In New Rome, there was just one unofficial rule to surviving and thriving for demigods and mortals alike.
Avoid the son of Neptune. At all costs.
If that wasn't an option, due to one's job or bad luck, it was still possible to walk away from an encounter with him alive and unscathed. When in the son of Neptune's presence, it was always the best practice not to draw his attention in any significant way. Nothing good ever came out of that man knowing your name and face.
But if your prayers to Fortuna went unanswered and he did take notice of you, what then?
Well, it was best to be courteous and deferential – not overly so, as the son of Neptune hated fawning, but a certain level of respect was necessary when addressing him. He had, after all, saved New Rome and it was by his mercy that they all continued to live in peace. It was never wise to question his authority and disobeying him was out of the question.
And if you insulted him? You might as well pick out a plot and dig your own grave. If the son of Neptune didn't kill you first, one of his fanatics would get to you next.
Within a week of moving to New Rome, Annabeth'd had this rule and its various intricacies memorized. Everyone she knew – her neighbors, her boss and co-workers, friends who had moved to the city before her – had stressed the importance of the son of Neptune to her straight away.
Even the cabbie who had picked her up from the airport had said, "Ah, a pretty girl like you? You'll do fine, so long as ya stay out of that Neptune bastard's way."
So, it wasn't like she hadn't been warned about him.
Still, it would have been much more helpful if someone – anyone – had bothered to show her a picture of the city's shadowy tyrant at some point during her first few months in New Rome. Annabeth had little interest in seeking out the son of her mother's most hated rival. But it would've been nice to know what the guy looked like, on the off chance she ran into him at the supermarket or at a social event.
Or, y'know, before she had a bad day and did something enormously stupid... like rip him a new asshole and then challenge him to a fight in the training arena.
In hindsight, that picture really would've saved her a lot of trouble.
+
Annabeth's Thursday started with an awful email.
An email from her ex, to be specific. Dave, the mortal she'd had a decently serious relationship with almost a year ago, had included her in an email chain announcing — what else — his engagement to the woman he'd cheated on her with.
Oh, and surprise!
They were going to have a baby and there were nauseatingly cute engagement/pregnancy announcement photos attached to prove it.
Asshole.
She'd never been in love with Dave, but she'd cared for him and he'd been the first man she'd trusted in a relationship, post-Luke. And what had he done with that trust? Betrayed her, like the rest of the men in her life. That smarmy motherfucker didn't serve to be happy, let alone have well-composed engagement photos, a drop dead gorgeous fiance, and a goddamn baby.
Worst of all, someone idiot had started a reply-all chain to Dave's email. She'd be getting alerts for it all day .
Annabeth threw her phone off the bed and buried her face in her pillow, letting out a scream of pure, primal rage.
Everything just got worse from there.
The heel on her favorite pair of boots caught in the grate at her subway stop and snapped clean off, sending her sprawling on the pavement. She twisted her ankle, tore a hole in her dress pants, and scraped her palm up something good, so she had to limp three blocks back to her apartment to change and dress her wounds.
Plus, she'd landed on her phone (which had survived the toss off the bed) in the fall and shattered the screen. Yay.
Not only was she late for work on the day she had to present to a VIP client, but somehow, she managed to spill her coffee on that draft designs for said client. She then realized she no back-up copies because her project partner – a lazy legacy of Mercury whose uncle owned the firm and primary job objective seemed to be getting in her way – had assumed the request was optional, like all tasks she assigned him.
Because she wasn't a talentless hack, she managed to salvage the presentation and sell the hastily made plans she'd drawn up from memory. But that didn't save her from being the only one called into the corner office for a dressing down for her unprofessionalism. She'd also been reminded that the firm had yet to see the top-notch designs and work ethic she'd promised when she's accepted their generous – and very temporary – fellowship.
By the time she left the office for the evening (late, of course), Annabeth's skin crawled with the need to hit something. It seemed like her standing reservation for a sparring field at the Fields of Mars training facility was the only fortuitous part of her Thursday... until she left the locker room and discovered that said field had been Bogarted by two Roman assholes who didn't understand how sign-up sheets and deposits worked.
She should've just called it a day and gone home then and there. A pint of coffee and chocolate chip ice cream was stashed in her freezer for days just like this, and Piper would come over with an expensive bottle of wine if she called and whined badly enough.
However, Annabeth wasn't her mother's daughter for nothing. If she wanted to make herself feel better by beating the shit out of someone, then by the gods, she was going to do it.
"I think we're going to have to reschedule," Gwen said by way of a greeting as Annabeth approached the bleachers. "All the other fields are booked and they're not going to be finished any time soon. Sorry, Annabeth."
"How long have they been at it?" she said stiffly, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at the men on her field.
She and Gwen were among a small crowd of people who had gathered to watch the two spar, which wasn't unusual. No matter how good of a fighter you became, it never hurt to watch and learn from others. Annabeth had learned just as much about Roman fighting styles from watching other training sessions than she had while sparring with Gwen. She recognized a few of the faces in the crowd, but not the men on the field.
Within moments, it was clear that they weren't ordinary legionaries. Their combined skill and power was visible in every move they made, with each clash of their weapons; these men were good – elite, even. Though the tall Chinese man was the most formidable opponent on the field, Annabeth's eyes were drawn to his shorter, dark haired companion.
He cut a striking figure in his armor and sparring gear, but that wasn't what had caught Annabeth's attention. There was a... wildness about him that other Romans lacked, an unmistakable aura of power. His footwork wasn't as graceful as his partner's, his strikes were fiercer and parries rougher, but every move he made was just as effective, if not more so. He'd clearly been trained within an inch of his life, but even that couldn't stop all that wild, raw power from seeping out.
And then, there was his sword.
All the Romans she knew fought with Imperial Gold weapons or nothing, but this man... he fought with a Celestial Bronze blade as if it was an extension of himself. He was surely capable of wielding any weapon that was put in his hand, but Annabeth instinctively knew that sword was his favorite. What kind of Roman had a Celestial Bronze sword?
"They were on the field when I got here, so probably at least an hour?" Gwen said, interrupting her thoughts. "I can talk Dakota into giving you your deposit back, if that's what you're worried about."
Annabeth's frowned deepened. She could handle the loss of a few drachmas, but that wasn't the point. No matter how good those inconsiderate Romans were, they had stolen her field and she wasn't just going to giveit to them without a fight.
"We're not rescheduling," Annabeth growling, watching the men move across the field. "They can finish this set and then I'm kicking them off."
Gwen's eyes widened. "Oh, Annabeth, I wouldn't. Really. I don't mind waiting another day or two if they want to keep going."
Annabeth stared at Gwen, surprised by her reluctance. Gwen wasn't big on conflict, but she also wasn't particularly meek – or so Annabeth'd thought. If the Roman men got huffy and macho when she kicked them off, well, too damn bad for them. Annabeth had reserved the field last week through the proper channels; they were in the wrong here, not her.
On the field, the fight was winding into its desperate conclusion. The man with the Celestial Bronze sword had backed his partner into a corner and, quick as a flash, sent his gladius spinning out of his hands and into the dirt a few feet away. The Chinese man held up his hands and panted out an audible, "Yield," as the point of the sword pressed under his chin.
