[2] 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐘 , p. jackson , j. grace

ii. nico is literally my child

CHAPTER TWO ───────────
✧₊˚｡({  NICO IS LITERALLY MY CHILD  })

" summer child CONAN GRAY "

{ ELORA }
JUNE 23RD, 2010
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THE GROUND MOVES UNDER HER. It vibrates with each slow, foreboding footstep. She feels her body match its terrifying rhythm. Her trembling fingers curl around the handle of her gladius. It's become second nature to her. The weapon has practically glued itself to her side now. She can't afford not to have something to protect herself with. Even if she really hates swords. She much prefers a pilum because they're long-distance and, you know, she doesn't actually have to get close to the bloody monsters to kill them.

          The thundering steps grow louder causing the small cave she's hidden herself in to shudder violently. She squeezes her eyes shut, willing the monster not to notice her here. Her heart hammers wildly as it rumbles closer.

          She has to keep herself from gasping out loud when she opens her eyes just in time to see a large foot pass by the tiny hole in which she'd squeezed herself through to get in here.

          She forces herself not to move, listening to the sound fading quickly. Elora almost cries out of relief. She swipes a hand over her face, sticky with sweat and dried tears, remembering all the other times when she hadn't been so lucky. All the horrible horrible times when she'd had to fight until she died and woke up again. Exactly like Gwen had at camp a few days ago. Roma, Percy, Hazel, and Frank must still be on their quest to free Death. Or maybe they're dead. Just thinking about it makes her want to throw up.

          Elora sits up, fixing the makeshift bandage on her wrist. She'd dislocated it a few hours ago when she'd fallen from a tall cliff and caught herself by that arm before she could die again. It had popped out of its socket as soon as her fingers came into contact with the ledge.

          She rubs her throbbing eyes with her good hand and lightly taps the shoulder of the boy sleeping beside her. It's futile as always. That boy is like a Medusa victim whenever he sleeps. She sighs and leans closer to his ear.

"Wake up," she whispers, her voice sugary sweet and spiked with the extra charm she needs when speaking to someone who isn't actually attracted to girls. Not that he knows, she knows. But, well, it's obvious to a daughter of Venus like her.

Nico flinches and is up in a second, his hand on the hilt of his Stygian Iron sword in an instant. His face is pale and his dark brown eyes sunken in agony and worry. He looks painfully thin but moves with the agility of a healthy, athletic teenager.