The Spartan of Olympus

9

Zoë's POV

"W-What?" Zoë croaked out, feeling her blood freeze. She was . . . dying? Poisoned? How had she even—

Zoë suddenly felt weak in the knees. Okay, she was an immortal huntress, but it doesn't mean she was fearless; Zoë was scared now. No, terrified. Zoë felt her body slowly fall to the ground, partly from venom, partly from shock, her eyelids drooping a little. She felt warm arms catch her, and as she tried to keep her eyes open, she managed to see two, glowing green orbs.

It her state of delirium, she muttered to herself, "Such pretty eyes . . . like Perseus's."

Then, her world slowly turned black as incomprehensible and muffled voices talked back and forth frantically.

Time Skip—Zoë's POV

Zoë awoke slowly, listening to the steady and lulling thump of her pillow, and relishing in the warm feeling that was rising in her chest subconsciously. She felt ridiculous tired and sedated, like someone had pumped her full of anesthesia. She, at the same time, felt the effects of her mortality (not literal mortality, of course, she was still partially immortal); she felt sweat rolling off her in buckets and her muscles were weak and strained, like she had run a triathlon without any training.

She heard muffled voices around her and she managed to peek open her eyes a bit to see a dark hood. She jolted from her sleepy state and was immediately petrified, until the figure spoke to her in a surprisingly soft and caring tone.

"Shh, you're okay, Zoë. You're alright," the masculine voice assured her.

She frowned, and realized she was in the boy's arms. She glared at his dark hood, unable to see anything but two glowing emerald eyes.

"Let go of me, you pervert! Where am I?" She asked angrily, still bewildered and delirious from her poison-induced nap.

It was Zoë's usual defense mechanism. She was in the arms of a boy, and she felt extremely vulnerable. She was weak and unarmed, and this male could easily over power her and have his way with her. So to compensate for her lack of physical ability, she began to yell insult after slur after offense.

"Zoë!" A feminine voice yelled, "Chill out! It's Arcus!"
Zoë identified the voice as Phoebe. But she was a determined man-hater! Slowly the events of the quest came back to her, causing the heat to rise to her cheeks in embarrassment. She looked away from Arcus's piercing gaze, and buried her face into his chest. Her blood froze as soon as she did it.

What was she doing?

She was lieutenant of the hunt, for Artemis's sake! Why was she allowing herself to be weak in the arms of a male! And now she was hiding in his chest! And this ugly but warm feeling arose in her stomach that she hadn't felt since . . . Perseus. And it terrified her. What if this boy wasn't who he said he was?

Arcus was carrying her bridal style, and Zoë was madder at the fact that she wasn't angry with him. She was angry that she enjoyed it.

"You're going to be okay, Zoë," Arcus assured her.

Zoë bounced slightly with each of his steps. She once again turned her face into Arcus's chest, inhaling his sea scent that seemed to calm her down from her furious rage that occurred only several minutes before. She was silent for a while, her onyx eyes stuck on Arcus's chest, which was covered in his stygian iron armor. Where had she seen it before? It was so familiar . . . right on the tip of her tongue . . .

"How long was I out?" Zoë asked finally, her voice raspy and weak.

"Several hours," Arcus's gentle voice responded, "we are almost at the Garden of the Hesperides."