The second man accepted his partner's surrender with a nod and pulled the sword away, and a smattering of applause broke out in the arena. The Chinese man waved to the spectators as he retrieved his sword, but the second ignored them, heading toward the opposite wall where their things were piled.
Annabeth watched as they each grabbed water bottles and began to talk, presumably about their fight, her annoyance growing with each passing moment. She waited for one of them to look at their phones and realize they'd gone over time, to put their weapons aside and start packing up, but no. They were gearing up to fight – again.
"That's it," Annabeth snapped, slamming her bag down on the floor and startling Gwen. She double checked that her knife was securely fashioned to her hip before she walked over to the arena's retaining wall and swung her legs over.
"Annabeth, don't, please — " Gwen hissed in alarm, reaching for her. Annabeth's shoulder slipped from her grasp as she pushed herself off the edge of the wall.
She dropped onto the field gracefully, despite the twinge from her twisted ankle that made her inhale sharply. The two Romans on the field didn't notice her, of course, but an anxious murmur rippled through the spectators as she started to stalk toward them.
"Hey!" she yelled. "Are you two just about finished?"
The Chinese man turned toward her, confusion wrinkling his brows. It only took him a moment to recover and then he was stepping in her path, his hand going to the hilt of his sword.
"Miss, you can't be down here."
"I don't care," Annabeth growled. It hadn't escaped her notice that he'd deliberately blocked her view of his sparring partner – what was he, some kind of bodyguard? He certainly was burly enough for the job. "You and your buddy have overstayed your welcome. The field is mine now."
She could make out emblems on his armor now that she was closer; at one point in his career, he'd been one of the Twelfth Legion's centurions. Annabeth spotted a hint of his legion tattoo under his vambraces – the tips of two crossed spears. Oh, that figured. Members of House Mars weren't known for relinquishing the battlefield, even in practice.
"The field is... yours?" the centurion said, that confused wrinkle appearing once more. His deep voice had a trace of a Canadian accent. "That's not right. You must be mistaken."
"I'm not. I've reserved this field every Thursday at 7 p.m. for the last six weeks," Annabeth glanced at her watch and gasped sarcastically. "And, would you look at that, it's 7:15. I want my field."
Judging by his frown, the centurion didn't appreciate her sarcasm. "Like I said, there was some kind of mistake. We've got priority for the rest of the night. I can – "
"If you say refund my deposit, I will explode."
" – adequately compensate you for your lost time," the centurion grit out. "But you can't have the field and you can't be here while we are. If you need someone to explain it to you, graecus," he jerked his thumb at the gawping on-lookers, "ask one of them. Now, get."
Annabeth did not, as he had suggested, get. Instead, she took a step forward, practically vibrating with rage.
"I've had an extremely shitty day, and I don't need your particular brand of Roman condescension to top of it. I am going to have to field and if I have to fight one of you to get it, then so be it!"
His eyes went wide at her declaration – not in fury at the challenge, as she'd expected, but panic. Before he could reply, a dark, derisive laugh echoed throughout the arena.
"You? Fight one of us?"
The centurion grimaced at the sound and Annabeth felt the entire mood of the training arena shift from eager anticipation to cold, wary tension. He shot her a look that clearly said, Now you've done it, before he reluctantly stepped aside.
His training partner stepped forward.
Up close, he was even more striking – a strong jaw, lined with dark stubble, high cheekbones, untamed dark hair – and his mere presence commanded attention in a way few men could. Annabeth couldn't stop looking at him if she'd wanted to. Despite the relaxed set of his broad shoulders and his casual stance, every inch of his muscled form screamed threat.
And not just a threat if she came upon him on a battlefield. If she met him in a board room or while crossing the street or at a bookstore, she'd think the same thing: threat. He could upend her entire world if she let him.
Which she wouldn't. She had learned her lesson with men like him.
"Yeah, me," she replied, throwing her hand on her hip. "You think that's funny?"
The Roman circled her, taking her in from the tips of her boots to the knot of curls at the top of her head. Annabeth tried not to stiffen under his gaze. He had eyes the color of sea glass; a girl could get lost in them, if she ignored the sharp edges the ocean hadn't yet soothed away.
"You're nothing but a graecus," he said simply. His gaze lingered on the silver owls dangling from her ears, and he smirked. "And a daughter of Minerva, at that. You wouldn't stand a chance against a true child of war like Frank here, let alone someone like me."
"Athena," Annabeth corrected, bristling. She didn't know where the Romans had gotten the idea that Greek demigods were lightweight warriors, but she'd had with being dismissed by them. And that went double for their constant mockery of her mother. "And we'll see if you're still saying that when I knock your ass into next week."
He arched an eyebrow at her and then traded a look with the centurion, Frank, as if to ask, Can you believe this chick? Frank shrugged and shook his head. The Roman turned his gaze back to her.
"You want to fight me ? You do know who I am, don't you?"
He had no identifying emblems on his armor and his long shirt sleeves covered his legion tattoo, but the rankling arrogance in his tone implied that he didn't need those things, that she should know him on sight. She didn't. That should've made her pause, made her think about who, exactly, she was trying to pick a fight with, but Annabeth's hubris was already raising its ugly head and lashing out.
"The better question is," Annabeth said, stepping into his space and poking him in the chest, "do you think I care who you are?"
Like something out of a movie, the entire arena gasped as one – someone might've even screamed. The Roman looked momentarily shocked that she'd touched him, his eyes darting to her finger and then back up to her face. Those green eyes narrowed, his expression darkening as he knocked her hand away. His casual front vanished in an instant, and Annabeth got a full taste of that raw power she'd sensed from afar. She could practically feel it surging under his skin, waiting to be released.
If she were a lesser demigod, his power might've sent her to her knees. But for someone who'd run with children with ozone and lightning their veins since she was seven years old, it was nothing she hadn't seen before.
"Fine. A fight it is," he said in a low voice. "Three rounds with your weapon of choice. Best two out of three gets the field. Frank will be the referee. Are those terms acceptable, daughter of Athena?"
"Perfectly," she said, baring her teeth. Her gaze darted to the sword at his hip. "That your weapon?"
He nodded, his fingers dancing across the hilt of the blade. Her knife wouldn't do her any good against him, so she turned and strode over to the arena's sword rack to mull over the middling selection of Celestial Bronze blades. Knives were her specialty, but Annabeth knew her way around a sword, too. She hadn't grown up in the shadow of Luke Castellan, the greatest Greek swordsman of the last century, without picking up some skills of her own.
She hadn't killed Luke without first becoming a match for him.
Annabeth grabbed one of the blades she'd worked with before; it was a bit shorter than the Roman's, she guessed, but it was good sword in a pinch. She swung it around once and then again before she was satisfied with her selection, and turned back to the center of the field.
Frank and the Roman were having a hushed conversation – the latter looking mighty uninterested in what Frank was telling him. Frank broke away as she approached, shaking his head in irritation. He fixed her with a glare as he passed.
"I hope you know what you're doing," he said, nodding his head in his companion's direction. "Once you start this fight, you're his until he decides he's done with you... and he won't take it easy on you 'cause you're a pretty blonde."
