"Nope! No way! I'm not getting on that ship! I get seasick!"
Cyd, the same guy who'd just flattened a hot-headed hero like it was nothing, now had his arms wrapped around a rock like it was his last lifeline. He looked more like a scared toddler than someone with two divine blessings. So much for composure.
The hunter who'd been guiding him—a gruff, middle-aged guy with a permanent five o'clock shadow—glanced between him and Hercules with a face that said "This isn't in my job description."
"I didn't know you got seasick, Cyd," Hercules said, giving him a friendly pat on the back that probably registered on the Richter scale. "It gets better after the first few days. Trust me."
No, it's not the boat. It's you people.
Cyd wanted to kick himself. He'd let his guard down. The blessings had gotten to his head. How had he missed the red flags? This wasn't just any ship. This was the Argo. And that was Jason. As in Jason and the Golden Fleece. And the rest of the ship? Crammed with legendary heroes, each one more dramatic than the last.
A wild-eyed girl with a bow—definitely the stabby type—was eyeing him like she'd just spotted her next prey.
Nope. Absolutely not. Out of all the ships in the world, why did it have to be this one?!
Cyd's nails scraped against the rock as he dug in like a cat being dragged to a bath.
"If he doesn't want to come, leave him," Jason said from the deck, clearly unimpressed. He hadn't even wanted Cyd onboard—until he'd seen him knock someone out cold. That had piqued his interest… slightly.
"We need him, Jason," Hercules muttered, scratching the back of his neck.
And then, in true demigod overkill fashion, Hercules just… picked up the whole rock. With Cyd still clinging to it.
"Good luck, kid!" the hunter called, waving as Cyd was dragged off like a barnacle.
"Oh, Cyd," a voice purred.
He turned just in time to see Atalanta narrowing her eyes.
Help, Cyd screamed internally.
Aboard the Argo…
Jason watched Cyd grip the railing like it was the only thing keeping him from leaping to his doom. "You sure he's okay?"
"For the third time," Hercules replied, "it's seasickness. Give it a day."
Jason wasn't convinced. Seasickness didn't usually make people hug railings like life preservers.
"He's got… a charm," Hercules offered.
Jason arched a brow. "Charm? You mean the ghost-pale skin and the 'I haven't slept in three days' vibe? Or are we talking about the please-don't-kill-me energy?"
He wasn't the only one noticing. Atalanta, wild and graceful like a lioness mid-stalk, was sneaking up behind Cyd.
"…Okay," Jason said, nudging Hercules. "Heads-up. She's about to pounce."
Hercules blinked. "Pounce?"
"Women are like that sometimes," Jason said with a sigh. "When they find someone… interesting."
He glanced at Atalanta again. "Shame. Thought I had a shot with her."
Atalanta lunged.
"You—come with me," she growled, wrapping an arm around Cyd's neck like it was a headlock and dragging him below deck.
"Help—mmph!"
"Told you," Jason said, whistling. "Whether he's the hunter or the hunted, Cyd's in for it."
"Sounded like a cry for help," Hercules noted.
"Yeah, well. So do most guys the first time Atalanta drags them off. He'll be fine."
Below deck…
"I'm just gonna say this upfront," Cyd said, trying not to panic as Atalanta straddled him and pulled out a dagger. "If you've got some vendetta against a white-haired guy, it's not me. We barely know each other."
She didn't blink. "Exactly. And yet for three years, I've had one question stuck in my head."
"That's a long time to hold a grudge."
"Why," she said, emerald eyes gleaming, "did Artemis say you were the Moon's child?"
Cyd stared. "That's what's been bothering you for three years?"
Her silence was answer enough.
"Lady," he muttered, "you're nuts."
He headbutted her.
"Ow—!" Atalanta tumbled backward, clutching her forehead.
Cyd sat up, brushing himself off. "Look, 'Moon's child' doesn't mean what you think. I'm not tied to some goddess. I don't even like full moons. Bad lighting."
Was that technically a lie? Maybe. But semantics were survival right now.
"I'm not planning on staying, okay? Just… pretend I'm not here."
Atalanta snorted. "Do you know how many people would kill to be on this ship?"
"Well, I'm about this close to jumping off it."
"I don't like these people either," she said, eyes narrowing. "But I'm here to prove something."
"You can prove stuff somewhere else, you know," Cyd replied, crawling away. "Somewhere not surrounded by gods' favorites and people with six-packs of doom."
"I'll figure it out myself," she said, sheathing her dagger. "But this ship's headed to Colchis. The Golden Fleece. This won't be some weekend cruise."
"Good," Cyd muttered. "First port we hit, I'm off."
"Try it," Atalanta said, almost cheerfully, "and I'll put an arrow through your skull."