Hey hey gang! Merry Christmas Eve! I'm in such a good mood today. Gosh, Christmas makes me feel like a little kid despite my technical adulthood, hahaha. So my gift to all of you - the last chapter of this story!

Bit of a different POV here, but I thought it fit for a good epilogue. Wanted to get the other side of the story, you know? Hope you like it!

Thanks as always to my lovely reviewers! Enjoy!

So just save yourself / I'll hold them back tonight

Duke Atlas was having a rotten day.

The day before had started with so much promise. An operative investigating an uproarious situation in downtown Chicago (Atlas was informed there'd been a high-speed chase involved and sent someone in as a precaution) had come back with the best news the Deputy Director had heard in months—news of Annabeth Chase, his own star-assassin-turned-criminal.

Agent Chase's betrayal had been a huge blow to the agency, and moreover to Atlas himself. Not only was she responsible for the death of Luke Castellan, Atlas's former second-in-command, but after he had put her in the spotlight and talked her up to Director Kronos himself, she had gone and turned against them in favor of Olympus, of all things—the very organization of dangerous criminals he and the Director had something of a personal vendetta against. Needless to say, that did him no favors whatsoever in Kronos's eyes.

So when Atlas's operative had sent word that Thalia Grace, estranged daughter of Olympus leader Zeus, had given her name at the Willis Tower's front desk not even an hour before the situation had ensued, and that she'd been accompanied by a nameless individual matching Agent Chase's description, the Deputy Director had been presented with a glorious chance. Thalia Grace herself wasn't dangerous, as their investigation years ago had proven her dissent with her father's ideals, but the only link Atlas could perceive existed between Chase and Zeus's daughter was Olympus. He couldn't be certain at the time, but something told him they'd just gained one step toward discovering one of Olympus's operational locations.

As such, he'd taken a team to Chicago himself in the hopes of apprehending Chase and perhaps getting a leg up on Olympus. It had been a long shot, that much was unfortunately certain, but it was most definitely worth the attempt. He had no immediate direction to go by—that is, until another unexpected stroke of luck gave him exactly that in the form of an anonymous tip at headquarters that the central division head of Olympus would be on the 79th floor of the Willis Tower that very night, dealing with a group of organization dissenters. Atlas hadn't a clue who had offered the tip—a well-informed organization rival, perhaps—but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when he now had a feeling that Agent Chase would be among the so-called 'dissenters'. So he contrived to take his team in just after midnight and seize the opportunity to corner her.

But things hadn't exactly gone as planned.

Ezekiel Grace was dead, that much was certain. And to Atlas's endless frustration, the one to kill him had been none other than Agent Chase herself. It had become clear then that a certain discord had sparked within Olympus, as Chase had been accompanied by what Atlas assumed were other members of the organization—including, annoyingly enough, Percy Jackson—son of Parker Grace and the same highly-skilled and dangerous criminal Chase had been assigned to eliminate before her betrayal. Atlas hoped that a dissent within Olympus would prove a weakness, an opportunity for them to be brought down once and for all. But that didn't appear to be the case. From what he and his team could surmise after the following day's events, Olympus had remained solidly on his feet.

Atlas suspected that Jackson was involved in that as well. After all, why else would he have been instrumental in his uncle's assassination if not to claim power for himself? The Deputy Director knew that Kronos would not be pleased to hear this news. Years ago, the Director had wanted Jackson for CIA Chief of Staff, the job that was later given to Castellan. But Jackson had turned him down to join Olympus instead. He was only twenty-four years old—still just a kid—but even so he was dangerous. Kronos knew it, and Atlas knew it as well. With him in charge, the agency would need to move quickly and with electric precision if they had any hope of taking the criminal organization down. They needed to strike soon—not necessarily while the iron was hot, so to speak, but at the very least before it completely cooled.

Atlas's only consolation was that he and his team had been able to apprehend one of the criminals during the rebellion. He didn't think the man was a member of the organization, more of an Olympus sympathizer. But perhaps that was good news. It could take less persuasion to force him to talk.

