"The Olympians have been called many things, but forgiving is not one of them."
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[adventure, dark comedy, romance - book 1]
Loyalty. What did it mean?
As the Second Titan War raged across the United States, Half-Bloods began to pick sides...
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IT ALL WENT WRONG IN PHILADELPHIA. It turned out the nickname "Broad Street Bullies" didn't come just from Philly's NHL team, but from the overabundance of grumpy Laestrygonians that roamed the streets.
Alex dodged a low tree branch. It stung his cheek as the end of it bit into his skin as he sprinted past. He never wanted to see Philadelphia again. True, he hadn't expected smooth sailing all the way to Washington, DC, but it had been going so well. Just, so well.
The Grey Sisters' taxi had taken them to the outskirts of Manhattan. They didn't hear a peep from monsters in the greater New York City area. From there, they'd bussed south. While being squashed in a bus hadn't been the most comfortable way to travel, it had been safe.
Ophelia had napped. Kitty just ate fruit chews. Alex had watched the world go by. Mostly that meant concrete, commuter cars, and massive eighteen-wheelers as they sped up and down I-95. Then they'd hit Philly.
When the first Laistrygonian had turned towards them at the bus stop, Alex briefly thought he was some disgruntled Philadelphian tired of hearing New Yorkers infiltrating their city. But then he'd seen the teeth, and the truly disgusting haircut, and known they were screwed. Especially when the Laistrygonian whistled and five more ogre-like monsters stood up out of the crowd.
So he'd grabbed Ophelia and Kitty and just started running. As Alex dodged yet another tree root, he cursed the city of brotherly love. It seemed as though they hadn't stopped running since.
They kept I-95 in sight. Alex had guided him best he could through forests and fields and little rural towns too small for monsters to care about. 48 hours ago, they'd left Camp Half-Blood to zero fanfare and much lamenting.
48 hours later, Alex sprinted through a forest just north of Baltimore, hellhounds nipping at his heels. He could hear Ophelia and Kitty up ahead. He made them go first. Ophelia couldn't do much but swing her dagger during the day, and Kitty, while handy with a sword when necessary, had never been the best at melee combat. So Alex let the dogs breathe down his neck. It wasn't the first time hellhounds tried to kill him. And he guessed it wouldn't be the last.
Early morning light and the blood of Hermes guided his footing. He clasped Vindication in his hand, still in bracelet form. Howling and pounding paws sounded behind him. He'd hoped the trees would slow the dogs down. But it didn't seem to do much.
Alex stumbled. He cursed as he fell to the ground, throwing his hands out to slow his fall. His face met leaf litter and stones. It took a moment for the air to refill his lungs. Baying of hounds and gnashing teeth grew closer and closer. Alex felt himself shaking. He had more to live for now than he ever had in the Battle of Manhattan. But his muscles wouldn't respond. Not quickly.
He rolled onto his back. A black hound's fanged face blocked out the trees and sky above. Where its tar-like drool fell, his skin sizzled and burned. Alex screamed in anger. Channeling every drop of fury in his body, he summoned Vindication as a sword. The shining celestial bronze blade sliced straight up through the hellhound baring down on top of him.