Oh…crap.
She’d escaped Darius only to throw herself at six other warriors just like him.
CHAPTER SIX
GRACE STOOD AT the edge of a huge arena of white stone and marble that resembled a restored Roman coliseum. Only the ceiling marred the illusion, boasting the same sea-covered crystal dome that comprised the rest of the…building? Castle?
Wide and long, the arena spanned the length of a football field. The air was scented with sweat and dirt, courtesy of the six men brandishing swords and basically trying to annihilate each other. Their grunts and groans blended with the cringe-worthy clang of metal. They had yet to notice her.
Her heart thudded in her chest, and she whipped around, intent on running back down the corridor. When she spied yet another warrior, this one just entering the far end, she scooted to the side, out of sight. Had he seen her? She didn’t know; she only knew the nearest exit was blocked. The nearest exit was blocked!
“Calm down,” she whispered. She’d wait two minutes. Surely the hallway would be clear by then; surely for such a short amount of time she could stay right here and remain unnoticed. Then she’d escape. Simple. Easy.
Please let it be simple and easy.
“Who taught you to fight, Kendrick?” one man snarled. He was the tallest man present, with broad shoulders and ropelike muscles. His pale hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and the long length of it slapped his cheek as he shoved his opponent to the ground. “Your sister?”
The one called Kendrick jumped to his feet, sword raised in front of him. He wore the same black leather pants and black shirt as the others. He was obviously the youngest. “Perhaps it was your sister,” he growled. “After I tumbled her, of course.”
Grace’s jaw dropped as green scales momentarily appeared on the first man’s face. When she blinked, they were gone.
The tall blonde sheathed his sword and held out his hands. He motioned for Kendrick to approach him. “If I actually had a sister, I would kill you where you stand. Since I do not, I’m merely going to beat you senseless.”
A man stepped between the two combatants. He had brown hair and surprisingly sad features. He was unarmed. “That’s enough,” he said. “We are friends here. Not enemies.”
“Shut up, Renard.” A boy only slightly older than Kendrick jumped into the argument. He pointed the tip of his sword at the sad one’s chest. Wet strands of brown hair clung to his temples and framed the dragon tattoo that stretched up from his jawline. “It’s time you and all the other lucifaeres learned you’re not infallible.”
Renard’s golden eyes narrowed. “Remove the weapon, little hatchling, or I will gut you where you stand.”
The “little hatchling’s” face paled, and he did as commanded.
Grace inched backward a step. Breathe, she commanded herself. Just keep breathing. They were going to kill each other. Good news: If they were dead, they couldn’t stop her from escaping.
“Smart move,” another male said. This one had strawberry-blond hair and a breathtakingly beautiful face, which thoroughly contrasted with the fact that he was polishing a two-pronged hatchet. Dry amusement gleamed in his golden eyes. “Renard has killed men for less. I guess it helps that he knows exactly where to cut them, where to make them bleed and suffer for days at a time before finally, mercifully dying.”
At his words, cold sweat beaded on Grace’s forehead. She managed another inch backward.
“He’s only trying to scare you,” one of the younger boys gritted out. “Don’t listen to him.”
“I hope you kill each other.” The heated phrase came from a black-haired warrior who slammed his weapon into the ground. “I’m tired of listening to all of your whining.”
“Whining?” someone said. “That’s rich coming from you, Tagart.”
Kendrick chose that moment to launch himself at the large blonde. With a howl, the two men fell to the ground, fists flying. Every other man present paused only a moment before throwing himself into the fray. Oddly enough, every one of them seemed to be smiling.
Grace cast a quick glance to the hall. Empty. Relief threatened to topple her. She kept her eyes on the combatants and moved another inch backward…then another…then another.
And backed herself right into the table of weapons.
In a sudden symphony of disharmony, the different metals clanged together and tottered to the floor.
Then…silence.
