Hermes was not looking forward to calling off this particular dog.
Aides’ tri-headed mutt, Cerberus, was stubborn at best, a glutton at worst.
He tracked the hungry beast to Vanderbilt’s School of Medicine in Nashville. A hellhound set loose in the middle of campus was a logistics nightmare, not to mention the tricky business of finding its intended prey in time.
Then he heard it.
An unearthly growl.
Hermes tore down the sidewalk, praying to Zeus he was not too late.
But his sister, Kore, was already torn between three sets of razor-edged teeth, covered in crimson gore.
Hermes shouted a furious command, banishing the monster back to its lair.
Kore’s injured lover cradled her broken form to his blood-stained chest, his wrenching sobs pierced with agony.
Hermes recognized him as the God of Medicine, Asclepius – ancient enemy of Aides for stealing his souls from the brink of death.
Asclepius can raise the dead.
There’s still hope.
© 2013 Samantha Redstreake Geary