6.
red
He touched something.
Apollo is not sure what it was that he touched, but he still sees her face in his mind, how she had looked when it happened; as if it occurred just moments ago. He had put his palm to her back … and it had prompted the most curious reaction from her. She had looked almost terrified. There's not much that can truly terrify Percy Jackson, he knows that by now, but just then, she had looked genuinely scared.
The thoughts of it are stuck in his mind on the next day still, so much that even playing the lyre feels more of a distraction than enjoyment to him, his finger plucking randomly at the strings. His gaze is lost in the fire before him as he sits amid Olympus's gardens; even the half-nude bodies of the satyrs and nymphs dancing around it to his music can't quite catch his attention how they usually do.
"A drachma for your thoughts," says Hermes, who flickers into form beside him.
Apollo throws him a quick look, fingers still mindlessly working his lyre. "What do you want?"
"Can't miss one of the bonfires." Hermes plops down on a nest of leaves a nymph had made for herself. His chest is bare, gleaming in the light of the flames, a sheath of linen covering his buttocks and his cock, and leather straps wrapped around his forearms. He looks tired, almost. Then again, he's been looking tired ever since the death of Luke Castellan, so there's that.
"Suit yourself," Apollo shrugs; somewhere to his left, his ears pick up on the sounds of moaning.
Hermes hears it, too, his eyes wandering to a pair of pretty dryads entertaining each other. "Have you heard the latest, brother? The demigods have apparently found a trail of Percy Jackson down in New Jersey."
It's only with great effort that Apollo keeps from laughing out loud.
There is no trail of Percy Jackson.
That had been him throwing a small group of demigods off their path. They had been sent to look for her in the state. They didn't know that he'd led them straight into the lair of a drakon. He hopes he'll catch a glimpse of the blood and gore in his dreams.
"They have?"
"Hmm." Hermes picks a succulent red apple from a fruit bowl. "Poseidon thinks it might be Oceanus behind his daughter's abduction. One last play at revenge."
Apollo tilts his head, surprised; that, he didn't know.
"Well, let's hope they'll get her back in one piece."
He knows he won't let her go at all.
"You're rather unbothered with it all." Hermes turns to his side, supporting his weight on his elbow, chewing his apple. "I thought you at least liked Percy Jackson. Didn't you help her, once? When Atlas had Artemis captured?"
"Every one of us got involved in that quest one way or another. Even Zeus meddled," Apollo snorts. He lays his lyre aside, deeming it not worth his time to play when his mind couldn't focus on his music. "What about you? Don't you like her? If I recall correctly, she seemed quite at ease comforting you about your traitor son after the battle."
The memory of it, Hermes with Percy, talking by the fountain in Olympus's courtyard, is like salt in invisible wounds. Percy had offered his brother a comfort, words of reassurance; she had never granted such to Apollo. The jealousy of it still consumes him, eating him alive, his very own eagle at his liver. Sometimes, he imagines piercing Hermes's throat with an arrow to punish him; or maybe claiming Percy in front of him. He hasn't decided yet what would drive the point home the most.
Hermes stiffens, eyes flashing a deadly sapphire. "It would be wise not to speak of him that way, Apollo. He died a hero, in the end." Apollo puts his hands up in mocking surrender. "But I do, in fact, like Percy Jackson. Surely you have noticed that she's grown into a fine young woman."
The possessiveness bubbles up in him like boiling water, twisting his heart and stomach. The grin on his face catches, just a little. "Is there something you want to tell me, then, brother? Perhaps our uncle is looking in the wrong direction?"
"Don't be stupid." Hermes throws the apple's core into the fire. It hisses and sparks, bathing them in heat. "I did not take the girl. Even a fool would know not to go there."
That's what Apollo is precisely.
A fool for love, to put it poetically.
"Enough of this talk about Percy Jackson." Apollo gets to his feet. "We have company."
Hermes follows his gaze. A pretty nymph approaches them, with a skirt of delicate leaves tangling around her legs. Hair like silver spills over her bare breasts, nipples furled prettily in the warm air. "My lords," she bows. "I hope the evening is of pleasure to you."
"Certainly," Apollo grins, snaking an arm around her waist. The nymph blushes when her bare chest collides against him, her lashes fluttering. "What is your name, sweetling?"
"Melina, my lord."
"Hmm, Melina." He brushes his thumb over her nipple, hearing the little catch in her breath. Eyes twinkling, he looks at Hermes, who is watching them with heated interest. "Unfortunately, I need to leave now, sweetling. Why don't you go to my brother, entertain him while I'm away? I think he likes you very much already."
Hermes welcomes the nymph into his arms, trailing his mouth over her neck when she comes to sit on his lap. He glances at Apollo over her silver head. "Where are you off to? You'll miss all the fun."
"I have some things I need to attend to." Apollo winks at his brother. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
The fire washes over him, and, a second later, carries him away from Olympus.
"Fuck!"
