Page 84 of Hercules

Until Nat led her past the last row of the black-suited goons.

And one of them, timing things perfectly between Natasha’s pass and Lo’s approach, yanked up his head.

And fast-glued his gaze with hers.

As if he’d submerged her feet in the adhesive, she halted just as swiftly.

And, shockingly, remained there.

Her muscles shrieked in protest. All their proteins and filaments were helpless minions to Nat’s power, practically programmed to run after the string’s eerie tune. But there was a force about the man’s features, even stronger than that hypnosis—a tenacity that spread, filling his whole posture—that kept her locked in place.

Even as he swept between Natasha and her, reaching both hands for her face.

No.

He was intent on her ears.

A fact she confirmed at first sight of the twin orbs balanced in his fingers.

They were as small as adzuki beans, and just as deeply red, except that they glowed. If she wasn’t so absorbed with that weirdness—though what was weird anymore, after the last twelve hours of her life—she probably would’ve batted him back from sticking the things straight into her ear canals.

But as soon as the guy latched them in, she returned his stern gaze with her instant wonder.

The jarring jingle from the lyre was totally silenced.

Hold up. Every sound from the terminal disappeared. No more bustling footsteps or brisk speaker messages or overly cheery songs from the overhead ad screens.

The shutdown was a shrill shock of its own, strong enough to loosen the knots around her gasp. Violent enough to yank them free.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

Once she realized the whole breath had escaped her, she flung an apologetic stare at her savior. Too late—in so many ways. The stranger wasn’t in a place to recognize her regret, let alone to receive or reject it. He was too busy dropping a hand around her elbow then pulling hard, clarifying exactly what her own mission should be.

Run!

Now!

The orders were a mystifying mix in her senses: the familiarity of her personal instincts but overlaid with the timbre of her rescuer’s tone, also feeling so normal. Almost…comfortable.

There wasn’t another spare second to examine that.

Not with their flight finally catching the corner of Natasha’s sights, and her banshee bark because of it. Certainly not after Nat’s alarm spread through Uncle Ito and his men like a match in a fireworks box. Especially not after they sprang into action with the same deafening force.

Harder. Faster. Now!

She obeyed, making her burning lungs and screaming muscles obey the stark terror in her throat. It globbed at the base of her trachea, growing thicker by the second, despite their sizable lead on the mob. But they were headed back toward Baggage Claim and Customs, not toward the exits to get outside or even to the Tokyo Monorail.

In short, a dead end—

Likely, at this point, literally.

Though the man at her side merely snorted as if they had to climb a non-working escalator.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Might as well go ahead and let that part tumble out too. Just as urgently, Lo demanded, “What now?”

Because they really weren’t facing some pesky mechanical fail and a few extra steps. This was an inescapable canyon with Natasha’s personal cavalry in hunt-and-destroy mode. Did her own champion realize that?

Rather than contemplate that answer, she squeezed her eyes shut. The man kept hauling her forward. The blind leading the blind had never felt more achingly accurate, and a thought flashed that maybe this was how Herc felt when pursuing all those tasks Apollo had lined up for him. Stumbling ahead and hoping for the best, though expecting the worst. Knowing, in his deepest heart, that kidnapping cows and slaying snakes wasn’t really going to help him in the end.