The Dogs of Athens Read Free Page A

cannot stand in an alley of corpses and watch that face be torn again to pieces.
    â€œCome, Daphne,” she says. “Leave him.”
    She gives the command, and Daphne’s hackles rise. The muscle of the big hound’s haunches stretch beneath her skin.
    â€œDaphne,” Artemis says, and the disbelief in her voice is plain.
    Daphne snarls. She lunges, straight for the boy’s throat.
    Artemis has no bow, or arrows. Not even a knife. She’s come unarmed into the city, except for her fists and her wits. She leaps and gets hold of Daphne around the ribs. The dog scratches and snaps. She twists in Artemis’ arms, the two of them rolling and kicking up dust. Artemis hears her own breath. She hears the whines of the pack as they watch nervously. She was never as good at hand-to-hand as her older sister Athena, but she manages to kick out and send Daphne rolling.
    Daphne strikes the wall of the building beside them and yips. She lies still in a dusty black heap. Artemis rises. The pack looks unsure. Iphigenia’s wide, yellow eyes move back and forth between the goddess and the fallen dog.
    The boy is gone. He cleverly used the commotion as a distraction to escape, and Artemis is thankful. If he’d been standing there shivering, she wouldn’t have saved him twice. She walks to Daphne and kneels, stroking her soft black fur.
    â€œDaphne. Are you hurt?”
    The fur beneath her hands trembles. The black dog twists around and bites. Her fangs sink deep into Artemis’ hand.
    Artemis jumps back. Dark red blood wells in the holes and runs out onto the ground. Daphne licks it off of her teeth. The pack laps it out of the dirt. The wounds do not heal.
    Phylonoe’s tail is low, but wagging. One of the dogs growls but Artemis cannot tell which. They sniff at her blood as it continues to run.
    â€œIt’s not healing,” Artemis says.
    Daphne shoulders through the pack and lowers onto her belly. Her ears are tucked, and her tail thumps the ground, contrite.
    â€œForgive me, Goddess,” she says. “I don’t know what came over me.”
    The pack edges closer, their noses twitching. A voice in Artemis’ head says, Run.
    It sounds like Apollo.
    â€œYou were overtaken by the hunt. It was my fault, for keeping you out of the wild.”
    Daphne’s tail thumps harder. Her brown eyes are soft. She licks her jaws, and her fangs are long.
    The pack shoves red noses into her hand and licks the wounds. Their tails wag excitedly.
    â€œWe’ll go after game again,” says Artemis. “We’ll go to the jungle.”
    Run, sister.
    But she cannot run. She strokes their sweet heads, and scratches Erigone’s lopsided ear. She could never run from them. They are her companions. They are her dogs.
    In the back of her mind, the voice comes again, the one that sounds so very much like her long-lost brother.
    They are not your dogs anymore, Artemis.
    They are beasts.

 
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    Copyright © 2015 by Kendare Blake
    Art copyright © 2015 by Goñi Montes