With a grunt, Percy lands hard on the ground beneath her, the impact forcing the air out of her lungs momentarily. She shakes the twigs and leaves out of her hair, and scrambles back to her feet. Scowling at the tree she'd fallen of from, she kicks the trunk just for the sake of it. She's never been a great climber, not like the demigod children of Hermes or even Artemis's Hunters, but this is just ridiculous.
She'd simply wanted to get a better view of her surroundings, especially the deeper parts of the forest, but she couldn't even properly climb one lousy tree. Seems like the curse of Achilles doesn't give you new skills.
"What did that poor tree do to you to deserve such mistreatment?"
Percy spins around, glowering. "Apollo."
He smiles, hands clasped behind his back as he comes to her, radiant like a beacon of light under the twilight sky. She retreats a few steps back, making sure to not turn her back on him. The painful reminder of the previous day, how she'd unknowingly let her guard fall enough to allow him access to her mortal spot … she won't do that again. She knows better now.
"Percy." Her name is a purr on his lips. He looks her up and down, taking in her disheveled state and the dark green dress that hangs in tatters from her, a result of a day spent exploring the island. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, as if he's holding back laughter. "You look beautiful, as always."
She narrows her eyes. "What do you want?"
"We're not looking for ways to escape here, are we?" Apollo asks, scanning the area, still smiling like a wolf. The white of his chiton is a stark contrast to his bronze skin.
"No," Percy lies through her teeth.
She has been doing just that, ever since he'd granted her access to the rest of the island. The palace, as she'd soon discovered, was surrounded by beautiful gardens and then the immense forest. She doesn't even know how long it would take to reach the beaches.
"Tut-tut." Apollo clicks his tongue, disapproving. "What a little liar you are."
Percy exhales loudly through her nose. Squinting into the rapidly dwindling evening light, she tries to make out what lies beyond the trees, but it's all darkness by now. "What do you want?" she asks again.
"Percy," Apollo starts, sounding almost disappointed, "have you already forgotten that you owe me three dinners a week?"
No, she had not forgotten, but she's been desperately hoping that he had.
"Now?"
"Tonight," Apollo confirms. "Or do you wish for me to revoke my permission to let you explore the island? I'm sure you've noticed by now that looking for a way out is a complete waste of time."
"No," Percy grinds her teeth. "I've not forgotten." She closes her eyes, resigned. "Fine. Dinner, then. I'll have to change first, though. And I need to take a bath."
"Wonderful." Apollo beams. "Now, close your eyes, sweetheart."
She does not, of course, which is a mistake. Apollo lifts a finger to her forehead, and then, not even a second later, in the blink of an eye, she finds herself back in her rooms. Dizzy from disorientation, she stumbles and sways. Apollo catches her by her elbow, keeping her steady.
"You could have warned me," Percy snaps, but it comes out weak. She sits down on the edge of the bed.
Apollo snorts. "I told you to close your eyes."
She glowers at him, fighting against nausea, counting to ten in her mind. When he touches her hand gently, she flinches away from him violently, startled.
"Relax, Percy," Apollo chuckles. "I won't bite. Yet." An insult is already on her tongue, ready to be fired, but he beats her to it. "Stand up, love. I want to show you something."
Percy thinks about refusing, but her curiosity has the upper hand this time. She tries to yank her hand free, but he merely strengthens his hold and guides her to the large mirror leaning against the wall.
"What is it that you want to show me?" she demands, glaring at him through the reflection.
"Be patient, my love," Apollo chides her.
He waves his hand, and something shimmery, shining, slips through his fingers. A necklace. He steps back behind Percy, his body towering over her, making her feel outsized. Frozen in place, she doesn't move a muscle when he moves to lay her messy braid over her shoulder.
"A gift for the fairest of them all," he whispers in her ear, clasping the necklace around her neck. Goosebumps erupt all over her skin. Percy lifts a hand, touches the necklace with cautious fingers. It's gold and delicate, with a sun-shaped, diamond-encrusted pendant. A dried purple flower sits embedded in the center.
"Heliotrope," Apollo explains, hands lingering on the clasp of the necklace, pinkies brushing against the soft skin of her nape. His mouth widens in a small, secretive smile. "It means eternal love and devotion in the language of flowers."
Percy breathes sharply. "What is this?"
"You don't like it?" He frowns, actually looking taken aback.
It's beautiful, she thinks.
I hate it.
Her fingers close tightly around the necklace, the sharp edges of the sun-pendant digging into her palm. "Why are you giving me this?"
"Because it represents what I feel for you." His hands slip down further, thumbs pressing lightly into the spots above her shoulder blades. He pulls her close to him until her back is flush against his front. Her cheeks burning, she struggles to bring back space between them, suddenly very conscious not to move her hips or backside against him, not to give him access to her mortal spot again.
"No, no, don't go away yet," Apollo grins into her hair. Their eyes meet in the mirror. "I want you to wear this necklace for dinner."
"I don't want it," she hisses. "I want nothing from you."
"I don't care." He loops a lone curl around his index finger, gives it a slight tug. "It's yours now."
