Percy Jackson Series. Annabeth Chase X Male Reader Story

We Bond Over Military Grade Weaponry

Annabeth's POV

"Any word on Luke?" Percy asked in the middle of our long taxi ride away from the school he almost torched. I shook my head. I wished he hadn't asked, I don't like talking about him, but I couldn't blame Percy, he must have been as anxious about finding Luke as I was.

For a whole different reason, I wouldn't be surprised if Percy just wanted to kill Luke outright, he only saw the former head counsellor for Hermes who had betrayed us and joined the evil Titan Lord Kronos.

But I knew Luke was still in there, the real Luke. The Luke that Percy had never met, and now with Thalia away with the hunt and Grover still searching for Pan, I was sure I was the only person left that cared about getting Luke back safe. I had to, he had to be redeemable. I was sure of it.

"Mount Tam is still overrun with monsters," I said after a bit of silence. "I didn't dare go close, but I don't think Luke is up there. I think I would know if he was." I explained, "What about Grover?" "He's at camp," I said. "We'll see him today."

"Did he have any luck? I mean, with the search for Pan?" Percy said, blissfully unaware of the changes that camp had undergone while he was away, I didn't have time to explain it to him, even on this long a taxi ride, so I settled for "You'll see."

As we headed through Brooklyn, Percy used my phone to call his mom. Half-bloods try not to use cell phones if we can avoid it, because broadcasting our voices is like sending up a flare to the monsters: 'Here I am! Please eat me now!' But I figured this call was important.

We rode in silence after that. The city melted away until we were off the expressway and rolling through the countryside of northern Long Island, past orchards and wineries and fresh produce stands.

The taxi exited on Route 25A. We headed through the woods along the North Shore until a low ridge of hills appeared on our left. I told the driver to pull over on Farm Road 3.141, at the base of Half-Blood Hill.

The driver frowned. "There ain't nothing here, miss. You sure you want out?" "Yes, please." I said politely as I handed him a roll of mortal cash, and the driver decided not to argue. We hiked to the crest of the hill.

The young guardian dragon was dozing, coiled around the pine tree, but he lifted his coppery head as we approached and let me scratch under his chin. Steam hissed out his nostrils like from a teakettle, and he went cross-eyed with pleasure.

"Hey, Peleus." I cooed, "Keeping everything safe?" Last summer the dragon he'd been six feet long. Now he was at least twice that, and as thick around as the tree itself. Above his head, on the lowest branch of the pine tree, the Golden Fleece shimmered, its magic protecting the camp's borders from invasion.

The dragon seemed relaxed, like everything was okay. Below us, Camp Half-Blood looked peaceful—green fields, forest, shiny white Greek buildings. The four-story farmhouse we called the Big House sat proudly in the midst of the strawberry fields.

To the north, past the beach, the Long Island Sound glittered in the sunlight. Still . . . something felt wrong. There was tension in the air, as if the hill itself were holding its breath, waiting for something bad to happen.

We walked down into the valley and found the summer session in full swing. Most of the campers had arrived last Friday, so I already felt out of it. The satyrs were playing their pipes in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow with woodland magic.

Campers were having flying horseback lessons, swooping over the woods on their pegasi. Smoke rose from the forges, and hammers rang as kids made their own weapons for Arts & Crafts.

The Athena and Demeter teams were having a chariot race around the track, and over at the canoe lake some kids in a Greek trireme were fighting a large orange sea serpent. A typical day at camp.