Zeus

• XXXVII •

Yay! An update! Thanks to all the people who commented their age, because I'm seriously curious on what age groups read my story. I'm sixteen going on seventeen in less than three months!! Now, where do y'all live? It would COOL AF if people outside the US read Zeus. Just remember that everything happens for a reason, friends. :) Enjoy the chapter. -May

Later on during the day, the hours of sleep that I missed from tossing and turning in my bed last night suddenly caught up to me; and since I couldn't go anywhere without Josephine's permission, I was stuck in the small clinical with the uncomfortable bed and rough sheets.

To make myself feel better about the rock—I mean, the bed I'm forced to lie on, I begged Zeus to lie with me. I, of course, gave him the puppy eyes and the pouted lip, which I knew he fell for once his blue gaze dropped to my pouted lip and his chiseled jaw clenched.

A giggle escaped me when he dramatically sighed but got in bed with me, taking up most of the width of the clinic bed. Because of that, I was careful of my IV and shifted my body to be on top of Zeus'.

Zeus grunts under his breath and shifts my body slightly to his left. We then click into place. Our bodies fit perfectly. With my cheek resting where his heart is, my IV hand placed across from my face on his chest and my other hand tangled into his hair, I close my eyes and inhale his scent that drives me insane. Fresh pine woods and spices.

The lower-half of my body is intertwined with Zeus' legs, and Zeus wraps his arms around lower back and his hands play with the edge of my shirt that's embarrassingly covered in speaks of his and Ryder's blood from the fight.    

The cracking of the firewood being the only sound, besides my and Zeus' breathing, lulls me to sleep.

At first, I don't dream about anything. I'm just there, waiting for something, or someone. The brightness that shines in my eyes softens to a gentle shine, making it easier for me to see what's in front of me. But holy shit, I think. What's in front of me makes my heart stop beating and my stomach to practically drop out of my ass from fear.

I'm still dreaming, though. Because it's not humanly possible for me to teleport to the middle of the territory where not a single snowflake covers the forest's ground and the breeze that's rustling my blonde hair is crisp but warm. Spring, maybe?

But instead of snowflakes covering the ground, blood and torn ligaments—feet, legs, chests, arms, heads—are scattered everywhere. It looks like a massacre. My body can't move; I want to run away from it all as the blood-gushing body parts move across the grass and connect back together, forming human bodies that hiss my name from their bloody mouths.

Bile rises up my throat; they get closer and closer.

"Aurora, Aurora, Aurora," They smugly hiss together.

I push myself with as much strength inside of me to run away from the monsters, but I can't go anywhere. My feet feel like blocks of cement that are chained to the ground. They're a foot away from me, and the stench of their bodies hits my nostrils, burning the hairs and making me gag in disgust. They smell so pungent.

"Aurora," One torn woman mockingly laughs as she sees my struggle to run away as clear as the spring sky above us. "Poor, weak Aurora." She tsks. "Aurora!"

They suddenly launch at me, laughing from joy, and wrap their disgusting hands around my shoulders.

The scream that tears through me is murder, and I jolt awake with my heart erratically pounding against my rib cage. I recognize the clinical room I was assigned. The pictures, the fireplace, the window. But the smell of those monsters tickles my nose like a faint memory.