Page 32 of Hercules

It was wickedly contagious, gripping Herc so hard that he froze, still and quiet as a February tundra.

A heath only penetrable by the most special heat.

A press of fingers, slender but firm, at the center of his chest.

“Herc.”

And the push of his name, newly intimate from its trimming, from the brave female in his arms.

“Go to him,” Lois softly directed. “Go to him. I’m fine.”

She definitely wasn’t, but he suspected a renouncement would get him nothing but fuming snarls, and Apollo had now plummeted to his knees next to the fallen harpy. The demigod. Or fae soldier. For fuck’s sake, whatever she was, to possess the power to compel the sun god to his knees before her…

“Flaming balls.”

It was a ragged collection of growls, thanks to the added agony of twisting to his feet with three fresh bullet wounds, but he forced more air to his throat, generating louder volume to his lips. “Set him free right now, you conniving witch, or get ready to really deal with my—”

He was down to his brother’s side, forgetting the battle cry, as soon as Apollo swept up an arm with urgent ferocity.

“What’s going—”

Only to gash into his own words again, as soon as his gaze dropped the same direction as Apollo’s.

“Fuck.”

This time it erupted from him like acid, matched by the nasty shit invading his gut. But he couldn’t figure out if the mess was stirred by shock or incredulity. Was he actually wrestling with remorse about the female who’d been shooting up him up with falmouth a couple of hours ago?

On the other hand, he was still moving and breathing—and she was splayed atop the fallen chandelier with an electric candle through her neck and both legs at horrific angles.

“Shit,” Apollo grated. “Shit, Herc. You’re shot.”

“He’s what?”

Before Lois could do anything beyond the yell, Herc swiveled a shoulder to ensure she got the full brunt of his commanding glare. “Stay. There.”

Still, with new defiance in her pretty whiskys, she looked ready to leap out of the chair. He hardened his glare, hoping the audacious thing would finally get the message, because there were bigger issues to untangle right now.

Much bigger.

Like how he and Apollo were going to deal with two dead humans now.

That solution was as clear as the air quality on a wildfire day, which he didn’t bother to sift from his low, grisly growl. “Gods, Polo Pony. Did you run a GPS diagnostic before launching that arrow?”

Because the fall his brother had caused for the strange warrioress…

Stranger, it seemed, by the second. Even in her mangled state.

Who the living hell was she?

A query as useless as his brother’s hopeless grimace.

“I…I barely thought about it,.” Apollo pleaded in a craggy rasp. “I just saw her aiming straight for you, and—”

“Now you feel shitty about it?” Herc wasn’t so cagey about his intent. “About coming through for your own brother?”

No denial from the guy—unless the prominent gulp in his throat counted, though Herc wasn’t toting that up for points. If Apollo meant it for him, he’d be looking this way. But his brother’s stare never wavered from the bloodied figure in front of them.

“Herc—”