no desire to set him off again.
“Hera, former queen of the Greeks. Never trust her. She wants to kill you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Many reasons.” Why not tell her? When he left her, she needed to remain on constant guard. “I vowed to kill her. You are my woman, the only leverage she has against me. And you have Pandora’s box.”
She snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“I have never lied to you, love. Never will.” His ear twitched as a pebble rolled in the distance. He had two daggers at the ready as he turned—
A whirlwind gusted between him and Cameo, knocking them apart. Any other day, he could have stood strong against such a blast, but not now, not like this. He flew through the entrance and tumbled down several steps, his damaged body screaming in protest.
Adrenaline surged, dulling the sharpest edges of pain, allowing him to jump to his feet and race into the temple once again.
The whirlwind stopped at the far edge, revealing a smug, grinning Hera. She’d pinned a surprisingly calm Cameo to a column, a sword tip pressed to her neck.
Terror wrapped its claws around his neck and squeezed. He stilled, not even daring to breathe, lest he goad the goddess into striking. This. This paralyzing fear, born as a boy forced to watch as his mother was murdered, was why he’d always abhorred weakness.
Cameo’s gaze remained steady, the color in her cheeks deepening rather than draining. Was she preparing to fight back?
“Let her go,” he commanded the goddess. Must protect Cameo at all costs! “She’s done nothing to you.”
Hera raised her chin. “I loved your mother, and yet I tore her limb from limb. I will do the same to the keeper of Misery without a moment’s hesitation.”
“You want Pandora’s box, and you want me dead so you’ll be safe from my wrath.” She had no idea how close she stood to the object of her desire, the pendant hidden underneath the truth of Cameo’s shirt and his illusion. Finally, Lazarus forced himself to move, placing the tip of a dagger against his own throat. “You will never have the first, but I can give you the second.”
Now Cameo paled. “No! Don’t.”
“Quiet!” Hera squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head. With her free hand, she slapped her temple once, twice, as if to dislodge a thought...or a voice? Lazarus had witnessed the same action by each of the Lords at some point. “Why would you want to save this woman from me, anyway? She is your weakness.”
“Wrong. She is my greatest strength.”
Hera blanched. “Impossible. Zeus did not create her to be a warrior. Oh, no. Not my husband. He’s always considered women an inferior species. He created her and Pandora to be whores, responsible for pleasing the—quote, unquote—real soldiers. Why do you think Cameo was inclined to date two of her friends?”
Cameo tensed as if poised to strike. “That’s not true.”
Hera flinched.
Lazarus schooled his features to reveal nothing but mild contempt. “Wrong again, goddess. Cameo was created to be my perfect mate.”
Hera’s eyes—those hated eyes that reflected the aerial view of Earth—filled with regret, sorrow...relief? She shook her head a second time, shouting, “No one has a perfect mate. Men have obsessions, at least for a little while. And I will have the box. I must.”
Must. Why?
The answer didn’t matter, really. He would not be giving it to her. Ever. The box could be used to slay Cameo.
“I’m the only one who knows where it is, and with my illusion in place, you will never find it,” Lazarus said. “Send Cameo home, and we’ll talk.”
She glared at him. “Your father wasn’t as protective of your mother. Do you think he knew how badly Echidna wanted to die? How she begged me to punish him with her murder?”
The words shook him. “You lie.”
“No, but I do kill.” Hera pressed the sword in a little deeper, drawing a bead of blood from Cameo’s vulnerable pulse. “Give me. The box.”
Cameo’s lips parted, a soft sound leaving her.
His rage continued to build, scorching the reins of his control, soon growing into a wild fire. He forgot about the crystals as his muscles and bones expanded, as fangs sharpened from his gums and claws extended from his fingertips.
The monster was back.
As he took a step forward, Hera screeched, “Do not move!”
An animalistic roar echoed through the entire chamber, and Lazarus almost smiled. Rathbone was back, as well. The leopard—no longer a stuffed animal but the real deal—leaped into action, locking his teeth around Lazarus’s wrist and then flinging him across the room. He slammed into Hera, knocking her down, and the sword skittered from her grip.
Cameo sprinted across the open floor and claimed the weapon.