All six men stopped, whirled and faced her. In the space of a few seconds, their bloody and bruised expressions registered shock, then happiness, then wicked hunger. Her breath snagged in her throat. She scrambled behind the table, specks of dirt flying about her shoes. A thin piece of wood would not stop these men, she knew, but she garnered a little courage with a barrier between them. She tried to lift a blade but it was too heavy.
A solid wall suddenly crowded her from behind. A very much alive, solid wall.
“Like to play with a man’s sword, do you?”
Strong male arms wound around her waist—and they weren’t Darius’s. This man’s skin was darker, his hands not quite as thick. But more than that, he didn’t cause the same wave of arousal that Darius stirred in her. This man’s embrace caused only fear.
“Remove your hands this instant,” she said calmly, mentally applauding herself. “Otherwise you’ll regret it.”
“Regret it, or keep loving it?”
“Who do you have there, Brand?” one of the warriors asked.
“Give me a moment to find out,” her captor answered. His rough voice drew closer to her ear, becoming a suggestive rumble. “What are you doing here, hmm?” he asked. “Women are not allowed in this palace, much less the training arena.”
She gulped. “I—I—Darius is—”
He tensed against her. “Darius sent you?”
“Yes,” she answered, praying such an admission would scare the man into freeing her. “Yes, he did.”
A chuckle rumbled from him. “So he heeded my advice, after all. To keep us from teasing him, our leader sent us a whore. I never expected that. What’s more, I never expected him to act so quickly.”
Her mind only registered one portion of his speech. A whore? Whore! If they thought she was paid to have sex with them, they’d most likely see any resistance on her part as a game. She shuddered.
“Excited already, little whore?” He chuckled again. “Me, too.”
Applying the same technique she’d used on Darius, she jabbed her foot atop her captor’s instep, then rammed her elbow into his stomach. He umphed and loosened his hold. She twisted, jerked back her fist and let it fly. Her knuckles collided with his jaw. On impact, his chin snapped to the side, whipping his sandy-colored braids across his cheek. He howled and released her.
Free now, she attempted to run. The other warriors had already encircled her, however, halting any progress. Her heart stopped beating. Their bloodlust seemed to have deserted them entirely—leaving only lust.
One of them pointed at Brand. “I guess she doesn’t like you, Brand.” He laughed.
“I’m willing to bet she’ll like me.”
“None of us like you, Conner. Why would she?”
“Why don’t you send her over here to me? I know how to treat a woman.”
“Yes, but do you know how to eat one?”
They erupted in laughter.
Eat her? Someone save me. They were cannibals. They wanted her to whore for them and then become their evening snack. Worse and worse. A tremor shook her, trekking down her spine, then spreading over the rest of her body. Death by human banquet. No, thank you.
Brand, the one who had grabbed her, rubbed his jaw and smiled at her with genuine amusement. “Did you bring any friends, little whore? I do not think I want to share you with the others.”
As he spoke, “the others” began tightening the circle around her. She felt like a slab of beef at a barbecue for the starving. Literally. All they needed to make the meal complete was a knife, a f
ork and an extra large bottle of easy-squeeze ketchup.
“I want her first,” the warrior with the thickest shoulders said.
“You can’t have her first. You owe me a favor, and I’m collecting. She’s mine. You can have her when I’m done.”
“Both of you can shut up,” the most beautiful of the group said—the one who’d polished his hatchet. “I have a feeling the little whore will want me first. Women like this face of mine.”
“No, I don’t and no, you can’t have me first,” Grace announced. “No one can have me. I am not a whore!”
The man with the tattoo on his jaw grinned at her suggestively. “If you don’t want to be our bedmate, you can be our meal.”
She gasped, moving in circles to avoid their outstretched hands. Threaten them, scare them. “I taste sour,” she rushed out. “I’ve been known to cause major heartburn.”
Their grins widened.
“Acid reflux is serious. It can cause cancer of the esophagus. It can erode your stomach lining!”
Closer, closer they came.