He buries his nose in her ear, closing his eyes as he breathes in deeply, sniffing her like a wolf. The warmth of his body is too much, too hot.
"There's something else I want you to wear," Apollo says. He lets go of her, and coldness seeps back into her bones. Percy almost screams with relief.
She watches him through the mirror as he wanders about her room. He kicks the trunk open that contains her dresses and, after rummaging in it for a bit, retrieves a wisp of white silk. He comes back to her, holding the fabric to her front. It is a white gown with embroidered flowers in different colors crawling up the sleeves all the way to the shoulders, around the waist, climbing until the bosom and descending to the top of the skirts. Percy has never seen such a colorful dress before. She actually can't remember the last time she's seen so many colors at once, period. It almost leaves her dizzy.
"You want me to wear this?" Her voice sounds alien even to her own ears.
"You'll look so beautiful in it," Apollo whispers, searching for her eyes in the mirror. She allows him to hold her gaze with his own. "Wear it with your hair down for me."
Percy can't help but agree. She would look stunning in it. She would look soft and pretty, like a flower blossoming under his sunlight. It sparks back her anger. Is this how he wants her? Wide-eyed and maidenly and pure of heart? Is this a part of his fantasy?
"All right," she murmurs, still looking him in the eye. "I'll wear it."
He looks surprised for a moment, as if he's been expecting more of a fight from her. His surprise melts into something more pleased quickly enough. "Good girl," he chuckles, sending a thrill of heat through her body. "Why not always be agreeable like this, hm?"
Percy remains quiet. She takes the dress from him, allowing herself to marvel at the sensation of the silk in her hands.
"I will give you a moment to change." Apollo presses a kiss to the top of her head. "You'll find me in the dining hall. Don't keep me waiting, my love."
He leaves her to her own.
Percy lowers herself onto an armchair beside the fireplace, letting her fingers wander across the gown's flower embroidery, her eyes on the mirror. An old memory brushes softly against the surface of her mind, and when she shuts her lids, remembering the smell of currants and jasmine, she feels fifteen again and trapped on a different island.
"You have such beautiful hair, my dear."
Elegant, long-fingered hands wind through the thick loops and curls of her hair. Percy smiles shyly at the woman through the mirror. "Thank you."
"I think it will look best with gold. Don't you think so, too?"
"I-I guess," she agrees hesitantly. She had never paid much attention to her hair before. Granted, she'd never enjoyed getting haircuts, preferring to keep it long, but there is just so much of it. Half of the time, she doesn't know how to make her curls abide her will. Only her mother and the Aphrodite children had ever managed to do some nice hairstyles and braids.
The woman coos at her. "Aren't you a darling?" She puts a manicured finger under her chin, raising it gently. Her nails are long and painted blood-red. "Your eyes, though. Your eyes are captivating. I can clearly see your father in them."
Percy stares at her. "M-my father?"
"Oh, yes," the woman laughs. "It's impossible not to see him in you."
Swallowing, Percy fidgets on the small wooden stool. "Is your name really C.C.?"
"But of course it is."
The woman's hands go back to her hair. She runs her fingers through the strands and mutters something under her breath. Before Percy can even process what's going on, the dirt and oils start vanishing slowly, as if being sucked down a drain. The tangles and knots smooth out. Her locks twist delicately around her face. In just a matter of seconds, her hair falls clean and glossy over her shoulders, shining like black silk.
She gasps, touching it gingerly. "Whoa."
"Indeed," the woman, C.C., agrees with a laugh. Her eyes glitter like emeralds.
Not for the first Percy thinks that she looks dangerous, like she could do her nails and kill a man with her bare hands at the same time. C.C. snaps her fingers, and a thread of gold falls into her hands. She mutters something low again, and the thread starts lacing with Percy's hair, weaving a braid.
"Now, my little princess, tell me something about yourself."
Percy's eyes snap from her hair to the woman. "About myself?"
C.C.'s sharp smile never wavers. "Yes, dear. Have you ever been with a man before? Or a woman for that matter?"
Percy almost chokes on her spit. She gapes at the woman. "N-no," she sputters. "I'm only fifteen."
"Ha!" C.C. rolls her eyes. "Back in my days, girls your age were already married and popping out babies left and right."
Again, Percy wants to ask if C.C. is her true name. Her gut is telling her to run away from her and those clever emerald eyes.
"Have you already had your blood yet?"
Percy feels like she's blushing straight to the very tips of her fingers and toes. "Uhm, y-yes."
"Don't be shy, little princess," C.C. chortles. She moves her hands to Percy's face, palms hovering over her skin, muttering quietly. The bruises and cuts and the grime fade from her face, one by one, leaving it smooth and flawless. Another wave of her hand, and something swipes across her eyelids. "It's a completely natural thing. Nothing to be embarrassed about."
Percy looks down at her hands, but C.C. raises her chin again. She looks strict as she stares her down. "Girls don't lower their heads," she rebukes her. "Look everything in the eye."
