Battle for the Blood by Lucienne Diver

Author:Lucienne Diver [Diver, Lucienne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Paranormal & Urban
Amazon: B00MB7B23E
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2014-09-15T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The snarling and cursing could only come from a full set of vocal cords and unmitigated rage. Lyssa was awake.

The door to the bathroom blew open on its hinges, taking part of the doorjamb with it, and Lyssa appeared like an apparition, feet not even touching the floor, hair flying out around her, crackling with power that couldn’t be contained. Her torn dress and exposed limbs were streaked with dirt and blood.

She looked like a pissed-off Fury, and she was laser-focused on Hera.

“You!” she howled.

Hera’s face went white when she saw Lyssa, and she immediately stammered, “I promise, I don’t do that anymore. Since I split from Zeus, I’m a whole lot more centered. I help women now. I’m making amends!”

Michelle stepped in front of her, like Hera had done back at their office, but her wispy figure barely hid the goddess’s statuesque form. “It’s true.”

Regardless, Lyssa’s eyes had begun to bleed, and I could feel her rage reaching out, sweeping the room, raising my blood pressure and my bile. Rage bubbled up inside me, boiling, percolating, threatening to make me blow my top off—and not in the fun way Hermes would probably appreciate. I took a step toward Hera, half ready to rip her limb from limb myself.

Cori leapt first, but Michelle saw her coming and jumped to protect Hera. Cori’s body hit hers, sending her crashing to the coffee table. If this had been a Hollywood set, the table would have been glass, and the impact would have shattered it, sending blood and shards flying, but it wasn’t. The sharp thud of the bodies hitting barely impacted my brain. What did register was that I now had a clear shot at Hera.

My wings whipped out instinctively to help propel me, their abject failure and the pain that shot through me at the attempt didn’t stop me. Neither did Apollo’s arm, which lashed out to intercept. I thrust it aside, whirling to dodge as he tried to turn it from a block to a grab.

“Tori!” he yelled.

I didn’t hesitate, but sent myself at Hera in a flying tackle. I didn’t know why Apollo could even think to stop me. Myths had it that Hera had chased Apollo’s very own mother Leto (pregnant with Zeus’s twins) out of Olympus and made it so no place would accept her for fear of incurring Hera’s wrath. She’d had to deliver her twins all alone on a deserted island and could very well have died in childbirth, which was no doubt the intention. I couldn’t believe there was enough therapy in the world to get over something like that.

The second I should have crashed into Hera with the weight of Tornado Tori, the world glitched, flickered—

—and suddenly I was stumbling, full momentum and nothing to take the impact but a wall that was a lot closer than it should have been. I crashed into it, knocking the bottom of the framed play poster askew so that it swung dangerously, threatening to come down on me.

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