"Is that so?" Annabeth replied, lifting her chin. "Then I guess I won't take it easy on him because he's got a good looking face."
As far as comebacks went, it wasn't her best, and Frank rolled his eyes.
"Don't say I didn't warn you," he muttered ominously, and took his place on the edge of the arena.
Annabeth glared over her shoulder at him one last time before giving herself a good shake. She needed to focus on her fight, not get distracted by an off-hand comment. The Roman might be powerful, but it took more than power to defeat a child of Athena, especially one who had already seen her opponent fight.
She smirked to herself, rolling her shoulders and stretching out her arms. The Roman had no idea what he was going up against, while she'd already cataloged the strengths and weaknesses in his fighting style. This first round would be hers, easily.
He joined at her at the center of the arena, pulling his sword free from its holster and twirling it lazily. Annabeth dug her shoes into the sand and set herself in her starting form. The buzz of the arena faded as she met his gaze across the way.
"Fighters at the ready?" Frank asked. She and the Roman nodded at each other. "Begin!"
He was on her in an instant, sword swinging toward her head. Annabeth caught his strike with her blade, the impact rattling her down to her bones. She grit her teeth and pushed him off, meeting each of his next strikes with ease. The Roman came at her hard and fast each time. He was clearly hoping to scare her with his ferocity and then overpower her in a few moves. Another demigod might've succumbed under the pressure; Annabeth thrived on it.
Annabeth let him keep her on the defensive, using each blow to get used to his strength and speed. She was being driven back toward the retaining wall where, above, his fellow Romans jeered in the stands. Annabeth took note of his expression him as she dodged a particularly difficult move and… noticed he looked bored.
Bored! With her!
Annabeth's eyes narrowed, fury licking at her. Was he holding back against her? Did he really think he could beat her with anything less than his full strength?
Well, she'd show him.
She waited until he came in for a close hit and she struck, locking the hilts of their blades together and twisting. Luke had taught her this disarming move when she was a kid, and it never failed.
Sure enough, the Roman's grip broke and he dropped his sword. At the same time, Annabeth landed a hard punch on his jaw and then followed it by slamming her boot into his outer thigh, dropping him to his knees. She kicked his sword out of reach and pointed the tip of her own blade to the vulnerable skin of his throat.
"Yield," Annabeth said simply, her voice echoing in the sudden, shocked quiet of the arena.
As soon as the stars cleared from his vision, surprise flickered in those green eyes, followed in quick succession by disbelief and then, anger, as he stared up at her. He looked her over once again, as if he was actually seeing at her this time, and, when his eyes met hers again, he had settled on an emotion that made her heart skip a beat: interest.
"I wasn't expecting that. Impressive," he said in a low tone, only met for her. Annabeth arched an eyebrow and pressed the blade a bit more forcefully against his throat. He sighed and then said, louder, "I yield."
"Uh," Frank said incredulously. "First match point goes to... the daughter of Athena!"
Annabeth kept her blade where it was for two or three more seconds, just to make her point, before she pulled it back and allowed him to rise. She dug her foot under his sword and kicked it hilt up into her hand.
"Hold back in the next round," she said disdainfully, tossing it to him, "and I'll embarrass you even faster."
The Roman caught his sword and let out a bark of laughter, just as dark and deep as before. "You can certainly try, daughter of Athena. I welcome the challenge."
And a challenge it was.
Their second round started off slower, more a show of style and skill than brute strength, each of them testing the other's limits of swordplay and sparring. They challenged the other's weaknesses and found their strengths, landing inconsequential hits as they adapted at each new level. His blade caught Annabeth's cheek, leaving behind a painful scratch; she returned the favor a moment later, ripping a shallow, three-inch wound on his right arm.
Annabeth forgot her anger, their bet, and the crowd, becoming lost in the joy of the fight. It had been so long since she'd fought like this, free of restriction and with an opponent that was truly her equal — maybe even her better in some areas. It thrilled her, made every part of her that lusted and loved battle cry out in ecstasy, and she knew, just knew, it was the same for the Roman.
"What's your name?" he asked during a lull in their fight as they circled each other, contemplating their next move.
"Annabeth," she said, wiping blood from her face. "And yours?"
A slow grin crossed his face. "I thought you didn't care who I was."
"Well, now that I'm kicking your ass," Annabeth drawled, shrugging casually. "I thought it might be polite to ask."
"Percy. My name is Percy," he said. He paused, as if waiting for some sign she recognized his name When she didn't, he twirled his sword and continued. "The sword's name is Riptide, in case you're wondering."
Annabeth couldn't help herself — she laughed. "I wasn't."
"Pity," he sighed dramatically, before he charged at her once more.
The fight's intensity began to build, faster and faster as both of them hungered for the win; the hits became almost brutal in their physicality, designed to bring their opponent down. Percy landed a kick to her gut that would've punctured something, had she not been wearing armor — as it was, it drove the breath right out of her.
She had to end this. Now.
Annabeth swung away from him, bringing her blade back around in a swift arc designed to take off heads. Percy ducked and then surged up quickly, locking their hilts together. He grabbed her wrist with his free hand and forced her arm down; she half-expected him to break her arm. Instead, he tore her sword from her hands and whirled, reeling her in as he slid her sword behind her neck. Percy raised Riptide and pointed it at her throat.
"Yield," Percy demanded as soon as he caught his breath, chest heaving.
Annabeth knew there was no way of getting out of his hold without getting her head chopped off. His wrist was a heavy weight on her shoulder and she felt his grip flex as he pressed the flat of the blade closer.
"I yield," she panted out reluctantly, trying to catch her own breath.
Distantly, Annabeth heard Frank announce Percy's win and the answering cheer from the crowd, but she could only focus on the man in front of her and the tension crackling between them. Even though she'd yielded, he kept her pinned with the blades, as if he waiting… waiting for what? He stepped infinitesimally closer, almost certainly unconsciously so, and his eyes darted down to her lips. Annabeth's eyes widened in realization.
He wanted to kiss her.
Oh, gods . The dumb Roman was thinking about kissing her while he had a sword to her neck and she — she wanted him to do it! She wanted him to drop that sword, bury his hands in her hair instead, and kiss her senseless. If he kissed anything like the way he fought — if he fucked anything like the way he fought —
Annabeth shivered and closed her eyes.
Seconds later, Percy let go of her and stepped away. She opened her eyes and he handed her sword back to her. Whatever had passed between them in that moment was gone, wiped clean from his face and replaced with an arrogant smirk. Heat built in Annabeth's cheeks. Had she imagined it?
"Next round wins," Percy said, walking back toward his side of the arena. "Think you can keep up, Annabeth?"
Of course she had. She was undoubtedly a mess, covered in blood and dirt, ponytail and bangs matted with sweat. No one would want to kiss her looking like that, let alone a man as handsome as Percy.
Annabeth glared at him and spat on the ground. "Watch me."
They squared off again and the tension returned almost immediately. She didn't even care about winning the sparring field any more; her pride would not let the Roman win.
"Final round," Frank called. "Begin!"
If the second round was a challenge, the third fight was all out war. Annabeth and Percy were a whirl of motion, a glorious study of brutality and strength, each of a master of their own fighting style. It wouldn't be a long fight — they'd already pushed each other toward the edges of their endurance — and it wouldn't be pretty, either.
