Page 22 of Hercules

“I—ermmm—what do you mean?” she managed to stammer, though seriously wondered how. She saw so much now, especially the otherworldly beauty that couldn’t be unseen about the god. Why didn’t she question it deeper before, with Hercules?

The answer erupted all too easily. She’d reacted like the basic human she was, instead of believing in something more amazing. Trusting in it…

The way she had to now, as Hercules chucked the empty nectar bottle into his kitchen sink while scooting closer to her again.

“My brother owns a lyre,” he supplied, stopping just a foot from her. “It was handcrafted in Olympus, and it’s imbued with significant powers.”

Grateful for something to think about other than his powerful proximity, Lois nodded. “Yes. I know this one. When it’s played, it casts a spell over all who listen. Or something like that.” She glanced between him and his brother. “Am I close?”

She wasn’t sure how to interpret their long pause, though it seemed more thought-provoking than troubling.

“Did you know that before?” Apollo asked after a long inhalation. “Or did Reks tell you all about it?”

“Reks?” She didn’t hide her bafflement. “You mean…Byrd?” Yet somehow transformed a follow-up frown into one of Natasha’s trademark giggles. “Silly me. Who else would you mean? And of course, Reks and I talk about a lot of things. But the Olympian pantheon…well, it’s not the stuff for typical pillow talk, you know.”

Before she could scrape together a new Nat-ism to pivot to, Hercules had a rebuttal prepared—complete with a caustic grunt at its front. “Typical? There’s really such a thing for that little bag of—”

“Herc.”

Apollo spiked a finger as punctuation, ushering his brother’s silence. Lois desperately wished it’d work on her pulse, as well. No such luck.

“Okay, what the hell are you talking about?” She darted a new glare at them both, unsure who was truly equipped to answer. She only knew, to the depths of her belly, that there was an explanation—and that she’d better make room for it in all the acid churning down there.

The pair examined each other, clearly on their third or fourth round of rock-paper-scissors, before Hercules held up a hand in defeat. Before fully lowering it, he swung his sights back to her.

“Reks Byrd…is just the name Rizon took for his human form,” he stated. “In truth, he’s one of us.”

“One of—” She choked short. “Wait. Who’s Rizon? His human form? So…Reks is actually another god?”

“Demigod, actually,” Apollo said. “So, like Hercules.”

The empty dart finally popped free of Hercules’s thigh as he wheeled virulently on his brother. “That piss shiver and I are nothing alike.”

“Calm down,” Apollo admonished. “And sit down. You’re bleeding again.”

Lo, having already taken notice, yanked a dish towel from the oven’s handle and jammed it into the massive male’s open wound. Thankfully he’d minded Apollo and slumped into an indent in one of the exposed stone walls, so she didn’t have to bend far for the task.

She distracted herself from the new gush of his blood by saying to them both, “I still don’t understand. Assuming Reks is an imposter… I mean, don’t gods and goddesses do that all the time? Coming around to play with the mortals, while disguised as them?” She shook her head to convey her full confusion. “I’ll even bet there’s a bunch of them doing it now, right? So what’s the big deal about one of them having some fun for a few decades as a rock idol?”

Though her only physical contact to Hercules was the wadded towel, she felt the tension that took over his muscles. “You remember when we mentioned my brother’s lyre?”

Not just his muscles now. The stuff dotted his Is and crossed his Ts like a wad of steel wool, ensuring she felt the scrub along her own limbs.

Crap.

“Has Reks messed with it?” She gulped hard. “Or…stolen it?”

As Apollo exited from the kitchen, his pass was close enough to let her see his fully healed face. The only evidence of what he’d endured was the blood on his clothes and the stress in the backs of his light green eyes.

“Enough of it to change things that he shouldn’t,” he snapped.

“Influencing the mortal realm in irreparable ways,” Hercules added, which had Lo’s brows jogging up.

“But all the gods who go slumming around and knock up mortal women? That’s repairable?”

“To be blunt, yes.” Hercules lifted both hands, perceptively predicting the glower she’d be stabbing at him for it. “Didn’t say it was fair. Just manageable.”

“Enthralling a few mortals a year is much different than holding sway over millions of them,” Apollo stated.