"O-okay," Percy stammers. Something creamy and velvet-like grazes her lips. Trying to keep her curiosity at bay and failing spectacularly, her next words burst from her like a volcano erupting. "What is it like? You know, b-being with someone."
C.C.'s eyes glitter. "With a man? Or a woman?"
"Both," Percy whispers.
"Oh, aren't you adorable, all curious like this," C.C. coos. She moves back behind Percy, turning her gently back towards the mirror.
"It's not something one can describe in words. It's something you need to experience yourself. Everyone feels it differently." She drapes Percy's braided hair over her shoulder. The golden thread weaves through it like currents of light, luminous against the deep black of her hair. "With a woman, you'll listen and see what she likes and what she does not. Women are trickier. It's a process happening on the inside. That says something about us women, does it not?"
A hint of shimmery gold eyeshadow dusts Percy's lids, making the green of her eyes pop.
"Men … well, men are just so obvious with their cocks and their seed spurting everywhere. They are simple creatures." Her lips are painted a cruel bright red. C.C. leans down, her breath smelling of currants and her hair of jasmine, and whispers into Percy's ear, "They are weak."
Percy swallows, her stomach a knot of nerves. "Weak?"
She does not think at all that every man is weak or simple. Grover is one of her best friends, and he is so very brave. Chiron is both a healer and the best teacher she's ever had.
As if reading her mind, C.C.'s smile twists into something darker. "I can teach you more than they ever could. You could stay here with me and learn everything that I have to offer. Immense power and knowledge. I can teach you desire. I can teach you the art of seduction." She rests her hands on Percy's collarbone. Her nails look like daggers at her throat. "Forget your ridiculous sword, little princess. You are a girl. You will soon be a woman. Your true power lies between your legs."
Desire.
Seduction.
Words that Percy's heard before, but whose concepts are still so unfamiliar to her. She knows about the technicalities of sex, and she is also curious about her own body, but no one's told it to her quite like this before.
"Here," C.C. says, offering her a heavy, jeweled hand mirror. "Look into it, little princess, and see."
Where Percy expects to see her present reflection, she sees an older version of herself. Rougher. Her black hair spills over her shoulders like the rolling of a tempestuous sea. Her eyes look like storms. Like glittering emeralds. Like C.C.'s. The reflection smiles at her, but it's not a nice smile. It's a hint of murder and a promise of something sweet and playful. It's the kind of smile a shark would give, if it could ever do so much as smile. She looks like something dark and beautiful, something otherworldly.
"I-" Percy thrusts the mirror into the woman's hands. "I don't want to look like that."
"Give it time." C.C. smiles slyly. "It's already all in you."
It's true.
Back then, she didn't want to be like that. Now, Percy thinks, she wouldn't mind looking like the girl she saw in the mirror every now and then. She needs to be her, now more than ever.
With this in mind, she tosses the white gown back into her trunk and unclasps the necklace, throws it on the bed where it lands in between the silk sheets. She runs herself a hot bath, taking the time to soak in the water. When she is done, she goes back to the trunk and pulls out a different gown. It is black like midnight and heavy, as if made of iron and onyx. She puts the dress on, almost mechanically, slips into a pair of leather boots whose heels click against the stone floors with every step she takes.
"Hello, invisible servants," Percy mutters into the air as she comes to stand before the mirror. "I know you're loyal to your oh-so-mighty lord, but I would really appreciate your help now. I need something very urgently. So, if you don't mind, could you please do me this one favor and make it magically appear or whatever you do to make things work around here?"
She doesn't expect an actual response. Still, she can't help feeling a little disappointed when nothing happens.
Sighing, she turns her back on the mirror. That is when she glimpses a glint of metal on the bed.
A quiet, surprised laugh escapes her; the first laughter she has let loose here that does not sound mocking or bitter. "Thank you," she whispers into the air as she reaches for the small bullet-shaped lipstick.
She makes quick work of her hair, smoothing it back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She swipes the lipstick across her lips. Then, she takes a few steps back and tilts her head at her reflection, inspecting. The black gown has a high collar and long lace sleeves that remind her of spider webs, cinching her in at the waist. The color on her lips is a striking, vampy shade of red that makes the green in her eyes scream even louder. She looks older like this. Harsher. Dangerous, even.
Whereas the white gown Apollo had picked for her would make her look like a spring, this one makes her look like winter.
She hesitates, if only for a moment, before picking up Apollo's necklace from the bed and clasping it around her neck. Its uncomfortable weight will make do to remind her of how much she detests him.
"You can do this," Percy whispers at her reflection, and then, almost unconsciously, whispers what Circe had told her once, "Forget your sword. You can win without it."
Set in her determination, she leaves her rooms. The palace is a vast, confusing maze, but Percy has always been capable of memorizing directions and so she finds the dining hall relatively quickly. It is a large room with a domed ceiling that has various art depictions on it, some of which Percy recognizes; Artemis with her Hunters, Apollo slaying Python. The only piece of furniture is the long dining table and two intricately designed wooden chairs that stand at each end of it, looking more like thrones than actual chairs. A sea of candles floats above the table, bathing it in an orange light that makes the tiny hairs on her body stand on end.