Lazarus jumped up to push his boot into the goddess’s throat, trapping her on the dirty floor as Rathbone’s image shifted into that of a leather-clad male.
He grinned at Lazarus. “Having a friend is better than having an enemy. Admit it.”
“A true friend would have gone for the bad guy instead of launching me across the room,” he replied drily.
Panicked, Hera struggled against his hold. “Let me go!”
“You threatened my woman. You die one way or another this day.” He peered down at her. “How you do so is your only choice. Tell me where my father is, and I’ll end you quick and easy.”
Despite the raggedness of her inhalations, she uttered a small laugh. “Like all your kind, you are a fool. You never see what’s right in front of you.”
What did that mean? Had Lazarus seen his father, but failed to recognize him?
“You are also easily distracted,” she said, grinning now, no hint of panic. Her skin darkened, quickly turning to mist, until a small tornado had taken her place.
He punched his claws at her, intending to rip out her trachea if any part of her remained inside the wind, but she whisked away, and he cut through the marble.
The tornado slammed into Rathbone, pitching him across the temple. The warrior crashed into the floor face-first. Then the tornado executed a sharp turn and slammed into Cameo. Lazarus shouted a denial as he stood. He expected his sunshine to fly backward, but the closer the winds came to her, the weaker they blew.
Something had impeded Hera’s power. Cameo’s demon?
No, the queen wasn’t sobbing. Pandora’s box? No, she wasn’t demon possessed.
The way she’d shaken her head...
Was she possessed?
The tornado died, and Hera appeared once more. Cameo was ready. She planted a foot in Hera’s midsection, using the goddess as a stepping-stone to wind her other leg around the bitch’s neck and take her down. As they fell, Cameo swung around to ensure she landed on top. Without pause, she shoved a dagger into Hera’s chest.
Hera grunted with surprise. Lazarus gaped, awed. That’s my woman.
The wound wouldn’t kill the goddess, but it would definitely weaken her. Blood pooled around her, and any move she made to free herself would only send the blade deeper.
Recovering quickly, Rathbone crouched beside her, savagely snapping the bones in both of the goddess’s arms. Hera screamed, the cries clearly rousing no compassion in Rathbone as he did the same to her legs.
“There.” The king wiped his hands together in a job well done. “She won’t move for a while. I wonder if breaking her jaw would shut her up? Never heard noises quite like the ones she’s making. Sounds like hell.” He rubbed his jaw with two fingers. “Yes, I think I will.”
Hera quieted.
“Or not. Good girl.”
Lazarus dug through the go bags and withdrew the Paring Rod, as well as the piece of pipe that had been taken from the Cage of Compulsion. His fangs and claws retracted, his adrenaline crashing. The crystals burned, growing closer to his heart.
Finish this. Before it’s too late. “Do you know where the portal is?” he asked Rathbone.
“I do.” He scooped up a handful of dirt from the floor and flung it at the right side of the temple. There was no wall, only a mile-long free fall to land, and yet the grains got caught in a large section of air, forming a doorway.
Finally. Something worked in his favor.
His gaze sought and found Cameo. Beautiful Cameo. “I love you. I will always love you.”
“Lazarus.” Sadness radiated from her. She reached for him. “Don’t say goodbye. Not yet. I’ll stay here with you. We can—”
He blocked out the raspy timbre of her voice and faced Rathbone. “Get her home safely.” Lazarus would stay here...forever. He would kill Hera. He would watch as her corpse rotted, content to know her spirit had entered the spirit realm. He would use the Paring Rod and pipe to make sure of it.
If his suspicions were correct and she actually housed a demon, she would end up in the prison realm.
Either way, she died.
As for Typhon, Lazarus would have hunted him down if he had more days. With Hera out of the picture, his father would be easier to kill. But Lazarus didn’t have more days, and had to resign himself to the knowledge that the bastard still lived. Knowing Typhon was trapped inside a crystal prison of his own softened the blow.
Rathbone scooped Cameo into his arms and headed for the portal.
“I’m not leaving.” She fought the warrior—fought dirty and didn’t pull her punches—but he never lost his hold on her.
Even without her memory, she wanted to help Lazarus.
