A muted pounding reverberated through the walls, announcing exactly where Xan was. Athan walked into the matted room of the training arena in time to see Xan backfist a bag so hard the leather split. Clearly, he was still pissed.

Athan sat on a bench against the wall and watched while Xan moved to another bag hanging from the ceiling. There were two additional bags on the floor, one with a broken chain, the other torn along a seam. Athan looked up at the beam from which the bag was suspended and saw it had been reinforced. His attention returned to the demigod of war, and, after a series of strikes set the bag swinging, Athan wondered how many bags Xan would go through.

Xan struck rapid combinations of kicks and punches, and the bag rocked back and forth. The staccato rhythm of Xan’s attack was no fewer than eight techniques. Athan thought of potential counter attacks only briefly. The timing would have to be perfect. And with the irregularity of Xan’s count, and the rapidity of his techniques, he’d be a very difficult target. Xan’s movements were a blur of punches, knife-hand, and ridge-hand strikes that were followed with jumping spin kicks that would easily crush a man’s skull. The beating continued. Athan’s eyes felt heavy, and he leaned his head back against the wall to wait for a pause.

A loud thud followed by silence awoke him. Athan opened his eyes to see Xan walking toward him; two more bags now lay on the floor. Xan’s blue shirt was dark with sweat, and his face glistened. Despite the obvious signs of exertion, his breathing was still regular, and as he approached Athan, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a half-smile.

“Nice rest?”

Athan grunted. “I guess so. I didn’t think I was that tired.” He leaned his head side to side, stretching out his stiff neck muscles. “How long was I out?”

Xan shrugged. “Who cares?” He sat down and pulled a duffle bag out from under the bench. He wiped his face with a towel and pulled off his shirt. Bands of black tattoos covered his arms in Celtic patterns that climbed over his muscular back.

Athan knew the tattoos were a tribute to Xan’s mother and her Irish heritage. But Athan had never understood the reason behind marring one’s skin in memory of someone who’d never be forgotten anyway.

Rummaging through the bag, Xan pulled out a white T-shirt and put it on, the dark markings almost bleeding through the thin fabric. “Do you have an appointment to keep today?”

Athan couldn’t help but notice the disparity between the two of them. Xan was built like a professional MMA fighter—broad shoulders, narrow waist, and thick thighs of pure cut muscle. Athan’s frame was leaner, ropier muscle, like a marathon runner. It’s who they both were. Except that right now, Athan looked like an emaciated refugee. How fitting. “No. No agenda. But I was hoping we could talk.”

Xan sat down next to Athan, the bench reverberating with his weight. “What’s up?”

It was a bitter pill to ask Xan for help, and even more bitter to actually need it. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Xan exhaled slowly, and his shoulders fell. “She left.”

Athan gritted his teeth. “What do you mean she left? Voluntarily, or did you force her to go?”

Xan turned to face Athan and looked him squarely in the eye. “Come on, Athan. It was crazy here. Apollo came and killed his own sons then threatened to kill anyone that harmed her.” Xan ran his hand through his hair. “Death inside the conservatory. Threats from a god. You know what that means. And the fact that she’s a monster? The gods were bound to get involved.”

Athan wasn’t about to tell Xan the gods had been involved long before Hope came to the conservatory. Even Hermes was on the hunt for Hope. That was why Athan was originally hunting her. He should’ve contacted his father as soon as he’d found her the first time. Then none of this would have happened.

“It was the best I could think of, what with Obelia screaming for her death and Thenia demanding we contact the gods for a tribunal. A head start was the best I could offer.” Xan grimaced. “I thought I’d find her by now.”

Athan’s blood boiled. As if Xan really cared. Athan knew, he knew, how brutal Xan was when it came to monsters, and now he cared about Hope? Whatever act he was playing, it needed to stop. “Zeus Almighty. Enough with . . . this. You don’t really care, except what it means to you.” Athan glared at the other demigod. “What does she mean to you?”

Xan clenched his hands then released them, and his jaw tightened. But his gaze stayed rooted on the ground as he whispered his response. “Don’t assume to know me, Athan. You’ve been gone for years.” He swallowed and then fixed Athan with a stare. “If I recall correctly, you’ve claimed to have changed a little, too.”

There was no mistaking Xan’s meaning. The dig was well aimed, and it stung mostly because of its truth. There had been a time when Athan manipulated female demigods into believing he liked them romantically so he could get them to the conservatory. He’d justified his actions as the end justifying the means and never even considered how it might make someone feel. It was only when he’d started dating Hope, and his feelings had changed . . . Athan dropped his head in his hands. “How much do you know?”

Xan sat back with a sigh. “Only what she told me.” He explained how she’d come to the conservatory looking for information to break the curse. “But judging by the ash that’s still in the corners of her room, and the fact that she’s disappeared, she must not have found much.”

“Do you know where she went?”

Xan shook his head. “No. She said no one had ever broken a curse. But she had that look she gets when she’s determined. You know how her chin juts out?”

The fact that Xan knew her so well was like a punch to the gut. Athan merely nodded. Judging by how well she’d fought those Skia, she and Xan had spent a lot of time together. Maybe Xan really did care about her. The thought somehow made Athan feel worse.

Xan quirked a brow. “Did you know she had an aunt here in town?”