Apollo stands at a large painting across the room. He has his back turned to her, but when he hears her enter, he spins around.
"You've kept me waiting, my-" He doesn't finish his sentence, the words dying on his tongue. His eyes rove over her body as if he can't decide where to look first.
Percy tilts her head, the heels of her boots echoing through the room as she approaches him. "Have you finally lost your speech, Lord Apollo?"
"That is not the dress I picked for you."
She shrugs nonchalantly and stops before him. His eyes, strange as they are, look yellow in the candlelight. Unhuman. "I look better in black."
And then, to her utmost fury, a sharp toothy grin appears on his face. His gaze flits over her gown, appreciating how it cuts in at the waist, stopping at her mouth. "I won't argue with that."
He moves to place his palm on her lower back, but she dances out of his reach. She won't let the events of the previous day repeat. It's bad enough that she has been so careless to let him touch her mortal spot in the first place. "Please," Apollo walks to the chair on the other side of the table, pulling it back for her, "take a seat, Percy."
Percy sits down gingerly on the edge of the chair, watching as he rounds the table to take his own seat. The candlelight makes him look like he's purely made of gold. Even the pristine white of his himation glows like a beam of sunlight.
"Now," Apollo grins, and snaps his fingers, "let's begin."
Mounts of food, drink, ambrosia, and nectar appear on the table. A gold-rimmed plate and goblet pop up in front of her.
"What's that?" Percy asks, wary, glancing at the dark liquid inside the goblet.
Apollo winks at her, raising his goblet to his mouth. The drink leaves a dark red stain on his lips. "See for yourself, my love."
Despite her wariness, she takes a sip. The tanginess is a surprise. It's not bad. There is a sweetness beneath the sharpness that she quite likes. "Wine," she recognizes.
"The best wine there is." Apollo lifts his goblet as if to drink a toast to her. "It's one of Dionysus's finest creations."
He waves a hand at the table. "Now, eat. You need the food. You're still mortal, no matter how many curses of Achilles you bear."
Percy sips at her wine. Perhaps it would be easier to deal with this shitshow drunk. She takes a tender chunk of meat and dips it into a berry sauce. Apollo watches her intently as she slides it into her mouth, chewing carefully.
"Do you like it?" he asks, looking fascinated.
"It's fine," she shrugs.
That is a lie.
The food is heavenly.
"You know," Apollo starts, popping a piece of ambrosia into his mouth, "I've heard tales about your impudence, but I've also heard as much about your kindness. I can see the impudence now, but not so much of the kindness. Were those stories a lie? Or where are you hiding it?"
Percy grips her fork tightly, staring at him. Is he for real? "Seriously? You're asking me why I don't show any kindness to you?"
He inclines his head. "I would like to have it, yes."
"Let me ask you one thing, then."
"I'm all ears."
Percy takes a sip from her wine, regarding him over the rim of her goblet. "Have you ever shown kindness to somebody else but yourself?"
Apollo raises an eyebrow. He purses his lips, looking at a spot above her head as if seriously having to rack his brain. "Of course," he says, then. "Once or twice. If the person earned my kindness." When she scoffs, he narrows his eyes. "Despite what you may believe, I am not a heartless god. I show benevolence to those deserving of it."
"All right." Percy tugs the napkin free from under the plate, laying it down on her lap where she starts ripping it apart piece by piece. "Let me rephrase my question. Has anyone ever been kind to you?"
"Naturally," Apollo smirks, leaning back. "You mortals are anything if not kind to gods."
"You mortals," Percy repeats quietly, incredulous. "And I don't believe that."
His smirk vanishes, making place for a frown. "What do you believe, then? Tell me."
"Has …" Percy takes a deep breath, meeting his eyes. In the candlelight, they look like molten lava. He regards her with an expression she has never seen someone look at her with before; with a seriousness that suggests he is actively interested in what she has to say. It makes her feel wobbly. Like she's balancing on a rope with him, and always falling. "Has anyone ever been truly kind to you? Has anyone ever done something for you, not because they fear your wrath or because they are reverent or because they expect your blessing, but just because they like you for you?"
Apollo's frown deepens.
He opens his mouth as if to say something, but changes his mind, closing it. To her very surprise, he stays quiet, choosing to consider her with an unreadable expression. In any other situation, under different circumstances, Percy would have felt sorry for him.
"That's what I thought," she murmurs.
Apollo clenches his jaw. "Are gods out of the reach of kindness, then?"
"Kindness is not something that one needs to deserve or earn," Percy answers, throwing his own words back at his face, but different. "It's something that is given freely, without someone's request."
"Then I must be a truly special case." Apollo leans forward, clasping his hands together. "Because I do not see you being kind to me, even when I do ask for it."