Annabeth disarmed Percy, but before she could even feel a flash of triumph, he'd knocked her sword out of her hands, too, leaving them both weaponless. They stared at each other, momentarily at a loss, and then charged again, flawless exchanging punches and kicks, blocking more blows than they landed. They were so evenly matched, so good at reading the other — if this was how they fought against each other, Annabeth wanted to know what they could do together.
Their sparring quickly became grappling when Annabeth managed to sling her elbow around Percy's throat and pull him into a choke hold. His hands scrabbled at her arm as she yanked him down, causing his back to bow, and started to squeeze the air out of him. Annabeth laughed. She had him. She was going to win this if she just —
Her sore ankle, which had held up well throughout her fights, chose that moment to decide that bearing Percy's additional weight was too much and gave out. Annabeth wobbled, her grip loosening, and Percy took immediate advantage.
His hands locked around her wrist and then he reared forward, flipping her over her head. Annabeth slammed on the ground with enough force to drive all the breath out of her — and to crack a rib or two, if the sharp pain blossoming up her side was any indication. She wouldn't be going anywhere.
But Percy didn't take chances, bending down and pressing a knee to her chest. To add insult to her injury, he pulled her knife from its sheath at her waist (how had she forgotten the knife?) and pointed it at her heart. That tricky bastard.
"Yield?" he panted, his throat red and tender from her choke hold. He looked like the descendant of pagan gods, split lip and all.
Annabeth nodded, wheezing out a pained confirmation. Percy lifted his knee off her chest and raised her knife. For a brief, panicked second, she thought he might kill her — but he slammed her knife into the sand next to her head instead. He stood, a bit wobbly on his feet and raised his fist triumphantly. The arena erupted into cheers.
"Final match to Percy Jackson!" Frank's voice declared over the noise, somewhere to her left. "The son of Neptune wins the set over the daughter of Athen — oooh!"
As Frank spoke, Annabeth used the last of her strength to swipe Percy's legs out from under him. He fell hard into the sand beside her, landing on his side with an undignified grunt.
"You yielded," he groaned, voice full of pain and disbelief.
"I'm a poor sport," she replied, pushing herself up onto an elbow. "That was for… stealing my knife, asshole."
"Noted," he said, wincing as he sat up. "Ow. I'm going to feel that one in the morning."
"Good," Annabeth said, reaching for her knife. Each breath she took was accompanied with a sharp stab of pain; she'd definitely broken something.
Annabeth would've easily suffered through the broken ribs with a win under her belt. She was annoyed that she'd lost, naturally — daughters of Athena never liked losing — but her earlier anger was nowhere to be found. Aside from her physical aches and pains, she actually felt betterthan she had in weeks. Maybe even since she moved to New Rome.
And to think, all she had to do was pick a fight with… with…
Annabeth's brain screeched to halt as Frank's earlier words finally pushed past her fading adrenaline and pain, and her logical side reasserted itself. Her eyes immediately swiveled to Percy, who had risen to his feet once more.
It made sense now — Gwen's deference, the large crowd he and Frank had drawn, his arrogance and skill. Every detail that had vied for her attention and she'd ignored out of frustration. That wild, raw power of his alone should've clued her in immediately. How many times had she felt that same energy coming from Thalia or Jason or Nico?
Di immortales. She was a moron. A soon-to-be dead moron.
"What Frank said…" she began quietly, drawing his attention again. She swallowed down the bile that rose in her throat. "You're… you're the son of Neptune?"
Percy's brow furrowed as her stared down at her. He looked almost normal now, as if all that power and authority of his had been extinguished at the end of their fight.
"You really didn't know?" Annabeth shook her head. "Huh. I had wondered… I couldn't decide if you were suicidally arrogant or just dumb when you poked me in the chest like that."
Hysterical laughter bubbled in Annabeth's throat; her broken ribs made her giggles sound like gasping sobs. "Both, apparently. Holy shit. And I… I called you an asshole — to your face!"
"You wouldn't be the first one," Percy admitted with a grumble, holding out a hand to her. "I wouldn't go around bragging about it."
Still giggling in disbelief, she took his hand and Percy pulled her to her feet. Their chests bumped together and Annabeth locked eyes with him once more, her laughter dying as that heavy, heady tension from the battlefield washed over them again. They were close together now, their clasped hands the only thing keeping them apart. It would be so easy to surge up on her tiptoes and kiss him; Annabeth's sure he'd let her do it.
"You are, however, the first to fight to a standstill in a very long time," he murmured. "Feel free to brag about that as much as you like."
His calloused thumb gently traced over her knuckles, just once, and Annabeth blushed. Then, he dropped her hand and took a step away, breaking the spell between them. She felt the briefest pang of disappointment.
"So I take you're going to let me live?"
"For now. You've got me curious, daughter of Athena," he said, smirking. He cocked his head as she stepped back and gave her a final once over. "Do all Greeks fight like you?"
"No," Annabeth answered honestly, turning, her chin held high. She tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and called back, "I'm one of a kind."
+
She'd been warned about him.
And Annabeth would be lying if she said she didn't know what was coming next. Within minutes of Annabeth leaving the arena that night, a video titled, "EPIC FIGHT: Son of Neptune vs. Daughter of Athena," is uploaded to YouTube by user KingoftheBrocean4.
KingoftheBrocean4's entire YouTube channel is dedicated to clips of the son of Neptune in combat or on the training field. It's quite the collection — most of the recent footage he's recorded himself — and he's built up a modest following among the Neptune fanbase and combat enthusiasts for quality vids.
It takes less than an hour for Annabeth and Percy's fight to become the most viewed on his page.
Another hour after that, it becomes of the most viewed video of the week, and has begun circulating heavily on reddit, Twitter and Facebook. Vine gets ahold of it at the same time — the clip of Annabeth disarming Percy alone increases the interest in the original video three-fold. By the third hour, highlight and react vids are uploaded; remixes are made; fights start in comment sections; the GreekVRoman subreddit loses its collective shit and tumblr explodes with gifsets, glee, tears and rage.
In the fifth hour, the Olympus News Network gets ahold of it and begins airing the footage during its late shows, gaining some of its best ratings for that time slot in the network's history. The New Rome Register receives a statement from the son of Neptune's people, confirming that the video was real, and gets to work trying to identifying the unknown woman fighting against Percy Jackson.
By morning, the video and its contents would be inescapable in every major, demigod-populated city in the country.
And what was Annabeth doing while her life of relative anonymity in New Rome was spectacularly imploding?
Sleeping, naturally.
+
Highway to the danger zone! Gonna take you right into the danger zone!
Annabeth frowned into her pillow as the guitar riff from "Danger Zone" trilled out from her phone for a third time, the obnoxious tune finally succeeding in drawing her from the deep, healing sleep she'd fallen into. She lifted her head and blinked into the darkness of her bedroom. The only light came from her phone, which was displaying Jason Grace's photo, his handsome face split by the spiderweb cracks on her illuminated screen. She groaned when she saw the time — 3:35 a.m.
What in the name of Hades could Jason want with her at this godawful hour?
Wearily, she picked the phone up and answered his call. "'Lo?"