Just then, there was a knock on the door of his temporary office—the room he'd claimed when his team had borrowed the building to oversee their Chicago operation. It was simply adorned—a large desk in the center with a comfortable chair behind it and two small, wooden seats in front of it. No other furniture, no decorations on the walls. Perfect for his needs, and for a short while of peace and quiet.

Atlas stood and straightened his suit jacket before striding around the desk. Upon opening the door, he came face to face with Castellan's replacement, Chief of Staff Raleigh Hyperion.

"Sir," Hyperion greeted him with a slight inclination of his head. "You requested the captive be brought to you for interrogation when he regained consciousness."

"Yes," Atlas agreed, and Hyperion stepped aside and nodded to his right. Atlas leaned through the doorway to see two black-clad agents gripping the arms of their newly-apprehended criminal—a thin, Latino kid of middling height with curly brown hair and dark eyes. He wasn't struggling against the agents, but was looking around the hall with an almost bored expression, long fingers stretching and curling absently in his handcuffs. He tilted his head to the side like he was stretching his neck after a long nap, and Atlas felt a scowl threatening to appear on his face. He'd seen this person gun down quite a few good agents the night at the Tower, and now here he was, in CIA custody and acting as though he'd been brought in on a tour. Already Atlas didn't like the kid.

"File?" he asked Hyperion.

"On its way," Hyperion answered. "Analysis team is pulling it together now. Should have it any minute."

"Good. Show him in. We can use the time to get acquainted."

The agents let go of their captive and one shoved him forward. He staggered a few steps and finally his eyes met Atlas's, narrowing a bit as though recalling the fight last night as well, or perhaps taking the measure of the man who would be his interrogator. Atlas stared back at him coldly and moved aside, holding an arm out toward the office and watching him closely as he stepped inside.

Atlas nodded to Hyperion before closing the door tight. "Take a seat," he said to the young man, who, to Atlas's mild surprise, shrugged and walked straight around the desk, dropping into Atlas's own chair behind it. He leaned back and rested his feet on the surface of the desk, hands behind his head, and Atlas could feel the veins popping in his forehead. He really didn't like this kid.

"Man, this is a boring room," the kid said with a frown, leaning his head back and scanning the small office. "How do you not fall asleep in here? Talk about a snooze-fest."

Atlas's jaw tightened with the effort of keeping the sudden swell of anger under control. "You should be proud," he said in a low voice. "That may be the fastest anyone has ever gotten on my bad side."

His captive faced him and cocked his head to the side, eyebrows drawing together. "Really? 'Cause I'm looking, but I'm not really seeing a good side. Might be the lighting, you know, maybe if you just turn to the side a bit—"

That was enough. In one fluid motion, Atlas reached into his jacket, extracted his 45-millimeter, aimed, and fired without a second thought. The kid's annoying, cheeky voice broke into a strangled yell as the bullet embedded itself in his right leg just above the knee, and Atlas didn't bother to hide his satisfied smirk as his captive removed his feet from the desk and dropped them to the floor, doubling over in the chair with a grimace.

"That sense of humor may get you by in your world," Atlas said coldly as he strode across the room, "but here in my world, it's nothing but a detriment." He sat on the back edge of the desk and jammed the barrel of his gun under the kid's chin, forcing him upright. His smirk widened at the flicker of fear in his captive's eyes. "If you cooperate, you and I will get along fine. If not, you'll learn the hard way what it feels like to slowly bleed out within an inch of death. I've heard it's not pleasant." He pushed the tip of the gun harder against the kid's jaw and he cringed, looking nervous and frustrated, but no smart remark was forthcoming.

Another sharp knock broke through the moment of silence and Atlas straightened, stowing his gun back inside his jacket. He strode around the desk and opened the door to reveal a female agent whose name he didn't know.

"File on the captive, sir," she said with a nod, holding out a manila envelope. Atlas took it and thanked her before retreating back inside the office and closing the door.

"Leo Valdez," he read aloud the name on the top page once he'd opened the folder, and the kid turned to glare at him. "Twenty-three, from Detroit, Michigan. No living family of record. Let's see… Mother, Esperanza Valdez, deceased. No known father, huh?" He looked up and said with a small smirk, "So your mother was a tramp, was she? Never taught you right from wrong?"

