Spartan Frost Read Online Free Page A

them. Like all Spartans, I didn’t need a weapon to fight. Thanks to my innate killer instinct, I knew I could jab the knife into someone’s neck or poke one of his eyes out with the fork. If worse came to worst, I could always break one of the plates and use the shards like daggers, or shove someone’s head through the top of the glass table—
    Dad waved his hand at me in a placating gesture. “Relax, Logan. I’m expecting company. It’s time for the morning briefing, remember?”
    Every morning, at least a couple of Protectorate members stopped by the house to update my dad on the latest Reaper sightings, crimes, and suspected activities. It had been Dad’s routine for as long as I could remember, and I felt stupid that I’d forgotten about it today.
    â€œOh. Yeah. Right.”
    I gave him a curt nod, but it still took me a moment to unclench my hands from around the utensils and set them down on my plate. I’d been on edge ever since that day at the auditorium, expecting Agrona to show up at any moment, slap another collar studded with Apate jewels around my neck, and try to finish the ritual she’d started. Or worse, for Loki to suddenly storm back into my mind, take control of me once more, and make me murder everyone around me. Nickamedes and Professor Metis had told me that wouldn’t happen, that I wasn’t connected to the evil god anymore, that he couldn’t force his will on me like that ever again, but I didn’t know if I believed them.
    I didn’t know what to believe anymore—especially not about myself.
    Heavy footsteps sounded, and two men appeared in the kitchen doorway. One of the men was short and stocky, with a thick, muscled body, while the other was tall and slender. Sergei Sokolov and Inari Sato, two of my dad’s best friends and important members of the Protectorate. Normally, this early in the morning, Sergei and Inari would have been in jeans, boots, and sweaters, like me and Dad, but today, they’d already put their gray robes on over their regular clothes, and their swords were belted around their waists, the metal hilts winking at me like sly, knowing eyes. Something was up.
    â€œLinus, Logan,” Sergei said, his Russian accent a little more pronounced than usual.
    We both nodded back at him. Inari stood by his friend’s side, still and silent, as was his way. The Ninja never talked much.
    Dad gestured over at the platters of food on the counter. “Sit down and help yourselves to some breakfast. I made enough for all of us.”
    Sergei shook his head. “No time. I hate to interrupt your meal, but we’ve got a report of some Reapers using a nearby building as a base of operations,” he rumbled, his hazel eyes dark and serious. “According to our intel, there are at least half a dozen Reapers there right now. Maybe more. We think it’s the same crew that’s been stealing artifacts from some of the local museums.”
    Dad’s gaze flicked to the photos on top of the table. He spread them out, and I leaned over so I could get a better look at them. They were all slick, glossy shots, the sort of things you might see in a museum brochure, artful photos that would show the items in the best possible light. A spear, a shield, some rings, and a half-used candle were among the artifacts featured in the pictures.
    Dad had been working on this case nonstop ever since we’d arrived in New York. A group of Reapers, all wearing black robes and rubber Loki masks, had been going around, breaking into museums, and swiping artifacts—weapons, armor, clothing, and more that had belonged to gods and goddesses and the warriors and creatures who had served them over the centuries.
    I rubbed my neck, which suddenly felt tight, stiff, and hot, as though that gold collar were still clamped around my throat. The Reapers had been stealing jewels too, some of them similar to the Apate gems that