"Fantastic, you're alive," Jason said dryly, and then called out to his wife on the other end, "She's alive, Pipes!"
"I told you she'd be fine," Piper's distance muffled voice commented as Annabeth grumbled, "Is there a reason I wouldn't be alive?"
Jason let out a dark, humorless chuckle. "Oh, I don't know. Fight any extremely dangerous Roman demigods in the last 12 hours, Annabeth?"
Annabeth's brow furrowed. Gossip traveled fast in demigod circles, but she thought she'd at least have a day or two before Jason found out about her fight with Percy. "How'd you know about that?"
"How'd I… Someone recorded you, so now it's all over the Internet! Plus, I've had New Roman leadership crawling up my ass for an explanation for your behavior since 2 a.m. Did you know that a Greek provoking the son of Neptune is considered a minor act of aggression? What were you thinking?"
Annabeth rolled on to her back, wincing as her ribs protested the movement. She'd popped a square of ambrosia before she'd gone to bed, but the healing magic apparently hadn't finished knitting her bones back together yet.
"I wasn't trying to start some inter-pantheon incident. He was in my way, and I wanted a fight," she explained. "I wouldn't have done it if I'd known who he was."
The silence on Jason's end of the line went on for so long, Annabeth had to check the screen to see if the call had dropped.
"You didn't know ," he said, his voice staggered with disbelief. "Annabeth, how could you not know? Everyone knows who he is!"
Annabeth was glad she was alone in the dark, so no one could see the embarrassed flush rising on her cheeks. She really had dropped the ball on this one. She prided herself on her intelligence, and exposing an area of ignorance, even to Jason, who'd she known for decades, was painful.
"I'd never seen a picture of the guy, okay? From the way everyone talked, I assumed he was some fat, middle aged New Jersey mobster type, not…"
Not a devastatingly handsome man her age, with a body built for war and sin, and eyes that could cut right through her. Not a man who could keep up with her and impressed her with his strength and power.
Not someone she already longed to see again.
"Not some douche on the sparring field. And, anyway, isn't it your job to educate emigrants to New Rome about threats like him, Mr. Ambassador? You had months to show me a picture!"
"It's called Google, Annabeth," Jason replied, in perfect mockery of the know-it-all tone she'd sported throughout her teens. "Besides, I'd assumed you were an adult who was past picking fights with unknown demigods."
Jason's paternalism rankled her. They were little over a year apart in age, but Annabeth had always thought of him as a young brother. He'd always looked to her for advice and guidance growing up at Camp Half-Blood, and taking care of Jason, making sure he grew up right… it was the least she could do to repay Thalia for her sacrifice. Luke had felt the same. At least, in the beginning years.
Her dynamic with Jason had shifted sometime after the war. He had gotten his life together — finishing college with honors, marrying Piper McLean after a romantic, whirlwind courtship for the age, and securing a highly respected position as the Greek ambassador to New Rome. He was the responsible one, the successful one, the true hero of Olympus. Everyone liked Jason, even the Romans.
No one liked Annabeth.
At least, no one had liked what she'd become during the war. She'd done the things that Jason, Olympus's golden boy, couldn't — things that ensured he kept his hands clean. He still didn't know the true extent of her actions, but her breakdown after the war, her subsequent unraveling, had probably clued him in. She'd failed out of college, wrecked her remaining friendships, and continued to have shitty judgement in men who kept dragging her down. Her mother had nearly disowned her after she'd practically spit on the gift to redesign Mount Olympus.
Jason had never given up on her, though. Piper hadn't either. Their support was one of the only reasons she'd managed to pull through that period of her life and get things back on track.
She could picture him now, glasses on the table in front of him, rubbing his eyes in exhausted frustration at having to clean up another one of her fuck ups. A nasty, resentful part of her insisted that Jason enjoyed lording his success and happiness over her, but Annabeth knew he was only trying to help — and that he had enough on his plate without her adding to it.
"I had an off day, okay? Like I said, if I'd known who he was, I wouldn't have done it," she admitted, twisting one of her curls around her finger in agitation. "Now I know better."
"Good. You're lucky you made it out of that arena alive. Percy Jackson is dangerous."
"I am well aware of that."
"Beyond his combat skills. He doesn't suffer fools and he doesn't give second chances. He's got money, power, influence… not to mention he has his own little cult of groupies to do his dirty work for him," Jason clarified. "If you see him again, you have to be very careful."
She frowned. The man Jason described sounded very different from the one who had encouraged her to brag about fighting him to a standstill just hours ago. If Percy had been planning to retaliate, he would've done it when she knocked him on his ass after the fight was over.
"How well do you know him, Jason?"
"Enough to know he's a dick. The senate gets nervous every time we're in the same room together, so I've only met the guy a handful of times," he replied, heaving a sigh. "I don't blame them. He knows exactly how to provoke me and… it's hard to explain. I don't have this problem with Nico or my sister, but, with him, it's almost impossible to ignore that Big Three instinct to tear each other apart. He's just that much of a jackass. And trust me, no one wants to see that fight."
"Except the entire Internet."
"Except them. But you're currently their darling, so enjoy that."
Annabeth groaned. "When you said it was all over…"
"It's everywhere, Annabeth, which means ONN's on top of it too. I think Piper's fielding a call from them now," he said. "Jackson's people already put out a statement confirming that he was involved, but I won't identify you unless you want me to."
"No," Annabeth said shortly. "I hate reporters. Gods, I can't believe people care about a spar this much."
"You defeated the son of Neptune in single combat. Of course that's going to be news here. But I don't think it'll be a headline past the weekend. There's no way Jackson's going to let the spectacle of you kicking his ass go on for more than a day."
"I did kick his ass, didn't I?" Annabeth grinned in the dark, recalling the deliciously astonished look on Percy's face after she'd disarmed him and knocked him to his knees.
This time, Jason's chuckle was genuine. "You did. You were amazing. I haven't seen you fight like that since the war."
"I haven't had to. He's good, Jason. Maybe even better than you."
"Hmph. I doubt it." Annabeth knew that dig would get to him. Jason wasn't nearly as big headed as a son of Zeus could be, but the right prodding could ignite the arrogance and vanity that ran in his veins. "Anyway, I have to go. I told the praetors I'd get back to them after I talked to you and got your side of the story. I'm sure they'll be very impressed with the, 'She didn't know who he was!' excuse."
She groaned. "Gods, tell them anything but that. Tell them he insulted my mother; everyone always buys that one."
"I'll save that one for the ONN statement, maybe. Try not to get any more trouble in the meantime, okay?"
"No promises."
"Annabeth."
"Gods, I'm going right back to sleep. And yes, I'll be nice to the son of Neptune and not punch him if I see him again, Your Grace."
Jason started to grumble again, but Annabeth ended the call. She tossed her phone aside and then ran her hands through her hair, staring at the ceiling contemplatively.
No matter what Jason thought, she knew wouldn't see Percy Jackson again.
In New Rome, she was an anonymous demigod architect and her mother was one of their least respected gods. She'd never be high ranking enough to be a part of his social circle and, even if she was, the son of Neptune wouldn't lower himself to engage with a Greek demigod on a regular basis. Especially if that demigod was the daughter of his father's rival.