His chest burned as he stalked to the goddess, doing everything in his power to mask his pain, intending to end her once and for all.
“I don’t know why, but I can’t get through.” Rathbone banged his fists into an invisible wall.
They were trapped? Had to be Hera’s fault. “Take down the wall,” he commanded her.
Panting, she yanked the blade from her chest and pointed the crimson-soaked tip in his direction. Her grip shook, but it was clear her bones had already begun to heal. “Give me...the box...”
“This isn’t a negotiation any longer. Take down the wall.”
With a screech, she jumped to her feet and launched into a full-on attack. She swung the sword at him, but he sidestepped her. Barely. Weakened, he tripped. As he stumbled, she changed her focus, attacking Cameo and Rathbone.
Lazarus roared a denial, but he needn’t have bothered. Rathbone blocked. Cameo pulled a sword from the sheath at his back and joined the fray. She thrust. Hera parried. Clang. Clang.
Lazarus jumped in the middle, blocking the next blow before delivering one of his own. The pipe met Hera’s skull. She careened to the side, but she wasn’t out any more than she was down for the count.
She rallied quickly and resumed the fight. She knew when to duck, jump and dodge. She knew when to spin and when to maintain her position, and what was worse, she delivered more injuries than she received. Lazarus was the recipient of most, his reflexes nearly completely shot. At least she was tiring, her motions slowing. Every time she breathed, she wheezed.
When Cameo landed a massive blow to her midsection, slicing through her stomach, Hera attempted to leave the temple. Any other day, in any other place, Lazarus could have flashed or dived in front of Hera to stop her. Today, he could only cast an illusion, the ability as strong as ever despite his physical limitations.
He conjured the worst of the worst. The monstrous form of Typhon in his prime.
Typhon had dark hair and dark eyes, like Lazarus, and his ears pointed at both ends, the tops so high and thick they appeared to be horns. Red flames crackled inside his nostrils and mouth. He had a barrel chest, with an image of Lazarus’s mother branded in the center, snakes curling from her scalp rather than hair.
From Typhon’s back stretched three sets of wings. One extended from the tops of his shoulders, the other from between his shoulders, and the last from his hip bones. The first two projected backward while the third wrapped forward, offering protection to his midsection and groin.
His legs were as thick as tree trunks and covered in scales veined with molten fire—with a single cut, the fire would spill out, burning to ash everyone who came into contact with the embers. His hands and feet were clawed.
Hera screamed and darted back. “You can’t...you can’t be here. Not like this. Your chrysalis...”
Chrysalis. The word rattled around in Lazarus’s brain. Like a butterfly’s chrysalis, made of pupa and silk, not crystal?
Lazarus...king...butterflies.
“He isn’t real,” she said. “He can’t be real.”
The last time Hera had faced Lazarus’s father, he’d been weakened, barely able to move. In the illusion, he was at full strength. A male she could not hope to best.
Phantom Typhon breathed a stream of fire at her, hitting the floor just in front of her. The flames ricocheted upward, several landing on her boots. She struggled to remove the footwear but ultimately succeeded. Blisters appeared all over her hands.
“You were saying?” Lazarus smiled. “If Typhon isn’t real, why are you burned?”
Hera’s mouth floundered open and closed. If she had been born with the ability to cast illusions, she would know the mind had the power to inflict the expected injury.
As Rathbone returned his attention to the invisible wall, Cameo focused on the goddess, a weapon in hand, her brow furrowed with confusion as she watched the monster.
Lazarus stepped toward Hera and winced. The crystals—pupa? Or perhaps a mix of both in his case?—were spreading even now, rising up his neck, over his cheeks and clogging his ears. Dead silence overtook him. He heard nothing, not even a tremulous ring. The substance filled his lungs. Breathing became more difficult.
He had mere minutes left.
Though he wanted to go to Cameo, to stare into her exquisite face as he met his end, he lumbered toward Hera. The goddess had no place to go. Typhon’s fire surrounded her. She narrowed her eyes, lifted her chin. Ever rebellious against the inevitable.
Kill the threat to my woman, welcome eternity. He swung.
A look of horror contorted Cameo’s features. She screamed and lunged in front of Hera. No time to pull his arm back or angle the direction of the weapon. The Paring Rod pierced her chest. She gasped and shook. He roared.
