Page 5 of Flame and Fury

Growing up at the training center, I had no one. As a child, I learned that the only person I could rely on was myself. Kat tried to see me, but it was nearly impossible for her. Not only was I moved from one training center to another, but the buildings themselves relocated, much like the Olympus House. It wasn’t until I was older that we were able to meet regularly and even that had to be done with care. The one benefit of Zeus having zero interest in my upbringing is that he never discovered that my aunt was also the head of the Underground. While Kat took every precaution to keep her connection to me a secret, Zeus’s hubris only helped us conceal the relationship.

I want to tell Wren everything. To share all the history that no one besides Kat knows, but ultimately none of this is about me. It's about Wren and what she can do.It's difficult to keep my hands still. I want to drag them through my hair, to pull at the ridiculous clothing I've been dressed in.

Wren's fingers tangle in one of the strips of her leather skirt. Her tone is softer this time when she speaks. “What exactly is it that you want from me?”

I want to link my fingers through Wren's and let her know everything will be okay. Even if our lives are outside of our control, I'll make sure she's safe. I don't say any of that. It's not really what she wants to know anyway. She wants to know if I know her true nature. If I know she's a Fury.

“Wren, I don’t want to play games with you.”

“Are you sure? Because it seems like that’s all you’ve been doing so far.” All the softness is gone, replaced with a sharp snap of words.

“And what is it you want?” My voice drops to nearly a whisper, but my tone is harsh. Biting. I know I've screwed up, but what does she expect? Does she think I should have told her Zeus is my father the first time we met? Maybe I could have unloaded some of my childhood baggage on her. Letting her know how unwanted I was. How I never really had a home. How my worth as an adult has all been rolled up into presenting a flawless picture of a champion.Then there's Wren. Who has the power to put the gods back to sleep at her fingertips. And she's been hiding out in Old Town and playing the neighborhood superhero.

“I’m not the one who dragged us here under the guise of escaping a terrorist attack. One, I might add, that was instigated by the very group you’re a part of. If you want something, Atlas, then come out and ask for it.” Wren's breathing hard, her pulse hammering so rapidly I see her heartbeat thumping in her throat. She's pissed and nervous.

“We aren’t the bad guys. Kat made a calculated decision so she could meet you. She made sure our people were in the crowd, keeping others away from the blast areas. The riot that happened after was unfortunate, but Kat tried to mitigate the injuries as much as possible.” I exhale, not looking forward to what I have to say. “The reason I brought you here is because you have the potential to turn the tide of this fight. I saw you in the alley. I saw your wings, Wren. I know what you are, and I know what you can do.”

The sound she makes breaks something inside of me. It’s only a small puff of air, not even a true gasp. She might as well have screamed betrayal. It has the same impact. I curse myself. There had been a glimmer of trust in her eyes. When I'd kissed her in the car earlier, it had been out of a selfish need to feel her melt into my arms, to taste her once more before I upended her life again. I knew once she met Kat that sliver of trust I was starting to earn would be shattered into pieces.

Right before my eyes, her shoulders straighten and the strength I've witnessed from her, again and again, sharpens.From what I know of Furies, they are similar in a lot of ways to demi-gods. Enhanced strength and speed, rapid healing. Furies, however, can sense when a person has committed crimes against humanity. None of us are angels, but the Furies have the ability to know a person’s true worth. It’s terrifying and fucking incredible.

“Are you proposing we quit the games and become vigilantes?” Wren grits her teeth and grunts.

She rubs a hand over her chest, and my eyes drop to follow the movement. It's the damn contract. The one that each champion enters into the moment they become a player in the games.We can’t walk away from the games because we’ve got a binding agreement with the gods, tying us to the competition until we win, fail spectacularly, or die. Right now, it's a complication I haven't figured out how to eliminate.Thank fuck it’s not triggered by cursing the gods, because my heart would be squeezed into a pulp by now if that was the case.

“It’s funny you should mention vigilantes. I heard some rather interesting tales when I was digging for information on the last challenge.” The slightest smile tips up my lips.

When I'd been hunting down Otis Carmine for the last challenge, I'd learned a lot about the Dark Hand from Wren's neighborhood. It didn't take long before the people of Old Town started sharing stories of the winged savior who prowls the streets at night. An enemy to thieves and rapists, a defender of the regular folk who have been ignored and kicked while they're down by the clerics. They practically worship the Dark Hand. After I saw Wren in the alley, wings expanded in their full glory, vicious and righteous, my mind had scrambled. For a moment there, I lost time, all my attention focused on the beautiful creature of myth in front of me.

I'd connected the Dark Hand to Wren immediately.

Wren stares me down, blinking slowly and tapping her finger on the table in a steady beat. “Were you asking around about me?”

I shake my head. “Honestly, I don’t know how you’ve flown under the radar for so long, little bird.”

Wren's mouth pinches at the nickname. Why do I love riling her up so much? Maybe it's because she's aloof and standoffish with everyone else, but all it takes is one glance from me and she's bristling. Gods, it makes me feel like a little kid pulling a girl's pigtails to get her attention. I feel that pathetic too. The name isn't meant to be anything but an endearment. The first time it slipped out, I nearly slapped my hand over my mouth. I hadn't meant to call her that. Now, I can't get it out of my head. That's who she is to me. She's not fragile. She represents freedom. She could liberate us all from the tyranny of Zeus and the clerics, and I don’t think she realizes how extraordinary she is.

“All I had to do was wander into your neighborhood and people were regaling me with stories of the Dark Hand.” I wipe my hand through the air as I say "Dark Hand" because people spoke the name in reverent and whispered hushes. The first woman who mentioned the name practically started praying as we spoke. I can't help but chuckle at people's awe. “Really, the Dark Hand?”

Wren cracks her knee against mine. I grunt at the bite of pain and struggle to hold back my smile. I love how she doesn’t back down or give in, even when it would make my life easier. Wren's arms are crossed again, and her mouth is pressed into a flat line.

“First of all, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Secondly, even if I did admit that was me, the people gave that name to the incredibly brave, fearless, and selfless being that protects the streets of Old Town.”

We stare each other down, but I can't get rid of the smile on my face. Wren's cheeks are flushed, her lips full. Just looking at her, you'd never expect that she's this fierce warrior. One who takes too many damn risks. One whose life is in even more danger because of my actions. The smile slowly fades from my face.

“I know you want to help people. The Underground wants the same thing, but they have the power to do more than take down a few rapists and murders.”

Wren jerks back, and I shake my head. Fuck.

"I'm not trying to be dismissive." I trail off at the look in her eyes. Whether I meant to insult her or not, she took my words to mean she wasn't doing enough.

“I want to help people, but I’m not going to support an organization that I know next to nothing about.” Wren pushes away from the table, color still painting her cheeks. She stands stiffly, sliding out from her chair and looking around the room like she's searching for an escape route.

There's only the one door.

With a huff, Wren walks across the room, stopping at the old couch. She pinches the bridge of her nose, tipping her head back like she's working out a kink in her neck.

“It’s all well and good for you and Kat to tell me that the press exaggerates things, but then what’s the truth? Does the Underground occasionally sacrifice people for the greater good? Are they the kind of group that blows up a crowd because it’ll provide the right distraction to get their new greatest hope to their lair?” Wren drops her hand, her head still tipped back. “And what if I do help? What if the gods go back to sleep? Then what? Is Kat going to step into the leadership position out of the goodness of her heart? Because she’s responsible like that?”

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