Though she knew it was for the best, that men like Percy Jackson only led to trouble, Annabeth couldn't help but be disappointed by this fact.
Fighting against Percy had been nothing short of euphoric. Annabeth hadn't felt that alive in ages. She wanted to do it again, wanted to show off to him and rise to the physical challenge to he offered her. Afterward, she wanted to pick his brain or see if she could tease another smile or that wit she'd witnessed out of him. She wanted — well, she wanted him.
Her gaze darted to the floor where her laptop lay beside the bed.
Was their fight really all over the Internet? If it was, she could kiss the remotest chance of Percy seeking her out again goodbye. He'd come out a winner in the end, but she'd beaten him once and he'd barely won in the last two rounds. Losing to an unknown daughter of Athena so publicly would put a dent in his reputation; he'd have to find a way to rebuild it. Maybe Jason was right and she should be on the watch for retaliation.
She almost reached for her laptop, but a sharp throb from her still-tender ribs and her growing fatigue put her off that idea. She'd need all the rest she could get if she expected to get any work accomplished in the morning. The Internet certainly could wait until then.
Annabeth rolled onto her good side and closed her eyes, letting the distant sounds of night in New Rome lull her back to her dreams, where a man with green eyes and a smirking mouth that tasted like sea and sunlight waited for her.
+
Her face was on the cover of the morning issue of the New Rome Express!
Annabeth stared dumbly at the paper in her hands, hardly comprehending what she was seeing.
It was the same free, trashy tabloid she was handed every morning on her way to the light rail station, the one she'd paged through to entertain herself while she waited for her train to arrive on busy days. She'd read it hundreds of times since she'd moved to New Rome, rolling her eyes at the spin the writers took on the most straightforward stories and eating up the gossip about the city's elite, and now… now her face was on the cover?
She snapped the tabloid in half, hiding the cover from view, and made herself count to 10 before she unfolded it again. Maybe she was imagining things. That photo was pretty grainy, after all. Maybe it was a pap shot from an upcoming action movie. Maybe…
No, there was no denying it. That was her on the cover in all her barbarian glory, her mouth contorted in a snarl, blood dripping from the slash on her cheek. The huge, bold headline decked beside her photo confirmed it: ATHENA'S DEMON: Greek demigod provokes the son of Neptune — and wins!
Annabeth dug her phone out of her bag and, with shaking hands, snapped a photo of the cover, sending it Piper, followed by text containing more capslock and expletives than she cared to admit.
The minute it took Piper to respond felt like one of the longest of her life.
Piper McLean-Grace (9:29 a.m.): Ooooh, damn. I hadn't seen that one yet.
Annabeth Chase (9:29 a.m.): What do you mean THAT ONE??
Piper McLean-Grace (9:30 a.m.): Didn't Jason tell you? You're everywhere!
Piper McLean-Grace (9:30 a.m.): Don't worry, your pics in the Times and Register are so much better. The Express is total trash.
A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Annabeth's throat and the man next to her shot her a worried look before shuffling away. She was in the Times — the New York Times? The Los Angeles Times? She couldn't decide which one would be worse.
She hadn't really believed Jason when he said her fight with Percy Jackson would be newsworthy. Sure, the Internet might get its rocks off to it — Hermes knew her social notifications and email inbox had confirmed that — but she wasn't sure that legitimate news organizations would care about it. Neither of them had been significantly injured or had gotten killed. It wasn't a sanctioned arena match and it certainly wasn't a statement on Greek and Roman relations.
The fight was a spectacle, something to throw at the hordes who treated demigods like their very own MythoMagic pieces. Not real news.
The lack of reporters or cameras outside of her apartment when she left that morning had all but proved Annabeth's theory. If they'd really been interested in her, they would've found out her address with or without Jason's warning. He'd definitely overreacted, she'd decided. It was a loathsome trait he'd inherited from the King of Olympus that tended to surface more than he cared to admit.
She shot another glare at the cover of the Express and sent Jason a mental mea culpa on the matter as she typed another reply to Piper.
Annabeth Chase (9:31 a.m.): THIS IS STUPID. Don't they have better things to report on?
Annabeth Chase (9:31 a.m.): This is all that kelp head's fault.
Annabeth Chase (9:31 a.m.): FUCK PERCY JACKSON
Piper McLean (9:32 a.m.): Jason really won't like it if you do that [smirky face] [smirky face] [smirky face]
Annabeth had no idea how long the video of their fight was or how detailed it was — something she'd have to rectify soon, if she didn't want to be caught off guard again — but if someone had captured that intense, tension-filled moment between her and Percy at the end of the second round, Piper would've noticed it in a heartbeat. Was that what those smirky faces were about?
Piper didn't care about matchmaking nearly as much as her siblings and yet, she'd still started prodding Annabeth back toward the dating scene in recent months. But that probably had to more with the fact that she was a disgustingly happy married who wanted her single friends to be happy and in love too, than any daughter of Aphrodite compulsion to be a relationship doctor.
She very much doubted that Piper had the son of Neptune in mind when she'd encouraged Annabeth to find herself a nice guy to have coffee with at their last brunch. Percy Jackson was the farthest thing from nice.
Jason had probably asked his wife not to encourage any more fraternization with the son of Neptune, anyway. He'd blow a gasket if Annabeth ended up in the arms of the devil of New Rome, especially after what had happened with Luke.
Luke.
Her throat grew tight at the thought of him, unfortunate memories threatening to surface as her thumbs hovered over the keyboard, unsure of her reply.
Percy Jackson reminded her so much of Luke, enough that she should run and never look back if she ever saw him again. All Luke had ever done was use her body and betray and scar her heart. He had broken her and Percy, with all the power and influence Luke had craved, could shatter her twice as easily. And yet…
And yet, what? Did she think he'd be kind, just because he hadn't broken her when he could've? She didn't know anything about Percy Jackson beyond his reputation and what she'd learned on the training field with him. And both had confirmed the exact same thing: Percy Jackson was dangerous.
Her eyes told her this; her experiences told her this. The still healing cut on her cheek proved it. Every instinct she had, every sensible person knew all warned her of the truth, and yet…
The train rumbled into the station with a shrill whistle, the accompanying gust of wind stirring papers on the ground and gently blowing Annabeth's curls back from her face. She locked her phone and shoved it in her bag, deciding to save her reply to Piper for later, when her head was on straight.
And yet, a small voice said in the back of her mind as she boarded the train, tossing the offending newspaper into the bin beside the door, if he's dangerous, what does that make you?
+
The reporters caught up to her at work.
Annabeth might've noticed them before ONN ambushed her outside her office, had she not been so rattled by her experience on the light rail moments earlier.
It had started off normally, with Annabeth taking her usual spot close to the doors — the station closest to her firm, Eastman & Ellis, was only three stops away and she didn't like to get pinned in the middle if she could help it — and doing her best to ignore everyone else in the car. But it wasn't long after the train lurched into motion that she heard the whispers.
"Jumping Juno, it's her!"
"No, no, no. It can't be! What would she be doing — "
"It is! Look at her face — that scratch!"
"Ohmygods, yes! She got that from him!"