Valdez's eyes widened as a furious snarl appeared on his face. He started to stand up, but made the mistake of putting weight on his right leg and dropped back to the chair with a grunt. He seemed to settle for shooting Atlas a fiery glare.

With a chuckle, Atlas returned his eyes to the file, flipping through the pages. "Ah, what's this? One charge of criminal activity. Age nineteen, convicted of accomplice to grand theft of the second degree, two years incarcerated in FDC Houston. So you've got a criminal record, do you? That certainly doesn't make this any better for you."

"What do you want?" Valdez asked sharply, his earlier humor apparently forgotten.

Atlas closed the file and set it down on the desk, leaning over it. "Information on a few choice individuals," he answered. "Information I think you can give me."

The corner of his captive's mouth twitched in a small smirk as he said, "'Can' and 'will' are two totally different things."

"Hm," Atlas muttered noncommittally, standing up straight. So the kid wasn't done defying him yet. No matter. Everyone had a breaking point. Atlas would just need to find his. "We'll see about that. Tell me, Mr. Valdez. What do you know about Percy Jackson?"

"Who?" Valdez responded, eyebrows slanting slightly. No recognition showed on his face. Atlas supposed it was possible he'd only met Jackson recently, or that Jackson had been using a false name. But something told him he wasn't getting the whole truth.

"Let's try again," Atlas decided, clasping his hands behind his back and stepping around the desk. "Where did you meet Annabeth Chase?"

Valdez raised an eyebrow. "What kind of a name is 'Annabeth'?"

"So you're saying you don't know her."

"Not ringing any bells."

The kid was a convincing liar. Atlas had heard Valdez use Chase's name himself, just before she and Jackson had escaped the Tower. Still, even the best liars had a tendency to lose their focus under duress. He wouldn't hold out forever.

With a short sigh, Atlas once again withdrew his gun from his jacket, noticing his captive's eyes flicker toward it and darken. "Allow me to try and clear your head for you. Maybe then you'll remember something." With a little smile, Atlas lowered his pistol and pressed the barrel against the bullet wound on Valdez's leg with a very generous amount of force. As he screamed through gritted teeth and hunched forward, Atlas leaned toward him and said, "I'll ask you again. Annabeth Chase. Where is she?"

"I—don't—know," Valdez growled slowly, his tone implying that he did, in fact, know the answer but was still stubbornly unwilling to share.

Atlas scowled and gripped the collar of his captive's shirt in his free hand, yanking him forward and forcing eye contact. "Leo—can I call you Leo?" Valdez's eyes narrowed apprehensively like Atlas had just asked him mid-interrogation how he took his coffee. "You know, it's strange—I wouldn't have pegged you for someone who likes pain. But if that really is the case, then, well… Before long I'll be your new best friend." He raised his eyebrows, letting his expression ask the question again. Valdez closed his mouth and held Atlas's gaze, refusing to speak. "Suit yourself," Atlas said, before letting go of Valdez's shirt and raising his gun to club him in the jaw.

Atlas stood straight, watching unconcernedly as Valdez leaned over and spit a glob of blood onto the carpet. Clucking his tongue, Atlas turned his back on his captive, pulling back the casing on his pistol and absently examining the firing chamber. "Normally, I don't mind drawing these interrogations out," he said in a calm voice. "But seeing as this situation is a bit… unique, I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of taking our time. It's a shame, really. I think you and I could benefit from some quality time spent together." He slid the casing on his gun back into place and opened his mouth to continue when suddenly a dull clink sounded behind his ear and before he could turn around a thin, metal chain was pulled under his chin from behind.

With a growl, Atlas reflexively reached up and tried to tug at the chain, anger flooding through him as he realized Valdez had gotten the jump on him and turned his handcuffs into a weapon. Struggling against the chain with one hand, he lowered the other and drove his elbow backward into the younger man's stomach. Valdez grunted but only yanked his arms harder, tightening his grip. Struggling for breath but refusing to give in, Atlas threw himself backward, slamming Valdez's back against the wall as hard as he could. His captive (he tried not think 'turned-captor') gave a raspy gasp and seemed to choke on his own breath, his grip loosening just barely as the wind was knocked out of him. By the time he'd recovered, Atlas had regained a steady his grip on his gun and was reaching around his body. He fired a shot under his arm, not wanting to fatally injure the criminal just yet. The bullet hit the wall with a thunk, but not before eliciting another sharp yell from Valdez. The bullet must have grazed his side.