“I belong to Darius!” she rushed out next, grasping at any frenzied thought her mind produced.
Each of them ground to a halt.
“What did you say?” Brand asked, giving her a blistering frown.
She gulped. Perhaps claiming Darius as her lover hadn’t been such a good idea. He could have a wife—why did she suddenly want to destroy something?—and these men could be said wife’s brothers. “I, uh, said I belong to Darius?” The words flowed out as more of a question than a statement.
“That’s impossible.” Brand’s frown became a vehement scowl, and his gaze bored into her, inspecting, taking her measure for a different scale than he’d previously used. “Our king would not claim a woman such as you for his own.”
King? A woman such as her? Did they think she was good enough to eat for dinner, good enough to whore for them, but not good enough to belong to their precious leader, Darius? Well, that offended her on every level.
She couldn’t be any more irrational, she knew, and blamed her overwrought emotions. They’d run the gamut today and were no longer hers to command. She’d always been emotional, but usually controlled her impulses.
“Is he married?” she demanded.
“No.”
“Then yes,” she said, not taking the time to analyze her relief, “he would welcome a woman such as me. In fact, he’s expecting me back. I’d better be going. You know how upset he gets when someone’s late.” Nervous laugh.
Brand didn’t let her pass. He continued to study her with unnerving intensity. What was he searching for? And what did he see?
Suddenly he grinned, a grin that spread and lit his entire face. He was extremely handsome, but he wasn’t Darius. “I believe she speaks the truth, men,” he said. “Look at the love mark on her neck.”
Quick as a snap, Grace brought her hand up to her neck. Her cheeks warmed. Had Darius given her a hickey? She was struck first by shock, then by an unexpected, unwanted and ridiculous surge of pleasure. She’d never had a hickey before.
What’s wrong with me? Jolting into motion, Grace shoved her way past Brand, past the others. They let her go without protest. She sprinted down the hallway, fully expecting them to follow. She heard no footsteps, and a quick glance behind her showed she was alone. When she reached the fork inside the bathing area, she trudged around the opening on the left. A salty breeze hit her in the face. She prayed she’d made the right decision this time.
She hadn’t.
At the end, she found herself in a large dining hall. Darius was there, sitting at an enormous table, his eyes focused on the far wall of windows as if he were in deep thought. A heavy air of sadness enveloped him. He looked so lost and alone. Grace felt herself freezing, felt her muscles locking in place.
He must have sensed her, or smelled her, or something, because his gaze abruptly leveled on her, widening with puzzlement, then narrowing with ire. “Grace.”
“Stay where you are,” she said.
He growled low in his throat and sprang up, a panther ready to strike. And like a panther, he leapt over the table, coming straight toward her. She glanced around wildly. A side-table rested next to her, decorated with a multitude of breakable items. She swiped them to the ground, causing vases and bowls to shatter and sprinkle glass in every direction. Perhaps that would slow him, perhaps not. Either way, she pivoted on her heel and bolted.
Arms pumping frantically, shoes thumping into the ebony, she snaked the corner and rushed through the final hallway. She didn’t have to glance back to know Darius was closing in on her. His footsteps resonated in her ears. His fury bored intense, determined flames into her back.
At the end of the corridor, she spied a downward spiraling staircase. She quickened her speed. How close was she to victory? How close to failure?
“Get back here, Grace,” he called.
Her only response was the shallowness of her breathing.
“I’ll come after you. I’ll not rest until I find you.”
“I’m tired of your threats,” she growled, throwing the words over her shoulder.
“No more threatening,” he promised.
“Doesn’t matter.” Faster and faster, she pounded down the stairs.
“You don’t understand.”
At the bottom of the last step, she spied the opening to a cave. And there, just ahead, the mist swirled, calling to her, beckoning. Home, her mind shouted. Almost home.
“Grace!”
With one backward glance in his direction, she hurled herself into the fog.