She curls her hands into fists under the table. "Unkidnap me, and then maybe we can talk about it."
A gust of wind carries through the open windows, making the flames of the candles flicker; their shadows against the walls grow bigger, more threatening. Apollo's eyes look yellow again. "Careful, sweetheart," he murmurs, piercing a piece of meat on his fork. It's tender, almost raw, but he slides it into his mouth like it's nothing. He makes even chewing look divine. "As you said yourself, people are kind to me, because they fear my wrath. You do not want to awaken it."
Percy scoffs. "Spare me your threats; you do not frighten me. You won't be able to hurt me."
"Ah, yes," Apollo smirks. "Your curse of Achilles. Tell, how did you acquire it in the first place? It's not every day one walks out alive from it."
Oh, no.
He just had to ask about the curse, didn't he?
"The water looked pretty, so I decided to take a bath in it," she answers sarcastically.
He releases a laugh that sends a shiver down her back. "Sounds reasonable enough." Still chuckling, he continues with a glimmer in his eyes, "Or maybe you decided you liked the promise it held? You liked the idea of being invincible and death-defying, didn't you?" His expression turns deceptively innocent. "But I assume you didn't count in the mortal spot."
Percy's entire body stiffens all over.
He couldn't know, could he? That he'd touched her mortal spot?
"I did it because it was the only choice I had left," she spits back, heated. Her hand flies to the necklace around her neck, unconsciously. She closes her fingers around the pendant, the sharp sting of it cutting into her flesh relieving her anger. The face of Beckendorf flashes before her eyes, and the grief nearly smothers her. If she only had been stronger, faster. Better. Would he still be alive if she'd not waited so long to accept Nico's proposal? "It was the only chance to win."
Apollo's eyes follow her movement. He smiles knowingly. "And win you did spectacularly." He leans back, the candlelight throwing shadows against him. "I've heard about what you did to Hyperion, and how you fought Kronos." He licks his lips. His expression changes, turning charged. Hungry. "You're a Titan killer."
Percy rears back. Her fingers tighten around the necklace. In her mind, she hears herself laughing her way through the battle on the Williamsburg bridge. "Don't call me that," she rasps.
"Isn't it the truth?" He cocks his head. "You defeated them both."
"I did not," she snaps. "I defeated Hyperion only because I had the satyrs and nature spirits helping. And I did not defeat Kronos at all. It was Luke, in the end, who made the right choice."
Apollo throws his head back and laughs, again. Percy sits frozen in place, staring at his strong golden throat, how his whole body shakes with the force of his laughter. "My love," he chuckles once he's calmed himself, "do you always do that?"
"Do I always do what?"
"Undermine your own abilities."
Percy feels her cheeks burning. This is not how she wants the conversation to go. "I don't undermine my own abilities."
"Then you're just being awfully humble." Apollo's smile turns strangely tender. "I wish you could see yourself from my point of view. You'd be able to see how truly magnificent you are. The power you hold ... I can sense it even now. The Athena girl, your friend, what's-her-name-"
"Annabeth," Percy grinds her teeth.
"Yes, yes, that one." Apollo waves his hand lazily as if the name is a pesky little fly in his orbit. "She's always trying to compete with you. She sees it as her responsibility, does she not, to carry out the rivalry between her mother and your father. But even she knows that you will always rise above her."
Percy presses her lips into a thin line, hating that he is right. The rivalry between her and Annabeth is just as strong, if not stronger sometimes, as their friendship.
"Even Zeus's and Hades's children; they don't stand a chance against you. It's always going to be you, in the end."
Percy's hand drops from the necklace, a hollow sensation taking hold of her. "Is that what I am to you, then? A vessel of power? You're in love with me because of what I stand for, because I was the child of the Prophecy?"
"No," Apollo frowns. "Of course not."
He sighs and gets up. She watches him wearily as he approaches. When he moves to crouch down beside her, her eyes widen in shock.
"You misunderstand me, Percy," he murmurs and lifts a hand, tracing the shell of her ear with his index finger. His touch feels like a little death. She can't help but shudder in response. "What I mean to say is that you are awe-inspiring. You are beautiful and extraordinary. I wish you would see that, too."
Percy moves back on her chair, scoffing half-heartedly when his finger wanders lower to her throat, tracking the length of her neck. "Flattery will get you nowhere, you know."
"I'm not trying to flatter you," Apollo laughs. "I'm telling you the truth. I've seen a lot of miracles in my long existence, but you've got to be the loveliest of them all." Her heart gives a hard thumb. "Sometimes ..." His voice drops to a lower tone, as if he is sharing a secret, "Sometimes I think you are too good to be true. I fear I am going to wake up from a fever dream and find that there is no Percy Jackson in the world." He furrows his brow, looking saddened by it. "That would truly be a colorless world."
At a loss for words, Percy grabs her goblet and takes a huge gulp from the wine. Her heart pounds in her chest like a bird trying to escape its cage. There's a strange stirring in her belly that she just wants to quench.
