Halcyon [Leo Valdez x Reader]

God of the Weather Channel

“Wolves,” I said. “They sound close.”

Jason and I rose, summoning our weapons. Leo and Coach Hedge got to their feet too. Piper tried, but she winced and sat back down.

“Stay there,” Jason told her. “We’ll protect you.”

Piper looked upset, and I could understand why. She hated feeling useless, and that was probably exactly how she felt at that moment.

Then, just outside the firelight at the entrance of the cave, I saw a pair of red eyes glowing in dark.

More wolves edged into the firelight—black beasts bigger than Great Danes, with ice and snow caked on their fur. Their fangs gleamed, and their glowing red eyes looked disturbingly intelligent. The wolf in front was almost as tall as a horse, his mouth stained as if he’d just made a fresh kill.

I readied my trident to attack.

Then Jason stepped forward and said something in Latin. It took me a second to translate since it had been a while, but it was something along the lines of ‘Back off’.

I didn’t think a dead language would have much effect on wild animals, but the alpha wolf curled his lip. The fur stood up along his spine. One of his lieutenants tried to advance, but the alpha wolf snapped at his ear. Then all of the wolves backed into the dark.
“Well, I guess that did it,” I said.

“Dude, I gotta study Latin.” Leo’s hammer shook in his hand. “What’d you say, Jason?”

Hedge cursed. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t enough. Look.”

The wolves were coming back, but the alpha wolf wasn’t with them. They didn’t attack. They waited—at least a dozen now, in a rough semicircle just outside the firelight, blocking the cave exit.

The coach hefted his club. “Here’s the plan. I’ll kill them all, and you guys escape.”

“Coach, they’ll rip you apart,” Piper said.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Then I saw the silhouette of a man coming through the storm, wading through the wolf pack.

“Stick together,” I said. “They respect a pack. And Hedge, no crazy stuff. We’re not leaving you or anyone else behind.”

The wolves parted, and the man stepped into the firelight. His hair was greasy and ragged, the color of fireplace soot, topped with a crown of what looked like finger bones. His robes were tattered fur—wolf, rabbit, raccoon, deer, and several others I couldn’t identify. The furs didn’t look cured, and from the smell, they weren’t very fresh. His frame was lithe and muscular, like a distance runner’s. But the most horrible thing was his face. His thin pale skin was pulled tight over his skull. His teeth were sharpened like fangs. His eyes glowed bright red like his wolves’—and they fixed on Jason and I with absolute hatred.

“Ecce,” he said, “filli Romanis.”

“Speak English, wolf man!” Hedge bellowed.

The wolf man snarled. “Tell your faun to mind his tongue, children of Rome. Or he’ll be my first snack.”

A roman wolf, I thought, trying to rack my brain of mythology I’d already learned.

The wolf man studied our little group. His nostrils twitched. “So it’s true,” he mused. “A child of Aphrodite. A son of Hephaestus. A faun. A child of Rome, of Lord Jupiter, no less. And the fabled daughter of Neptune. All together, without killing each other. How interesting.”

“You were told about us?” Jason asked. “By whom?”

The man snarled—perhaps a laugh, perhaps a challenge. “Oh, we’ve been patrolling for you all across the west, demigod, hoping we’d be the first to find you. The giant king will reward me well when he rises. I am Lycaon, king of the wolves. And my pack is hungry.”