Page 82 of Scion of Chaos

He sighs again. “Right. Which wasn’t his fault. Nor was it mine. But alas, I can’t stay to chat. Perhaps we can find time to get to know each other when my shift ends.”

He glances at Asterius before pushing between us, pausing just long enough to bend and kiss my cheek, then heave a dejected sigh.

Asterius tenses, then grumbles a soft curse before turning.

“Fine. You win!” Asterius calls. “I’ll take the rest of your shift under one condition.”

Chrysaor’s eyes light up when he turns back to us, his excitement palpable. “Anything,” he breathes.

“Take her to meet the other three. They’ve earned it every bit as much as you, and there’s no telling what task Vesh will have for us once he returns. Hopefully he’s made headway on capturing the Titans.”

He looks down at me then, gently gripping my shoulders. “Remember, you aren’t obligated to bond with them if you don’t want to. You can take as much time as you need.”

“I think I can handle them. Besides, every time I bond with one of you, it increases my power. I felt it when I was with Typhon yesterday and jerked him off.”

A soft, strangled cough sounds from behind me as I lean on tiptoes to kiss Asterius before turning back to Chrysaor.

“I’m all yours, I guess?”

38

Nemea

Chrysaor holds his elbow out and I hook my arm through it. He’s quiet and tense for the first few strides before clearing his throat. “Did you say you jerked off the big guy yesterday?”

“Yes. My arm is still tired.” I laugh and glance up at him, but stop walking at his look of consternation. “Is that… bad?”

His eyebrows shoot up and he hurriedly shakes his head. “No. I just have never heard of anyone doing itforhim. Usually he takes care of himself. I’ve got big hands, but notthatbig.” He stretches both big, callused hands out in front of him and looks at them, flexing his fingers, then gestures as if he’s wrapping his hands around a tree trunk and makes a jerking-off motion. He smirks when he drops his hands.

I chuckle, then shrug, more aware of the ache in the arm I used to do the deed than I was before. “Big guys deserve love too. Besides, after all the times he mademecome, he earned it. It was also a good excuse to practice control of my magic.”

Chrysaor’s back to frowning, but he looks more confused than disturbed.

“I didn’t grow a bigger hand, if that’s what you’re thinking. I, um…” I crinkle my brow, not sure how to explain. Instead I make a fist with my right hand, curve my left arm around in an arc mimicking the size of Typhon’s cock, then mime pushing my fist down the length of it. To my surprise, a bolt of purple light the shape of my arm echoes out the end of my fist for several iterations.

“Wow, I didn’t know I could do that,” I marvel.

Chrysaor watches raptly, his mouth dropping open. I can almost see the gears turning as he envisions the scene. Then he grins and lets out a laugh, clapping his hands. “Holy shit. He liked that? I guess it makes sense, considering the size difference, and I’m a little sad I didn’t think of it.”

“You’re not weirded out?” I ask.

He chuckles. “It takes a lot to shock us. Come on, I have something to show you.”

We reach the end of the corridor, as well as the door Asterius and I entered through. I expect to wind up in the library when Chrysaor pushes it open, but instead find myself on a different platform looking into a similarly large room, only this one is quite different.

Where Asterius’ quarters sported a bed, Chrysaor’s has a sleek bar of shining void glass with floor-to-ceiling shelves of bottles glinting like jewels from lights shining through them. One shelf on either side of the bottles is reserved for sparkling glassware of every shape and color, with a lower middle shelf holding silver barware. The front of the bar sports a row of worn barstools of the same material.

Beyond the bar is an open space, the floor worn in patterns. Along the wall and spread around the room are burlap-encased dummies that have straw jutting out of their joints, some of the stuffing scattered on the floor around them. On the opposite wall are racks of weapons and armors, displayed with obvious reverence and care and all polished to a shine. The walls on either side feature enormous murals of vicious battles fought. With only a glance, I can recognize a few distinct characters among the fray, including a shimmering winged horse on one wall while the opposite wall sports a winged armored boar.

“That’s you, isn’t it?” I ask, stepping closer to that side and craning my neck to peer up at the impressive artwork.

“It is. And my brother on the other side.” He points at the opposite wall with a wistful, almost sad smile.

I study his profile, its perfection interrupted only by the brutal tusks jutting up from his lower lip. His jaw spasms and he looks at me, apologetic.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about him, but it’s all a lie,” he says.

I glance up at the magnificent image of the winged horse. “Pegasus? I really don’t know the story.” Mine and Rachel’s dive into mythology stayed pretty focused on the specific characters I’d sketched, so we skipped all the others.

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