No! What had she done? What had he done?
He’d hurt the woman he loved. He might have killed—
No, no, no. “Why? Why did you do this?” He attempted to yank the Paring Rod out of her. Any moment now, the artifact would suck her spirit through a portal...but the tip of the weapon remained caught in her sternum. To remove it, he would have to remove her entire rib cage. Her lungs would collapse, and her already damaged heart would stop.
The injuries would agonize her, but they would heal.
First...he shoved the pipe over the Rod, sheathing it. “Live forever,” he commanded. “I demand the demon leave you. Demand your spirit remains inside your body. Do you hear me? I own the pipe and therefore the compulsion. It was a gift. I demand that you live. Obey me!”
Blood poured from the corners of her mouth as she tried to speak.
She was still dying.
No! He gave a final yank, the Paring Rod at last pulling free. It took only half of her rib cage with it. Hardly a silver lining. Her back bowed as her legs and chest collapsed. She released another scream as her knees gave out, and he tossed the artifacts aside. Beneath her skin, veins of black appeared, tentacles seeming to writhe inside them. Her entire body seized.
The demon was leaving her?
Black soon turned to gray and gray to blue, until the tracery of veins beneath her skin appeared normal, healthy. Then a black mist rose from her shirt—no, not her shirt but the pendant underneath her shirt.
Yes! Her demon.
The mist hovered over her, neon eyes glowing from within. Those eyes locked on Lazarus. Fangs snapped at him before the mist darted out of the temple, unencumbered by the invisible wall.
Had his Cami survived?
Lazarus dropped to his knees, knew he would be frozen in this humbled position for the rest of his life, but didn’t care. He had to touch Cameo, had to learn her fate. Trembling, he smoothed his fingertips over the softness of her cheek.
The healthy color had vanished, leaving her chalk white. She panted and wheezed. But she hadn’t entered the spirit realm. Why?
“He’s...gone,” she said. “Misery...gone...cleansed...happiness...remember...”
She remembered...Lazarus?
He wanted to shout with joy. He wanted to sob. What would happen next? She couldn’t die. She couldn’t!
“My apple!” Hera, who stood on Cameo’s other side, reached for the pendant.
Rathbone caught her wrist and wrestled her away. Leaving Lazarus to his goodbye.
No! Hell, no. This would not be Cameo’s end. Only his.
“Why?” he demanded.
“She was...about to...stab you...”
Hera had cast an illusion, then. And Cameo had thought she was saving him. Him, a man she hadn’t even remembered at the time.
How could he let her go?
Lazarus...king...butterflies.
Butterflies had always been drawn to him. Why? Because like was drawn to like? Was he... Could he be...
Caterpillars transformed into butterflies when they entered a chrysalis.
Hydra, his ancestor, could not be killed. Typhon could not be killed. Chrysalis... As a spirit, Lazarus had passed through a portal meant for mortals. Because of the pupa—or forming chrysalis. Because it had caused his physical body to change...to regenerate?
Because it strengthened him rather than weakened?
Chrysalis... The butterfly could not escape without fighting free. Could he fight his way free? Would he be stronger if—when—he emerged?
His father hadn’t fought his way out of his chrysalis. But then, his father had hated his μονομανία. He’d had no reason to fight. Lazarus loved his sunshine. And love trumped hate every time.
Lazarus...king...butterflies.
What if he could help Cameo with the pupa?
What if he doomed her?
No time to debate. Her breaths were coming faster now, were only growing shallower. Neither of them had any other options. Hera looked to be strengthening, the color returning to her cheeks. At the same time, the illusion of Typhon began to fade, just like the illusion around the apple had faded.
With a grunt, Lazarus used the last of his strength to unsheathe a dagger and slice his wrist. He placed the wound over Cameo’s, letting his pupa and blood pour into her.
His gaze remained locked on her—no movement, no pulse—as the pupa continued to grow and spread through him...no! Not yet! He had to know if she survived. Had to see her smile one last time. But the substance stabbed through his eyes, blinding him...then finally entered the chambers of his heart, leaving him aware of the world, but completely incapacitated.