The Sea Tyrant's Obsession (PJO x ROR) 18+ WTM/WTS Book 1

*I Get A New Cabin Mate

The council room shook with the force of Zeus's rage, lightning crackling through the air. The other gods instinctively tensed, while some exchanged wary glances. Even those who often challenged Zeus's authority knew better than to provoke him in this state.

Hera placed a hand on her husband's arm, trying to steady him. "Zeus, calm yourself before you destroy this room. What's done is done."

"Calm myself?!" Zeus thundered, his eyes blazing with fury. "Someone dared to harm my daughter! I will kill the bastard!"

Hades frowned, arms crossed. "Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. Without Thalia's tree, the camp is vulnerable. Who would dare commit such an act? Could it be Kronos?"

Everyone stiffened at the suggestion.

"Please, not my ex-husband's counterpart," Rhea muttered worriedly.

Meanwhile, Hermes sat unusually still, his face unreadable. His fingers tapped against his thigh as he considered something, but he remained silent.

New title appears on the screen:
I Get A New Cabin Mate

The gods were surprised.

"Percy is getting a cabin mate?!" Zeus exclaimed. "Who?! Does this mean another demigod child of my brother will appear?!"

Poseidon looked just as shocked. "Another demigod child of mine?!"

How much of a whore is my counterpart?!

Then, the scene began.

Ever come home and found your room messed up? Like some helpful person (hi, Mom) has tried to "clean" it, and suddenly you can't find anything? And even if nothing is missing, you get that creepy feeling like somebody's been looking through your private stuff and dusting everything with lemon furniture polish?

"That is exactly how I feel when Mother comes to see my room," Zeus muttered.

"Zeus, I can hear you," Rhea says.

Zeus gulped. He slowly turned his head to see his mother crossing her arms, an unimpressed look on her face.

"I—I meant that in the most respectful way possible," he added quickly, flashing what he hoped was a charming smile.

Rhea did not look convinced.

That's kind of the way I felt seeing Camp Half-Blood again.

On the surface, things didn't look all that different. The Big House was still there with its blue gabled roof and its wraparound porch. The strawberry fields still baked in the sun. The same white-columned Greek buildings were scattered around the valley—the amphitheater, the combat arena, the dining pavilion overlooking Long Island Sound. And nestled between the woods and the creek were the same cabins—a crazy assortment of twelve buildings, each representing a different Olympian god.

But there was an air of danger now. You could tell something was wrong. Instead of playing volleyball in the sandpit, counselors and satyrs were stockpiling weapons in the tool shed. Dryads armed with bows and arrows talked nervously at the edge of the woods. The forest looked sickly, the grass in the meadow was pale yellow, and the fire marks on Half-Blood Hill stood out like ugly scars.

Many gods, especially those of the Greek pantheon, frowned at the sight, worry and concern evident in their eyes.

Somebody had messed with my favorite place in the world, and I was not ... well, a happy camper.

As we made our way to the Big House, I recognized a lot of kids from last summer. Nobody stopped to talk. Nobody said, "Welcome back." Some did double takes when they saw Tyson, but most just walked grimly past and carried on with their duties—running messages, toting swords to sharpen on the grinding wheels. The camp felt like a military school. And believe me, I know. I've been kicked out of a couple.