Seizing the chance, Atlas yanked hard on the handcuff chain and ducked, leaning forward and causing Valdez to stumble to the side. He reached up and grabbed the criminal's sleeve, using it to heave him around and throw him to the ground beside him. Then he threw a vicious kick to the kid's ribs for good measure, catching his breath as Valdez rolled onto his side and doubled over in pain.

All false kindness gone, Atlas knelt over his captive and shoved him onto his back, pressing an arm against his neck. "Wrong move," he snarled, before putting a bullet in the kid's shoulder—just to make a point. Valdez's yell was harsh and gravelly, and brought Atlas a sense of satisfaction that helped to alleviate some of his frustration. He leaned down and let a cold glare harden his face, saying in a low voice, "You may think a lot of yourself for resisting up 'til now. But trust me when I say it won't last. You'll give me what I want, one way or another. I will break you, kid. And after that little act of defiance, I'm gonna love doing it." Valdez glared at him, even though Atlas could already see the weakness and exhaustion taking over his body and expression. He wasn't scared yet? Fine. Sooner or later that would change.

With a steely expression, Atlas pulled back his arm and slammed the grip of his gun against the kid's head, feeling his own body relax as Valdez's eyes slid closed and his arms went limp. With a ragged sigh, Atlas stood up and straightened his clothes, glaring at the unconscious kid on the floor of his office as though expecting him to get up and attack him. This wouldn't be an easy nut to crack. But the possible apprehension of Olympus was on the line, and crack it he would—no matter what he had to do.

Turning away, Atlas reached into his jacket and extracted his cell phone, switching it on and dialing a number. "Hyperion," a voice answered on the second ring.

"Agent Hyperion. It's Atlas. I need three operatives at my office ASAP."

"Of course, sir. Returning the captive to confinement?"

"Yes." Atlas turned and gave the Olympus sympathizer one final hard stare, saying into his phone, "And send for a medic. Our new friend seems to have hurt himself."

-0-0-0-
THE END
-0-0-0-

Yikes. And yes, because I'm a sucker for cliffhangers as you all well know by now, I am indeed going to leave you with this until the next book. I don't know when it'll be out, as I'm still in like the pre-outlining phase of planning, so not for a couple months at least. But it will appear eventually, I can promise you that.

So all that being said, we've finally reached the end of Bloodlust Book 2! HUGE thank-you to all my readers and a HUGER thank-you to all regular reviewers! I love you guys bunches - without you, I don't think I ever would've made it this far in this series. I probably would've stopped after one book had this not gotten as much love as it has. So you all have yourselves to thank for everything I've been able to come up with, haha.

I do have the summary for Book 3 finished, so, like last time, I'm going to share it with you now to give just a little taste in anticipation for whenever the book finally shows up. At the moment, I'm calling it "Kill Zone" (though that's subject to change because I haven't outlined it yet and something else may come to me), and the song I'll be using for the chapter intros is Fall Out Boy's "The Phoenix" (lyrics should give you an inkling of the tone I'll be going for). Summary goes a little something like this:

"AU. Sequel to Eagle Eye. Annabeth has accepted crime-ring Olympus as her family, but now only one thing stands in their way—Kronos and her CIA past. Taking Hades' words to heart—"It's us or them this time"—she and Percy prepare for one final stand against the agency. But Ground Zero of a blast is the most dangerous place to be, and they could lose everything before the war is done."

So yes, as you may have guessed by chapter 19, it'll be like a final standoff between Olympus and Kronos (appropriately enough, haha). But of course there'll be many twists and turns and side-drama along the way. I'm still toying with the idea of adding a few more POV characters aside from Annabeth and Percy. What do you guys think? It might depend on where I go with the plot, but we'll see. Either way, it will definitely be the end of this trilogy, so I'm gonna make sure we go out with a bang. ...Though hopefully not literally.

I can't say thanks enough, guys, really. It's been another really fun ride, seeing this story through, and I can't wait for the next one!

Happy Holidays, everybody, and later days!

-oMM