"You're crazy," she whispers.
"I think we've already agreed that I am crazy for you," Apollo says, giving her a slow, genuine smile.
She simply stares back at him.
"Eat." Apollo nods at the food. "You're still mortal. You need the food, no matter how many curses of Achilles you bear."
Almost unconsciously, she takes another piece of meat into her mouth, watching as he steps to the open windows to look outside. Set alight by the moon and the candlelight at his back, another gust of wind ruffling his golden curls, he is heart-wrenchingly beautiful. It hurts to look at him. Perhaps, Percy thinks, a human or a demigod without the curse of Achilles would have already succumbed to ashes from looking at him too long.
"So, what is the meaning of this?" She indicates at the table. "I doubt talking about the meaning of kindness and the curse of Achilles is your true intention with this dinner?"
Apollo turns away from the window, frowning. "You offend me, Percy. I merely want your company."
"Yeah, right," she scoffs. Outside, it's already dark, a smattering of stars like ink splotches in the sky. The sea breeze is humid-hot against her skin. "You already know that I won't give you what you want, so why this nonsense?"
"It was in exchange to grant you access to the rest of the island," Apollo reminds her. He blinks at her, innocently. "Though, I must admit I'm curious now―you do not believe that I'm in love with you, so what do you think it is that I want from you?"
Percy looks back at him. She feels her blood rise into her cheeks, not daring to voice her thoughts out loud in front of him. Sex. Fucking. Scratching the itch of having the child of the Prophecy in his bed. The likes of it.
"You know what I mean," she says through clenched teeth.
A slow smile graces Apollo's lips. "I'm afraid I don't. Why don't you enlighten me?"
"You want what all of you gods always want. And if you don't get it, you take it anyway." Percy raises her chin at him. Look everything in the eye, she hears Circe's voice in her mind. "Tell me I'm not right with this."
"Rape, you mean." She winces as the word leaves his mouth. He says it casually, like something that can be thrown randomly into conversation. "Are you afraid I might do that to you?"
Is she afraid of him?
No.
Is she afraid of what he might do to her?
Definitively.
"Tell me, Percy, do you know the story of Medusa?"
Percy frowns. "Of course I do. I slew her when I was fourteen."
"Yes, but I mean do you know the true story of how Medusa became a monster?" Apollo takes her silence as answer enough. He walks slowly back to her, deliberate, measured. "See, she wasn't always a monster. She was a beautiful innocent girl, once. Quite like you in that manner."
He is approaching her, each step of his bringing him closer to her. Gripping her wine goblet tightly, she tries not to tremble. "Your father, Poseidon, was smitten with her, but she denied his affections, for she was a priestess of Athena." He comes behind her, leaning down to place his lips to her ear. "One day, Poseidon found her alone in Athena's temple."
The goblet slips from Percy's fingers and clatters to the ground. Wine splashes onto her dress and against the stone floor. She closes her eyes, whispers, "Stop."
"Ah," Apollo smirks as he crouches down beside her, "but I haven't even told you the most interesting part yet. You see, your father decided to take what was denied to him, nonetheless. He raped Medusa in Athena's temple, right there on her altar."
The food churns heavily in Percy's stomach. She opens her eyes, casts them down. The puddle of wine on the floor could very well be a puddle of blood, with the way it trickles through the small cracks in the stone.
"Stop," she breathes harshly. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Don't tell me I've scared you now, sweetheart." Apollo takes her hand and winks at her. "No need to worry yourself. I wouldn't do to you what Poseidon did to Medusa."
He rolls up the sleeve of her dress, baring her skin where the wine soaked through the fabric. "I want you to beg for me, not against me."
She snarls at him, gripping the arm of the chair with her free hand so tightly she breaks a chunk of wood off. Apollo merely stares back, almost as if in fascination, whispering, "My, you really do look magnificent tonight."
And then he lowers his mouth to her skin and licks the inside of her wrist, catching the wine drops on his tongue, red against the shimmering blue-green of her veins. And to Percy's utmost horror - she reacts. A frisson of excitement runs through her like electricity, settles low in her belly, where it turns into molten lava. When she dares to fidget, her underwear chafes against the place between her thighs, sticky with her own wetness.
Everywhere he touches her, he sends a spiraling thrill of heat through her skin and into her veins. Her blood sings. It's like her divinity is reacting to his, reaching out to the energy and power thrumming beneath his illusion of flesh and bone. Percy doesn't know when her body became so alive, so present, so here in this moment; it's always somewhere else, preparing for the next fight, the next danger, the next quest.
She feels sick with herself.
Her own body is a traitor; she's never hated it so much like this before.
Percy wrenches her hand free. Apollo sways away from her, momentarily taken aback by the force of her movement. His eyes are bright, alight with his excitement. She scrapes her chair back, getting up. "I'm done with this. Finish your dinner alone."
"Sit down." Authority sneaks back into Apollo's tone. An invisible power grips Percy by the shoulders, slamming her down on the chair. "I haven't given you permission to leave."
