The Struggle(30)

The Titans tended to forget to feed us, and when they did, it was like they purposely found the most disgusting things to eat, but when hunger gnawed at our insides, we didn’t really care what we put in our mouths. We became desperate.

I was that desperate.

Opening my eyes, I squinted into the darkness. I was alone again. I hadn’t seen Mitchell in a while, and I had no idea if he was alive or if he was like . . . like that poor girl.

Before I’d been taken away, the girl had begun to . . . to decompose. The stench had been choking. The female Titan—Tethys—had finally removed the bound demigod’s body and had done so without an ounce of care or respect for her. The Titan had grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her body out of the room. Dragged her.

A shudder racked me.

I was now kept in a smaller room with a packed dirt floor that smelled of roots and mold. There might be mice in here, but I tried not to think about that.

I tried not to think about a lot of things.

I had no idea how many days passed since Hyperion had snatched me off the cliffs in Malibu. There’d been at least three, because I had been allowed to spend time in the sun three times when Hyperion had taken me above, and it had felt like days had passed between those times, but I couldn’t be sure other than that there was a pattern emerging to his visits.

Hyperion would feed.

Another shudder worked its way through my body as I pulled my legs up to my chest. Sometimes he’d do it like Seth . . . like Seth had done—like when Seth had fed off me and I hadn’t even noticed, but Hyperion made damn sure I knew exactly what he was doing. He’d press his hand into my sternum until the skin bruised, and I’d fight until the pain took over and all I could do was breathe through it.

It felt like every cell in my body was being scattered and the skin sliced off the muscles with a rusty butter knife, and I couldn’t fight that. No matter how strong or brave I tried to be, the pain was all-consuming, and all I could do was shrink away from it, pray for an end, for the blissful nothingness that eventually followed.

Other times Hyperion . . . he was like a daimon.

He used his teeth.

Resting my head on my knees, I folded my arms behind my calves. There was one bite mark along my right wrist, just below the gold band. Wasn’t exactly deep, but it was bruised and raw, and it was healing. At least, I thought it was. The other on my left arm was rougher and fresher. The skin didn’t feel right and it still oozed blood, or maybe some other kind of fluid I didn’t want to think about.

Could demigods get infections?

I had no idea.

Wasn’t like there was anyone I could ask.

Once Hyperion was done, I’d be left alone for what I guessed was a day, maybe longer, to give my body time to replenish the stolen aether, just like a mortal body replenishes lost fluids and cells. That’s what Hyperion had explained . . . or taunted. It wasn’t like he actually conversed with me. Neither did the female Titan.

She was as cruel as Hyperion, perhaps even more so, but she was also afraid. That much I could tell, but Hyperion wasn’t. Not at all.

It felt like a lot of hours had passed since I’d seen Hyperion last, and that meant Hyperion would be returning soon.

And I knew what would happen.

He’d order me to follow him, and if I didn’t, he’d drag me from here. Literally. Then he would take me through what had turned out to be a warehouse, out through the loading docks and into the empty parking lot. He didn’t just let me sit out there and soak up the sun.

Oh no.

He had to talk.

And then he’d haul me back inside. I would fight at first, no matter how pointless it was, because I had to. He always won those battles, but I had the bruises to prove I didn’t go softly into the night or whatever.

I wasn’t sure if I could go through it all again.

I didn’t want to.

A raspy moan escaped me, and I lifted my hands, sliding them through the dry, matted hair, tugging it back from my face. My hair felt coarse and gross, as did the clothes I wore.

I hadn’t showered since I came here. I knew I stunk, and I was okay with that, because I preferred to look as unappealing as possible to Hyperion.

Lowering my hands, I let them fall to my sides. My body tensed as I thought I heard footsteps. Air catching in my throat, I lifted my head and strained to hear more.

Hope that someone, anyone, was going to rescue me had fizzled out and died after the second time Hyperion had fed on me, because I . . . I had screamed for my father.

I’d screamed for Seth.

Tears of humiliation burned my eyes. I’d screamed for him until my voice gave way, and Hyperion laughed.

Apollo never came.

And Seth . . . he never answered.

He’d left me, and even though I’d planned to find him, to prove that I loved him and to show him that he was worthy of that love, he’d left me and I . . . I was here.