Annabeth whipped her head in the direction of the whispers, spotting two teenagers staring at her from a few seats away. When her gaze settled on them, they'd shrieked — as teenagers tended to do — and ducked lower in their seats, giggling nervously.
The shrieks had the unfortunate effect of drawing everyone else's attention in the car toward her and that, combined with the numerous copies of the Express! on display, ensured that it didn't take long for her to get recognized.
The suit seated behind the teens kept looking from Annabeth to his copy of the New Rome Register, his eyes growing wider with each pass; an elderly woman seated in the priority area near to Annabeth casually got up and tottered down the car; another group of New Rome University students had their phones out and were undoubtedly blowing up SnapChat with numerous, undoubtedly hilariously captioned, photos of her bitch face.
Someone in the back of the car decided to alert the trio of legionnaires on board of her presence and the three of them muscled their way toward her, hands on their swords, to get a better look. Annabeth half-expected those three to challenge her — the big bruiser in front was a son of Formido and looked eager for a confrontation — but all they did was glare, staying well on the other side of the circle of precious open space that had suddenly materialized around her
Their inaction had puzzled her, initially. Surely a legionnaire would be angry that a lowly Greek had beaten their best in combat and prideful enough to avenge him? She'd known Romans who'd gotten into fights over lesser perceived insults to their collective honor. They weren't even trying to taunt her. A moment later, when she'd reached into her bag for her headphones and the legionnaires tensed as one, battle ready, she'd understood.
They didn't want a fight. They were protecting the rest of the passengers — from her.
Annabeth had to bite back another one of those hysterical laughs. This was absurd. Absolutely absurd.
Had the idiot who uploaded the video edited it with an anti-Greek angle in mind, to make her look like the backwards savage the Romans all thought the Greeks were? She wasn't a threat to these people. In fact, she'd probably shed more blood than anyone on this train during the Titan War. If they'd knew what she'd done, what she'd sacrificed...
A decade ago, Annabeth wouldn't have recognized the difference between being feared and being admired. She would have revelled in any attention that acknowledged her as the best and most fearsome of Athena's children. That's right, her seventeen-year-old self would've sneered, I beat your scary son of Neptune. You should be in awe in me. She would've taken the legionnaires as a challenge, three-on-one, and would've knocked them all down to prove her invincibility, her superiority to mortals and lesser demigods alike.
Now? She wanted to go to work in peace, just like the rest of them. The Titan War had taught her the value of a normal ordinary life.
Apparently, all it took was one sparring match with the son of Neptune to make hers disappear.
Vibrating with anger, she jammed her headphones in, turning up her music and glaring out the windows as the train moved through the business district. The music helped distract her, but she couldn't ignore the prickling sensation at the back of her neck that meant she was being watched. She hated it, knowing that, beneath her cardigan and sheath dress, they saw her for what she really was.
By the time the train had arrived at her stop, the tension in the car had risen to nearly intolerable heights. Frankly, she was surprised the car hadn't emptied out long before now, but it was like they were all frozen, waiting for her to make her first move.
As soon as the doors opened, Annabeth was off the car like a shot, shouldering her way through the boarding crowd, trying to put as much distance between her and train as possible. The legionnaires hadn't bothered following her; they probably needed to stay behind and accept congratulations from the rest of the car for saving them from the barbaric daughter of Athena.
Her shoulders had started to unknot as soon as she was off the platform and, when she'd turned on to the block where the Eastman & Ellis offices were situated, she'd almost gotten her anger and disappointment under control.
Then, a microphone got shoved into her face, and everything went straight to hell again.
"Annabeth, Delilah Richards from Olympus News Network, tell us about your encounter with the son of Neptune yesterday. Is it true you didn't know who he was?"
Annabeth stumbled to a stop, unconsciously reaching for her knife, strapped to at her back as it always was, before she registered that the perfectly coiffed woman and her heavyset cameraman in front of her were not of any particular physical threat to her. She barely had time to think about Delilah Richards' question before another breathless reporter and camera joined them — and another. And another.
"Miss Chase, MSNBC … we've heard reports that you're a veteran of the Battle of Manhattan, can you confirm — "
" — anything to add to Ambassador Grace's statement, Miss Chase?"
"Fox News here. Annabeth, were your aggressive actions a statement regarding growing Greek discontent in the city and if so — "
"How are your ribs, Annabeth? Feeling all right after Jackson kicked your ass?"
"Give us a smile, daughter of the Athena!"
That particular request deserved only one response — a middle finger flipped in the photographer's general direction, which ignited a firestorm of clicks and camera flashes. Jason was going to love her for that.
She ducked her head, holding her bag in front of her face to to ward off any more video and photographs as she pushed through the mass of reporters to get to her office, ignoring their repeated questions with grim determination.
Gods, this was such a mess. If she ever found the little click-obsessed cretin that had uploaded that video...
The reporters couldn't follow her as she pulled open the door and charged up the stairs to her office, but their shouts did, echoing throughout the stairwell until the door shut and they were abruptly muffled. Annabeth didn't slow her pace until she reached the third floor, arriving breathless and panting in the lobby.
The phones at the front desk were ringing off the hook and Tess, the firm's receptionist, abruptly hung up on whomever she was speaking to when Annabeth came into view.
"Annabeth!" she squeaked, leaping to her feet. Tess was a tiny thing, a legacy of Acrus, and her pink curls and nervous disposition gave her a strong resemblance to a poodle. "You're here!"
"I know, I'm late. There are reporters outside — "
Tess let out a high-pitched giggle. Annabeth suspected it was involuntary on her part. "Oh, we know. They've been there for an hour, and they just keep calling. I don't know how many I've patched through to PR." She gestured at her ringing phone, all of the lines lit up in red. "Mr. Eastman is furious. He's been trying to get rid of them, but they said they weren't leaving until they talked to you."
Annabeth's stomach dropped. Lionel Eastman was the firm's founder and he didn't bother to hide his dislike of her; he'd been the one who reamed her out yesterday for her poor showing during the Theoi Hotels presentation.
"How'd they find out I work here?" Annabeth said, her tone harsher than she intended. "I'm not listed on the company website!"
"Spencer called them. You know his mom's an anchor for TVNR, right?" Tess said miserably.
That absolute shithead.
In addition to being her generally worthless project partner and annoying cubicle neighbor, Spencer Ellis was an insatiable gossip who was always looking for a way to make himself the center of attention through as little work as possible. He'd probably started looking for the quickest way to make a buck off his connection to her the second he'd recognized her.
"I'm going to murder him."
"Annabeth, wait, you're supposed to — " Tess said, moving to stop her, but Annabeth was already around her desk and striding toward her desk in the middle of the floor.
Conversations halted as Annabeth passed, Tess trailing after her and ringing her hands nervously. Some of her co-workers rose out of their seats to gawk at her, and Darren jumped out of her way, sloshing coffee down his front. A few the cubicles were empty, though, as the remainder of the floor was congregated around Spencer's desk, hooting and hollering a video he'd pulled up on his computer. She could guess which one it was.
"The son of Neptune must be losing his touch if she was able to beat him," Spencer was saying to the crowd boastfully, his back to her. "I was in the First Cohort back in the day and we would've been laughed out of the legion if a graecus had managed to beat us. I mean, did you see her form?"