Struggling to pull free from the invisible grasp, she glowers at him. "What else do you want? I've shared dinner with you. I want to go back to my rooms now."
"Our evening is finished when I say it's finished," Apollo commands. "Now, where was I before you so rudely interrupted me?" He crouches down beside her again, taking back her hand. Running a finger along the lines in her palm, he continues, "Ah, yes, the day your father raped Medusa. Anyhow, Athena caught him in the act. She couldn't do anything against Poseidon, naturally, so she turned her ire on Medusa and turned her into the monster that she is known for now. End of story."
He beams at her as if expecting applause for his storytelling.
"You're disgusting." Percy spits on the floor at his feet. "All of you are."
Apollo tilts his head, blinking. "Even your father?"
Her heart twists painfully. Her father ... all her life she had simply wished for him to come back to her and her mother. Then, when she was fourteen, she had realized that the naive wishes of her heart were just that - wishes. He would never truly be her father. She would never feel safe with him in a way a daughter should with her father.
"Him, too," she whispers, and it sounds too much like a betrayal.
She feels rather than sees Apollo reaching out towards her. "Don't be sad, Percy," he whispers, resting his large, callused palm on her cheek. She stares at the floor, half-afraid to move, half-afraid to breathe. She allows him to cradle her hand to his chest. He is warm, she realizes. Hot. Like a sun-warmed stone. "Your father does not deserve you."
She does not look at him as she whispers back, "And you do?"
Apollo's thumb brushes against the apple of her cheek, very softly. She would only need to turn her head ever so slightly to have her mouth pressed against his palm. When he realizes the weight of her question, he falters, frowning. "That's not fair."
She almost laughs.
Instead, she turns her face back to him and catches his eyes with her own. "You think your love is?"
Apollo lets go of her as if she has burned him. He scowls, an angry response half-ready on his lips, but Percy beats him to it. She rises with him, stopping him with her hand on his wrist.
"No, no," she murmurs. Something sick and twisted takes hold of her, wedging her ribs apart to make itself a home in her heart. She wants to make him hurt. She wants to make him see the fairness of his love, how insane he makes her feel with it. "You've made me realize something just now. I should be grateful to you for telling me the true story of Medusa."
There's a numb kind of rage simmering in her veins now, drowning out all reason.
Apollo's eyes drop to her hand wrapped around his wrist, surprised, as if he can't quite believe that she touched him of her own accord. "What?"
"I am a child of Poseidon, you're right."
She releases his wrist slightly, just enough to graze her fingertips against the spot where a human would throb with life, the same way he's done it to her. She doesn't even know if she feels surprise or relief or anger at how falsely human the illusion of a pulse greets her. Gods, she wants to tear him apart piece by piece, dive underneath the flesh, muscle, and bone to yank at his true form, to scorch herself on it.
"But I am also my mother's daughter."
Her fingers brush upwards, over his arms, his biceps. He might look like a chiseled marble statue, but his skin is anything but. It's yielding and supple, smooth beneath her palms.
Gods.
He's so very warm.
Apollo's mouth falls open on a word that dies the moment it's born. He follows the movement of her hands, frozen in place by her touch.
"And she taught me, all my life, that the true mercy of a person lies in their kindness." Her palms stop at his shoulders, where the bones form his collarbone. Strong, strong shoulders, broad, and capable of carrying the greatest of burdens. Fake human veins protrude from his skin. "Because of this, I will continue to be kind and merciful. I will carry my mother's legacy in this. It's the least she deserves."
There's a hitch in Apollo's breath when she pushes her fingers against his jugular, ever so slightly. He is mesmerized by her, hanging on to her every word.
Is this the power that Circe spoke of?
Percy finds she quite likes it.
She wonders, in a mad, hysterical moment, what his skin would taste like there. Would it break easily under her teeth? Would his ichor taste like her blood, like copper pennies melting on her tongue?
"I know what it's like to receive no kindness at all. And I don't want other people to ever feel like that, not if I can help it."
What would his immortality taste like, mixed with her mortality?
She wants to know so badly.
She rests her palms against his chest, the strong, steady thumb of an inhuman heart beating back at her. Lifting her gaze to Apollo's face, she finds him watching her with hazy golden eyes, as if he is in a fever dream. The perfection of his face, the beauty of all his forms and edges, the softness of his mouth, lush and red, bring her blood to a boiling point.
"But you're not other people, Apollo," she whispers softly, bringing one of her palms to his cheek, tracing the line of his strong jaw. She hates herself for reacting to him this way. She hates her own body for being so sensitive to him. "You're just a different kind of monster."
Her hands drop back to his chest, and she pushes him gently away. The stupor slowly lifts off him, fascination making place for confusion and then for seething fury.
"And I know how to deal with monsters." She rips his necklace off her throat. "You don't scare me at all."
She throws his gift at his feet like a cheap, discarded piece of jewelry and leaves the dining hall, with a swish of her black gown and the taste of cruelty rotting in her mouth.