Henry darted forward and dragged his dad’s chair out of the way. Andie did the same for his mom, taking her far across the room with a shell-shocked Lux in tow.
“Hector!” Achilles shouted and leaped, so damn fast, and Henry stood between him and his father, no time to think about the eight inches of steel about to be buried in his stomach, or his neck, or driven right down into his head. What was done would be done, and maybe he’d leave the rest of them alone.
I wish Andie would close her eyes.
“Achilles!”
Ares jumped through the broken window. His arm shot out and grasped Achilles’ wrist. The way his knuckles whitened, Henry knew the force of the grip would have broken a normal person’s arm. But Achilles didn’t even drop the knife. The point hung suspended, inches from Henry’s chest.
“God of war,” Achilles said, and looked up at Ares from under his brow. “It’s an honor.”
“You stabbed my wolf.” Ares shoved Achilles hard and sent him skidding nowhere near far enough. Oblivion circled around behind, but didn’t attack. It seemed to know it would catch a knife in its throat. Instead it hunkered low on its paws and blocked as much of Henry’s mom and Andie with its body as it could.
“He-Henry,” Ares barked, like he’d just remembered Henry’s name. “Do you have anything to cut into this prick with?”
“No.”
“Here.” Ares pulled two knives out of his back pocket and tossed one end over end. Henry reached out and caught it by the handle—barely. He swallowed. He’d almost grabbed it wrong and skewered himself like an idiot.
He had to focus. On his training. He’d trained with Athena. He’d even trained with Achilles.
Henry stared at the knife in his hands. He wasn’t afraid, exactly, though he knew he should be. He was just … numb. The knife felt fake. Made of rubber. So out of place in his grip that he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Taking hostages.” Ares clucked his tongue. “The old Achilles was a warrior. Not a whackjob.”
“The old Achilles died.” Achilles grinned. “This Achilles can’t. This Achilles is a god.”
Ares spun the knife in his fingers. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
Ares stepped forward; Achilles stood his ground. Henry walk-stumbled around the side of the couch. Anyone bothering to look would have seen the tip of his knife shaking. All his anger had leaked out with his father’s blood.
When they jumped, Henry meant to go with them. But they were too fast. They hit in the center of the room like a thunderclap, and he stood frozen, watching them wrench and tear at each other. No tentative cuts. Ares shoved Achilles away and he flew into Oblivion, into his mother’s chair. Achilles reached back and slashed at anything he could find. Andie dragged Lux out of the way and screamed when the knife cut through the muscle of her shoulder.
That made Henry move. He crossed the room fast, ready to throw himself onto Achilles’ knife. With some luck, the blade in his chest would give him enough time to land a stab of his own.
And he’ll die. If I can find his heart, he’ll die and stay dead.
But Achilles didn’t drive his knife into Henry’s chest. He flipped it and brought the handle down on the top of his head.
“Later,” he whispered as Henry buckled at his feet.
The room blacked in and out. Henry heard sounds, shouts, words, Lux barking. Ares and Achilles struggled again in the middle of the room, their movements too fast for Henry’s spinning vision. He heard something like a growl, and Achilles’ hand stuffed into Ares’ gut.
There’s a knife on the end of that hand.
Another moment flickered past, and Achilles jumped through the broken window. Henry couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that Achilles had been holding something in his arm. Something loose, and wet, and pink. Achilles had been holding his own intestines in his hands.
“Andie,” Henry said, right before he lost consciousness.
PART III
ONE FATE
24
LIES CAVE IN
“Did you kill him?” were the first words out of Henry’s mom’s mouth when Andie yanked her gag. “Did you kill him?”
“No,” Ares groaned. “He can’t be killed.”
“What are you saying? Of course he can be killed. You cut through his stomach. He’s probably out there now, on the ground.”
Henry’s head pounded, but he hauled himself up and ungagged his dad, then started working on the knots in the rags used to tie him to the chair.