Annabeth threw her bag on her desk, knocking over her pencil cup and a framed picture from her camp days with a clatter. The noise made several of the men jump and Spencer whirled around in his chair, surprise flitting across his face. He hastily reached out to stop the video.
"What about my form, Spence?" she asked, crossing her hands over her chest.
"Chase," he replied slowly, his eyes fixating on the scratch Riptide had left behind on her cheek. "You're here? But I thought…"
"What, that I'd be laid up all day with some cracked ribs?" She scoffed, leaning over the divide menacingly. Some of her smarter co-workers took that as their cue to disperse, but Spencer's core group of flunkies stuck around. "Really, I'm dying to hear what you think of my combat skills. Or can I just log on and read it on TMZ or whatever trashy tabloid decided to pay for your worthless opinions instead?"
Spencer glared at Tess over Annabeth's shoulder. "You told her?"
Tess let out a terrified squeak and Annabeth moved in front of her, blocking her from Spencer's view.
"As if I wouldn't have found out on my own. You're the only craven publicity whore in the office."
"Says the chick who let the son of Neptune dominate her — on camera." Spencer leered at her. "Got any other tapes we should know about, Chase? I've got a buddy who'll pay out the nose for some kinky graecus shit. I get a finder's fee, though. It's the least you could do after your fuck up with the Theoi presentation yesterday. There's no way I'm getting a commission off that shit."
She'd always suspected this was Spencer's opinion of her, because she'd been called a whore by men like him before — shameless, coddled assholes who'd had everything handed to them and got their rocks off by degrading accomplished women who threatened them. So that part? That didn't bother her nearly as what he'd said about her work, especially since he did everything he could to undermine her and take credit when she succeeded in spite of his incompetence.
Her fingers dug tightly into her arms, her knuckles going white as she reigned in the urge to leap over the divide and pop Spencer right in the jaw. It'd give him exactly what he'd want: an excuse to go running back to the media with a wild story about being assaulted by an unhinged graceus.
Besides, engaging in a brawl with an unworthy opponent was beneath a daughter of Athena.
Verbally eviscerating them, however, was not.
"The only reason you have a job here is because your last name is on the stationary," she said, drawing back and glaring down her nose at him. "Your designs are bottom of the class, rudimentary eyesores — not that you'd ever be able to figure out the math and do all the backgrounding to get one approved in the first place. You can't even follow a simple request to make copies. You're nothing but dead weight in an ugly suit that the rest of us have to drag around, lest you be forced to grow up and face your own inadequacies. If you ever use my name again to profit or make yourself feel even the slightest bit relevant, I will ruin you. Got that?"
Spencer stared at her, jaw unhinged and face purpling as Annabeth's words settled on him. It was probably the first time in his life a woman had talked to him like that. Her lips twisted into an insincere, razor-sharp smile — the one that always made her enemy's blood curdle with dread — and turned, brushing past a stunned Tess as she advanced toward the executive suites in the corner of the office.
"Oh yeah?" Spencer bellowed after her, recovering. "You think you're special, huh, Chase? You're still a daughter of Minerva! No decent Roman will ever think you're worth anything, you self-righteous bitch!"
The door to the executive suite snapped open on Spencer's last word and Lionel Eastman strode on to the floor, displeasure radiating off him in waves.
"What is going on out here? If you're still talking about that damnable video, I'll..." He trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of Annabeth moving toward him. "You. What are you doing here?"
Eastman's words and resentful tone made Annabeth's confidence falter slightly. That was the third time someone had been surprised that she'd shown up to work today. Had they all thought she'd be calling in sick, incapacitated with exhaustion? Or...
She remembered what Tess had said earlier, that Eastman was furious about the media attention, and the pit in her stomach returned with a vengeance.
"It's Friday, sir. I always work Fridays," she said cautiously, gaging his reaction. "I'd like to speak with you about — "
"Not this Friday you're not," Eastman interrupted, glaring at her. "Did you even bother to check your email before you waltzed in here — late again, I might add — Miss Chase?"
Normally, she checked her work email on the train so she could get a head start on any problems or requests her clients had submitted overnight. Today, however…
"I… was a bit overwhelmed this morning, so no, sir. I didn't."
Eastman rolled his eyes. "I should've expected as much. If you had bothered to read your email, Miss Chase, you would've discovered that, as of today, you have been placed on indefinite leave from Eastman & Ellis, pending further review from the board."
Was he serious? Spencer had just called her a bitch in front of the entire office, and she was the one being put on leave?
"Leave?" Annabeth choked out, unable to believe what she was hearing. "What, because of that dumb video?"
"That dumb video, as you put it, has brought intense, unwelcome attention to this firm," Eastman declared, drawing himself up to his full height. He was a mortal, but had all the presence and intimidation that belonged to a battle hardened demigod. "Do you know how many clients I've personally had to talk off a ledge this morning? They all think they'll be next in line for retaliation from the son of Neptune if it's discovered they paid for a design from the upstart Greek girl who made him a laughingstock in New Rome! And then there's the resources we've had to devote to media calls and extra security in case one his associates decides to pay a visit… You're lucky half the board out is out of the town for the weekend, otherwise your fellowship would have been terminated immediately!"
"Sir, it was a sparring match. That's it," Annabeth said quietly. "I didn't know — I didn't think — "
"Well, that much is certainly clear. You picked a fight with the son of Neptune and didn't think there'd be consequences? My dear, this is New Rome. You play by the rules or you don't play at all."
Annabeth glanced around the office as Eastman's words sank in, searching for an ally that would rise in her defense. Had they all known about this? Spencer, of course, looked like his vindictive frat boy Christmas had come early, but the rest of her co-workers refused to meet her gaze — some, she noticed for the first time, sported the same looks of fear the people on the train had. Even Tess, who the closet person she had to a friend here, wouldn't make eye contact, her head bowed and big eyes concentrated on her shoes.
She shouldn't have been surprised and it shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. Romans didn't appreciate those that stepped out of line. They'd all warned her every damn day since she'd moved here, hadn't they?
Avoid the son of Neptune. At all costs.
It wasn't just a warning for safety reasons. It was just what was done.
Humiliation threatened to overwhelm her, as Eastman had no doubt intended it to, until that little voice in the back of her mind, the one that was beginning to sound an awful like her mother's voice, spoke up again: You have nothing to be ashamed of.
The thought was like match in the darkness, chasing away her doubts and fears, leaving her with her one, steadfast companion: her pride.
She'd looked the son of Neptune in the eye and humbled him in single combat. She walked away with a few paltry injuries and inflicted some of her own on the city's most fearsome warrior. Percy Jackson had encouraged her to brag about their match himself and these people — these cowards — wanted to punish her for it?
Fuck that.
Eastman was going on, telling her that she had five minutes to vacate the premises before he called security, but Annabeth was already turning on her heel, walking back to her desk to snatch her bag. Tess murmured an apology under her breath that Annabeth refused to acknowledge and she strode out of the office with all eyes on her once again.
She slammed through the door and paused at the top of the stairs, taking a deep, steadying breath to calm her emotions. Then, she began to descend, ready to face the changing tide and whatever it brought in next with her head held high.