Athan shook his head. “It’s not really her aunt. Her name is Priska—”

Xan swore. He threw one glove across the room and swore again as he threw the second one. “Shite .”

“You know her?” Clearly.

“It’s the demigod she was staying with when I picked her up. She’s definitely not her aunt.” He swore again and kicked at his sparring bag. “She’s not in The Book .”

The Book of Demigods , their recorded listings of demigods and their divine parents.

Athan frowned. Hope hadn’t told him much about Priska when they were in Goldendale, only that she was like family and she’d gone missing. While at the conservatory, he’d overheard Ty and Tre bragging about beating the crap out of Priska, and because it was such an unusual name, he’d put two and two together. He didn’t even know she’d come back, but it made sense why Hope came to Seattle when she ran from Goldendale.

But who was Priska? Demigods were all listed by their parentage somewhere. “You mean she’s not in the one here?”

“She’s not in any of them. I went through the entire Olympian database. There is no Priska. Are you sure that’s her real name?”

The records went back hundreds of years. Maybe even thousands. Athan shrugged. “I’ve never met her, but that’s the name Hope always used.”

Xan let out a slow, controlled breath. “I don’t know who she is, but someone matching her description has popped up in conservatories around the world in the last year. Athens, Greece, then a few weeks later in Nashville, Tennessee, and she was here the night Hope disappeared. Obelia slammed the door in her face.”

Athan rolled his eyes, and his frustration with Obelia ballooned. Not that it would do any good. “But we know she’s a demigod? Have you seen her mark?”

Xan shook his head. “I’ve never been that close. But she’s a demigod all right. I’ve talked to her on the phone. She called the conservatory before we picked up Hope. She knows way too much to be anything else.”

“Why is she helping Hope?” Athan couldn’t think of a single reason a demigod would knowingly befriend a monster. “What does she have to gain?” It made no sense. A chill danced across his skin, and he shivered.

“No idea,” Xan said with a shrug. He stood, grabbed his bag, and took two steps toward the door, then turned and came back to the bench, standing over Athan. “You’re no good the way you are. Thenia is supposed to be back next week with her mum. I’m going to be gone. You need to be well afore then or I won’t take you with me, right?”

Xan was going to search for Hope again. Of course he was. He was nothing if not tenacious. But Athan wasn’t going along. He needed to find her first. Which meant a call to his father.

Athan nodded. “Right.”

As soon as Xan left, Athan locked the door and pulled out his phone.

Hermes answered on the second ring. “Yeia sou ?”

“Dad?”

Hermes laughed. “Athan! It’s great to hear your voice. How are you?”

“Fine. Fine.” Athan told his dad how he’d found Hope at the conservatory only to have her disappear again. “I just want to find her so I can help.”

His father said nothing, and Athan wondered if they had been disconnected. Was that even possible on his father’s phone? “Dad?”

“I’m surprised you would even consider that,” Hermes said.

Athan flinched from the steel in his father’s tone.

“What madness is this? We’re talking about the monster that almost got you killed a couple of weeks ago. Olympus was in an uproar after Apollo killed his sons over her. And now you want to put yourself in more danger for her? Are you even recovered from the Skia’s blade?”

“I . . . I’ll be okay.”

But his father continued in the same harsh tone, “She is selfish and dangerous, and you should leave her alone.”

Athan reeled. “How . . . How can you say that?”

“Wait. You . . . think you love her? Is that what this is?” When Athan didn’t respond, Hermes continued, “Mother Gaia! She is a monster.”

Athan sat on the padded floor in shock. Since he’d woken up, he’d be surprised over and over again by the vitriol against Hope. But his father? This vehemence was so unlike his normally supportive attitude. And surely he understood that Hope’s curse wasn’t her fault. “We’re talking about Hope.”

Athan felt like his world was upside-down. He stared up at the exposed beams, wondering if he was going to wake up in bed in a few hours. No, if he were dreaming, he wouldn’t feel so awful. His father was speaking again, and Athan tuned in hoping there would be a way to reason with him.

“Son, everyone around her dies. She is cursed and spreads that destruction everywhere she goes.” Hermes sucked in a deep breath. “Stay away from her, Athan. Don’t ask me to help you find her. The best I can say is that I hope she stays gone.”

Athan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Protest after protest ran through his mind. What his father was saying was preposterous. It was insanity. Athan tried to think of a way to tell Hermes what Hope meant. How unfair life had been for her. How much potential she had. How much good.

“One day you’ll see I am right. Let her go. She’s not worth your time.” Hermes sighed. “She’s not worth your life.”

As if Hope would ever ask for any of that.

“I’ve got to go,” Hermes said. “I’ll come see you in a week or so. In which conservatory are you residing?”

“Seattle,” Athan whispered; his world tilted and rolled, totally out of control. His father, his rock, hated Hope.

Athan disconnected the phone and looked around at the gym. He needed to be ready to go when Xan went back out looking for Hope.

Athan spent the next few days rotating his time between the kitchen, his bed, and the treadmill. By the fourth day, he was able to run five miles without stopping, and he could’ve done more. He was finally healing. On the fifth day, he ran twenty miles in under ninety minutes. Not anywhere close to his best time, but he was well enough to be on his way.

Now, if he only knew where he needed to go.