Instantly her world spun out of control, and she lost the solid anchor beneath her feet. Dizziness assaulted her; nausea churned arduously in her stomach. Round and round she plunged and spun, so jerkily, so erratically the dragon medallion tore from her neck. Screeching, she reached out and tried to scoop the chain into her hands.
“Nooo,” she cried when it danced out of reach. But in the next instant, she forgot all about the necklace. Stars winked in every direction, so bright and blinding she squeezed her eyelids closed. Grace flailed her arms and legs; she was more scared this time than before. What if she landed in a place more terrifying than the last? What if she didn’t land at all, but remained in this enigmatic pit of nonexistence?
Loud screams resounded, piercing her ears, but one stood out from the others: a deep male voice that continually bellowed her name.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ONCE SHE REGAINED her sense of stability, Grace crawled through the cave. Warm, humid air brushed her skin, thawing her inside and out. Following flashes of light, she soon emerged from the rocky exit. Familiar sounds of the Amazon welcomed her: the screech of howler monkeys, the incessant drone of insects, the hurried rush of a river. Utterly relieved, she jackknifed to her feet. Her knees almost gave out, but she forced herself to move forward, to put distance between this world and the other.
As she ran, the backdrop of sounds tapered to quiet. Sunlight faded, leaving a horrendous darkness. Then, rain burst from the sky, pelting and soaking her. Under the weight of the water and darkness, she was forced to seek shelter beneath a nearby bush. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.
Finally the rain ended and she popped up, once again dashing through the forest. Gnarled tree limbs reached out, clawing at her face, slapping at her arms and legs, splashing remaining raindrops into her eyes. She wiped them away and kept moving, never breaking stride.
Shards of sunlight gradually returned, winking in and out between clouds and foliage, illuminating a treacherous path of trees, dirt and rocks. Twigs snapped beneath her boots. Every few steps she tossed a fearful glance over her shoulder. Looking, always looking, fearing the worst.
I’ll come after you, Darius had said. I’ll not rest until I find you.
She shot another look over her shoulder…and slammed into a male chest. Grace flew backward, landing on her back with a thump. The man she hit was barely taller than she was and flew backwar
d, as well, remaining supine, gasping for breath. She came up swinging. She’d escaped a horde of warriors, and she wasn’t going to be captured or assaulted now.
“Whoa, there,” another man said, stepping over his fallen comrade and holding up his dirt-smudged, empty palms. Droplets of water sprinkled from his baseball cap. “Calm down. We won’t hurt you.”
English. He was speaking English. Like the man lying on the jungle floor, this one was of average height with brown hair, brown eyes and tanned skin. He was thin, not corded with muscles and he wore a beige canvas shirt. The Argonaut logo was stitched over the left breast, an ancient ship with two spears erected on either side. The name Jason perched above the ship.
Jason of the Argonauts, she thought with a humorless, inward laugh.
Alex worked for Argonauts. She rolled the name Jason through her mind, wondering if Alex had ever spoken of him, but she found no reference. It didn’t matter. He worked with her brother and that was good enough.
The cavalry is here.
“Thank God,” she breathed.
“Get up, Mitch,” Jason said to the fallen man. “The woman isn’t hurt, and it doesn’t speak well of you if you are.” To her he offered a canteen of water. “Take a drink. Slowly. You look like you need it.”
She grabbed the canteen eagerly and gulped down all that her stomach could hold. The coolness. The sweetness. Nothing had ever tasted so good. Except for Darius, her mind whispered. Tasting him was an experience with no equal.
“Slow down,” Jason said, reaching for the flask. “You’ll make yourself sick.”
She wanted to snarl and snap at him, but allowed him to reclaim his property. Water dribbled down her chin, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. “Thank you,” she panted. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Wait a minute,” he said, closing the distance between them. He grasped her wrist and placed two fingers over her pulse. “First we need to know who you are and what you’re doing here. Besides that, you’re clearly nearing exhaustion. You need to rest.”
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