In which, Adira Lancaster falls in love with her rival, Percy Jackson
OR
he falls in love with her first, unknowingly.
She only seemed to think about a rivalry. Nothing else. Zilch. Nada. Zip.
-disclaimer- I do not own the Percy Jackson Books, or an...
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As soon as we exited the taxi, the Gray Sisters peeled out, heading back to New York, where life was safer. They didn't even wait for their extra three-drachma payment. They just left us on the side of the road, me with nothing but my backpack and dagger and arrowhead, Tyson and Percy still in their burned-up tie-dyed gym clothes. The tie-dye wasn't on me because I shape-shifted, so the clothes I wore before were still on me.
"Oh, man," said myself, looking at the battle raging on the hill.
What worried me most weren't the bulls themselves. Or the ten heroes in full battle armor who were getting their bronze-plated asses whooped. What worried me was that the bulls were ranging all over the hill, even around the back side of the pine tree. That shouldn't have been possible. The camp's magic boundaries didn't allow monsters to cross past Thalia's tree. But the metal bulls were doing it anyway.
One of the heroes shouted, "Border patrol, to me!" A girl's voice—gruff and familiar.
"It's Clarisse," I said. "Come on, we have to help her."
She was in trouble. Her fellow warriors were scattering, running in panic as the bulls charged. The grass was burning in huge swathes around the pine tree. One hero screamed and waved his arms as he ran in circles, the horsehair plume on his helmet blazing like a fiery Mohawk. Clarisse's own armor was charred. She was fighting with a broken spear shaft, the other end embedded uselessly in the metal joint of one bull's shoulder. My brothers and sisters were fighting beside Annabeth, who was standing in front of Mariana; who was holding a shield and sword, which were both much too big for her.
I took out my arrowhead, which transformed into my bow and arming it with an arrow.
"Tyson, stay here. I don't want you taking any more chances."
"No!" I answered. "We need him."
He stared at me. "He's mortal. He got lucky with the dodge balls but he can't—"
"Percy, do you know what those are up there? The Colchis bulls, made by Hephaestus himself. We can't fight them without Medea's Sunscreen SPF 50,000. We'll get burned to a crisp."
"Medea's what?"
I rummaged through my backpack and cursed. "Shit. I had a jar of tropical coconut scent sitting on my night-stand at home. Why didn't I bring it?"
"Look, I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm not going to let Tyson get fried."
"Percy—"
"Tyson, stay back." Percy raised his sword. "I'm going in."
Tyson tried to protest, but he was already running up the hill toward Clarisse, who was yelling at her patrol, trying to get them into phalanx formation. It was a good idea. The few who were listening lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, locking their shields to form an ox-hide–and-bronze wall, their spears bristling over the top like porcupine quills.
