Аполлион

Shame and something dark rose inside me, twisting and choking like a vile weed.

I’d begged for death.

Me. Alex. The all-powerful Apollyon. The girl who got knocked down only to jump back up and ask for more. I’d been training to be a Sentinel, a warrior bred to disregard fear. I’d known pain before this, both physically and mentally. I’d even come to expect it.

But Ares had broken me wide open.

A raw vulnerability inched through me. Feeling sick, I tugged the soft blanket up to my chest. Gods, I felt… I felt like a poser in my own skin. What would Aiden think if he found out? He would never have begged or given up like I had—oh gods, what if Aiden really wasn’t okay? What if Apollo had lied?

I started to throw the blanket off, but stopped. Indecision smacked into me. What was I doing? Where was I going to go to demand answers? My hand tightened around the blanket until I thought I was going to undo Asclepius’ hard work.

I couldn’t move.

I was frozen by… by what? Fear. Distress. Shame. Confusion. Anxiety. A hundred or so emotions whirled through me like an F-5 tornado. My breath sawed in and out painfully. Pressure blossomed out of nowhere, clamping down on my still-tender chest. This was worse than how I’d felt after Gatlinburg, magnified by a million.

I couldn’t breathe.

Images of the fight in the dean’s office flipped through my head like a twisted photo album. The maneuvers that always had been too late. The kicks and punches that’d never landed. Being picked up and thrown like I was nothing more than a sack of rice. The breaking of my spine and every bone thereafter and then the knife…

The sound of Aiden and Marcus banging on the doors, desperately trying to get in, haunted me. So many memories of Ares owning my ass kept on coming in a continuous onslaught of how-not-impressive-I-really-was. How could I’ve thought I could stand against Ares—the god of war? How could any of us?

And I’d begged for death.

I couldn’t breathe.

The pressure constricted my chest again and I let go of the blanket, pressing my hand to my clammy skin. I stumbled out of the bed, falling on the chilled granite knees-first, and then I pressed my forehead to it. The cool floor seemed to help, like the night I’d been slipped the Brew.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that—minutes or hours—but the floor had this wonderful grounding ability. A bone-deep exhaustion set in, the kind a warrior felt at the end of the final battle, when he was ready to turn in his sword and fade into eternity.

Somewhere in the room, a door opened, scraping against marble. I didn’t lift my head or try to sit up, and I knew how I looked to whomever was in the room—like a dog cowering in the corner. That was me.

“Lexie?”

My heart stopped.

“Lexie? Oh my gods, baby.”

I was frozen again, too afraid to look and discover that the voice didn’t really belong to my mom, that it was some kind of messed-up illusion. A different kind of pressure fisted in my chest. Fragile hope swelled.

Warm arms surrounded me in a gentle, painfully familiar embrace. Inhaling a ragged breath, I caught her scent— her scent. Vanilla.

Lifting my head, I peered through the strands of hair and lost my breath, along with any ability to form a coherent thought.

“Mom?”

She smiled, sliding her hands up to my cheeks. It was her—the oval face and complexion slightly darker than mine, lips spread in a wide smile and eyes the color of the brightest green. She looked like she had the last time I’d seen her in Miami, the night before the daimon attack that had changed her into an aether-addicted monster, before I had killed her.

That fist squeezed down until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and couldn’t see anything other than her.

“Baby, it’s me, it’s really me.” Her voice was as I remembered—soft and melodious. “I’m here.”

I stared at her until her beautiful face began to swim. Part of me couldn’t allow myself to accept this— this gift—because, if it wasn’t real, it would be too cruel. The spirits guarding the gates to the Underworld had almost fooled me.

But her hands were warm and her eyes were full of tears. It smelled like her and sounded like her. Even the dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders the way they had before.

Then she came to her knees and leaned forward, pressing her forehead against mine. Her voice was tight with tears. “Do you remember what I said to you that night?”

I struggled to get the words out. “That you loved me?”

“Yes.” Her smile was watery. “I told you that, with or without purpose, you were a very special girl.”

Oh gods…

“And you told me that, as your mother I was obligated to tell you that.” She laughed and it seemed to catch in her throat. “Even I didn’t know how special you truly were.”

It was her—really her.

Clamoring forward, I threw my arms around her, nearly knocking her backward. With a soft laugh, she enveloped me in a strong hug—the hug I’d been missing and needing for so long. Mom gave the best hugs ever.