Chapter 56
Day Five of the Great Wedding Escape.
Cyd was still walking, still chasing the goal of thirteen blessings. Six remained: Aphrodite, Goddess of Love. Athena, Goddess of War and Wisdom. Hera, Queen of the Gods. Hades, Lord of the Underworld. Zeus, King of the Gods. And Hephaestus, God of the Forge.
But right now, a far more immediate and troublesome obstacle stood in his path.
"Are you ever going to give up?!"
Cyd jerked his head to the side. A bronze dagger hissed past his ear, close enough to feel the wind of its passage. His right hand shot out, fingers clamping onto coarse linen. He didn't think, he just moved—pivoting his hips, using his attacker's own momentum. With a grunt of effort, he hauled the figure over his shoulder and sent her flying into a thicket of nearby bushes.
"Atalanta!"
The assaults had started three days ago. He was still trying to figure out how she'd managed to cross an entire sea and catch up to him in just two days. Had she swum? Commandeered a ship? Run across the water itself? The logistical headache was impressive, but his admiration was tempered by pure, unadulterated annoyance. These three days had been a brutal crash course in the terrifying depth of Atalanta's obsession.
It was relentless. Day or night. Whether he was resting by a fire, fording a river, or even mid-fight with some minor local monster, the attacks came. She didn't sleep, or if she did, it was in fitful bursts. Her eyes, once sharp and clear, were now permanently rimmed with red, burning with a feverish intensity. Two days ago, he'd finally snapped. He'd disarmed her, pinned her, and shouted in her face until she'd collapsed from sheer exhaustion, not injury. He'd felt a pang of guilt… which vanished when she woke up four hours later, looking more energized than ever, and tried to garrote him with her own bowstring.
Atalanta landed in the bushes with a crash of snapping branches. She didn't stay down. She rolled, came up in a low crouch, and put a dozen paces between them, chest heaving. Dust and leaves clung to her hair.
"A hunter never abandons her prey," she growled, her voice rough. In one fluid motion, she swung her bow from her back and nocked an arrow, the point aimed unerringly at the center of his chest.
"This is depressing," Cyd sighed, his eyes constantly scanning the tree line, the rocks, looking for the next angle of attack. "I only said that 'hunt me' stuff to snap you out of it. To give you a direction, not a death warrant!"
"No. I've thought about it. This is the only way the hunter, Atalanta, can properly convey her feelings to you." Her fingers tightened on the bowstring. She drew it back to her cheek, the muscles in her arm standing out like cords. "Don't think about running. You should know by now, pure speed won't shake me. The only way to be rid of me is to break me. So come on. Do it."
"Yeah," Cyd said, his voice dropping low. "I'm starting to think you're right."
He didn't charge in a straight line. He feinted left, then exploded forward from the right, a blur of motion that churned up the dirt. He moved as if the arrow pointed at his heart was irrelevant, a stage prop.
"Don't think being invulnerable means you can do whatever you want!" Atalanta snarled in frustration. She threw the bow aside—useless against his skin—and in the same motion, her hand flashed to her belt. A coil of thick, braided leather rope snapped out like a serpent.
"Sorry," Cyd shot back, a grim smile on his face as he closed the final distance. "Being invulnerable absolutely means I can do whatever I want!" He planted his foot, and the ground cracked. He used the recoil to launch himself the last few feet, his left hand coming up in a swift, precise chop aimed at the side of her neck. A pressure point strike. "Just sleep!"
"Hey, Cyd…" Atalanta's voice changed. It went soft, almost tender. She didn't try to block or dodge the strike. Instead, she let her body go limp, falling backwards. But as she fell, her arms came up, not to defend, but to embrace. "You really have changed me, you know."
Cyd's eyes went wide. The tactical part of his brain screamed trap!, but the sudden shift, the vulnerability in her tone… it created a split-second of hesitation. His killing blow faltered.
And then she caught him.
Her arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders, pulling him down with her. His face was buried against the soft linen of her tunic, the scent of pine, sweat, and wild herbs filling his senses. His raised left arm, robbed of its target, hung uselessly in the air.
Thud.
They hit the ground together in a tangled heap.
"So… let's go…" she whispered, her breath warm against his ear, "together."
The rope, which had never left her hand, looped around his neck with practiced ease. In an instant, she transformed from embracing lover to constricting predator. Her legs scissored around his waist, locking him in place. Her arms tightened around his head, pulling him deeper into the suffocating hold. She crossed her wrists and pulled with all the formidable strength in her shoulders and back.
