Page 20 of Hercules

Before she could blink, a fresh bottle of the amber medicine was chucked over her head before thwunking to the middle of Hercules’ left palm.

“Swallow all of that, ass munch, and I’ll even skip out the door.”

Hercules sucked in a breath. “Choreography’s the least of your concerns right now, pony boy.”

“Eh?”

Lo almost added her version of it, but the man at her side was nearly back to being the virile male who’d first towered over her in the downtown club. Her whole body recognized that truth as soon as he realigned to a crouch with the fluid form of a movie mutant: actions too beautiful to be real. At least right now, in his battered condition…

His condition.

It was changing. Nearly as she watched. Or maybe her memory had been knocked around, traumatized to the point of irregularities…

That had to be it.

Because the bruises on his face could not be shrinking that swiftly. But his groans…how were they suddenly diminished to distracted grunts? And most noticeably, how had the cauldron of blood in his groin just been reduced to a crimson splotch. The dart was still there, even if it now looked ready to fall out of his thigh like a pushpin in concrete.

“Spit it, damn it.”

Big brother’s demand had her scrutiny swiveling to him too. And then her lips gasping.

The blood in his hair was already dried into weird red dandruff. The gash on his forehead looked like a simple Sharpie streak. And the rip in his shirt exposed a swath of healthy, healed muscle.

Holy. Shit.

Before she could push actual volume into it, Hercules spoke again. “Our drop-in VIPs tonight…they were well-trained. Synched within seconds of each other.”

“I’m aware.” Apollo shut the fridge’s door without diverging his gaze. “Aphrodite was your real Guinevere in the lurch. She shot out the epeigon code to me while those goons were still dropping around you.”

“Holy shit.”

And there it was at last—though hindsight really was twenty-twenty, telling her that the delay had been a secret blessing. The guys’ exchange had given her time to watch. More than that. To observe. To see all the details that were there, but not. It felt like someone had finally sized the movie rights for the screen: a scarily apt analogy, though she fought thinking of it as such. Doing that would mean accepting the rest.

The reality that couldn’t be. The facts she fought with grinding teeth and stammering lips.

“I’ve got this wrong. I’ve got it way wrong.”

She repeated it while pushing all the way to her feet, though not without help from the counter delineating the kitchen from the rest of the cavern. Thankfully its underlit sides were left to their natural rock state so she found easy grip holds.

“Holy crap. I have to have it wrong…”

“Hey.” Big brother, closer to her at this point, stepped over with matching authority. “No time for starting the stresstival, dear. Focus on your breaths. Five counts in, five back out. That’s an order.”

“Or you’ll do what?” she snapped without thinking. “Kidnap me back to Forks so you can zipline with me through the trees then sparkle me into submission?” Her head snapped up as new awareness crashed in. “Wait. Forks. We’re there already, aren’t we? This is some cave off the beach in La Push. It’s also why you’re using all the codeword talk.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It sounded so ridiculous as it spilled out of her, to the point that she almost laughed at herself—but neither one of her captors looked close to doing the same, which had to mean only one thing.

Had she really hit on the truth?

The seven words felt like seven hundred degrees on her brain, even as both men frowned as if she ranted about UFOs and an imminent alien invasion. Which, factually speaking, were likely closer to the truth than this…

“Codeword talk?”

“What beach where?”

Their overlapping demands came with their questioning glares. Fine by Lo. She flung back as much fire as they brandished.