Page 17 of Vengeance of the Gods

When he glanced up at her from the floor, his face was cast under the shadow of the roof’s overhang. Chase’s eyes looked soulless, engulfed with a blackness only a nightmare could get right.

She took a step back, and from her new angle, Vega could see it wasn’t an illusion. Chase’s eyes were all black—no iris, no white. All black.

Fear stole her breath.

Move.

Vega ran back inside the apartment, grabbing her coat and boots on the way to the front door. She didn’t pause to put them on.

She had to get out of here.

Her chest burned with each panting breath, her inhales so loud she almost couldn’t hear Chase call after her with strangled words as she slammed the apartment door.

Vega’s pulse pounded in her temples, the rhythm dizzying. Steadying herself on the wall, Vega took a deep breath and fought through the ache returning to her head, darting down the three flights of stairs like she was being led by an invisible rope. Her feet told her where to go, letting her brain catch up as it went.

A familiar tug in Vega’s chest and the incessant itch of the brand on her wrist made her trip over herself as she exited the building.

She knew that feeling.

Nothing, not even the pain in her head, could get Vega to forget it.

Arlet.

Vega took off running, quickly realizing she was still barefoot.

She slipped into yesterday’s socks stuffed inside her boots, threw her coat on, and sprinted, finding the right track as the invisible tug drew her across the street and down the block.

People stared as she shot by, clearly not dressed for an afternoon run.

Vega dug her nails into the skin at her wrist when the crackle of the pain in her head returned. It reminded her of the time Junie, a soldier in Bridger’s army, had spent in her head, twisting and turning Vega’s abilities on herself.

The Colosseum stood tall as she approached, crowded with tourists excited to see one of The Seven Wonders of The World.

She caught a couple looks from a group walking by as she hopped onto an occupied bench. The older man sitting there scoffed and hopped up like Vega had jumped on his lap and not beside it.

The only words Vega could pick up from his quick Italian were “disrespect” and “youth.” If dude only knew Vega probably had at least twenty years on him.

She could see over people now, ignoring everyone’s curious glances.

Vega squinted through hazy vision to register anything more than a few feet away. A baby cried in the distance, a woman chatted on the phone in a foreign language, and a tour guide walked by, telling his group all about the history of the city. If only they knew a god walked among them now.

All the background noise and people faded away when a head full of curls came into view, bobbing down the path away from Vega.

“Arlet!” Vega called as she jumped off the bench and pushed her way through the crowd, earning some disgruntled responses from the tourists.

Her hand touched Arlet’s shoulder, and the tug in her chest tightened.

The girl swiveled around, her eyebrows drawing together. Not Arlet.

Pain sliced through Vega’s head again. She inhaled and stumbled back, her hands shooting to the sides of her head. “I’m so sorry,” Vega bit out, ignoring the look of concern on the stranger’s face. “I thought you were someone I knew.” She turned away before the girl could respond, wincing at the next jolt of pain.

What is happening to me?

Vega took a breath, trying to focus on something other than the pain. Commotion of a building crowd caught her attention in the distance.

The sensation in her chest went from a tug to an all-out drag. Her feet moved without an order from her brain. Vega caught bits and pieces of the words a panicked woman spoke near the center of the crowd.

Fell. Bleeding.