The leather cord bit deep into the skin of his neck—or it would have, on anyone else. On Cyd, it simply pressed, indenting but not breaking. He could hear the strain in the leather, see the muscles in Atalanta's forearms standing out like carved stone. The skin of her palms, where she gripped the rope, was already chafing raw, beading with specks of bright red blood.
"…to that place!"
So this was her plan. You really are trying to kill me, Atalanta.
A rueful laugh bubbled up in Cyd's chest, though no sound could escape the tight hold. Her technique was flawless. With her legs locked around him and her full weight and leverage applied, breaking free through sheer strength would be a monumental struggle, even for him. For a normal man, it would already be over.
Guess I'm dying here.
Yeah, right.
He relaxed completely. He even managed to work his jaw enough to let out a theatrical, muffled yawn. His "invulnerability" wasn't like the Nemean Lion's—just an impossibly tough hide. His was the true, divine andreika, the "manliness" of heroes, a conceptual robustness woven into his flesh by multiple gods. He didn't need to breathe. His blood didn't need to flow. His body was, for all intents and purposes, a perfect, unbreakable vessel. Suffocation? Amateur hour.
"Stop… squirming!" Atalanta gasped, her face flushing a deep crimson. She could feel him shifting, his chest moving against hers in a way that had nothing to do with struggling for air. It was infuriating, embarrassing… and distracting. She clenched her teeth and pulled harder, her biceps trembling with the effort.
SNAP!
The braided leather, strained beyond its limits, finally gave way. The severed ends whipped back, and Atalanta's hands, now clutching useless stumps of rope, slammed into the dirt with a jarring impact.
"Aww, so close," Cyd said, his voice perfectly even. He pushed himself up, planting his hands on either side of her head, and looked down at her. A playful, infuriating smirk was on his lips. "A hunter shouldn't get this close to her prey, you know. It's dangerous."
"Ugh…" Atalanta squeezed her eyes shut, a wave of hot frustration and shame washing over her. She knew she couldn't beat him in close quarters. She'd tried leveraging her archery, but her arrows shattered against his skin. The garrote had been a desperate, clever gamble. And it had failed. Next time… she'd need adamantine chains. Or a hydra's tendon.
"And here we are again. You lose, and then you just shut down." Cyd sighed, the smirk fading into something more tired. He rolled off her and flopped onto his back beside her, throwing an arm over his eyes to block the sun. "Say something. Anything."
"You can do whatever you want to me. I won't resist." Her voice was flat. She held up her left arm. There, on her wrist, was a mark that hadn't been there before he left Arcadia—a simple, pure white symbol that seemed to glow faintly in the sunlight. The Mark of Hestia, Goddess of the Hearth and Home. A blessing reserved for those under the protection of domesticity, of family. Why would Artemis's devoted, maiden hunter bear such a mark?
Slowly, she turned her head to look at Cyd's left wrist. As if in answer, the jade bracer there pulsed with a soft, warm, white light from one of its embedded crystals. Hestia's blessing.
The answer… was right there.
He probably didn't even realize it. But the blessing of Hestia, the guardian of the family hearth, was reflecting something deep within his own heart. Something he wouldn't—or couldn't—put into words.
"I'm not going to do anything," Cyd said quietly. He pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his clothes. He didn't look back at her as he started walking toward where Medusa waited patiently under a distant tree. "Because I don't want to hurt you."
I never want to see that lost, broken expression on your face again.
If you're angry, then chase me. Hunt me with everything you have. Do it until you can finally be honest with yourself. Until then, I'll keep walking ahead of you. After all, your greatest strength has always been the chase, hasn't it?
"See you later," he called over his shoulder, his tone deliberately light.
Atalanta lay there until the sound of his footsteps faded completely, until the presence of him was gone from the clearing. Then she sat up. A hot, stinging drop splashed onto her thigh. Then another. She looked down. Blood was welling from her shredded palms, dripping steadily.
"Why…?"
Why couldn't he understand what was in her heart?
"Do you… look down on me that much?"
She'd all but said it was okay. She'd offered everything. And he'd walked away. Did she seem that fragile to him? That incapable of bearing the weight of her own choices?
"I… won't stop."
Her voice was a raw scrape in the quiet forest.
"What is the hunter, Atalanta, if not hunting?"
"I will hunt you. Even if the road ends at the gates of Hades."
"Until you understand this love of mine."
"This… is my answer to you."
She wrapped her bleeding left hand around the white mark on her wrist, the symbol of a hearth she'd never known, and slowly curled in on herself, a solitary figure in the empty glade. The chase wasn't over. It had only just begun.