“Mono mia,” he whispered.
Her face paled. She stumbled, knocking into a body behind her.
He reached out to yank her back against him, but a voice rang out across the club, stopping his motion. A deep, familiar voice he was sure he’d heard before.
The female twisted toward the sound.
Zagreus shifted his gaze across the dance floor and took in the muscular, fair-haired Argonaut standing two steps up near the bar. In a rush, he remembered where he’d heard that voice. Not in the air around him but through the Fates’ mystical mirror—the pedestal basin of water the old hags used to spy on mortals from their hidden realm.
“Talisa,” the Argonaut said in a commanding tone as the music in the club disappeared and the bodies around them stopped moving. “Step away from him.”
A hush fell over the room. The Argonaut’s malevolent gaze locked on Zagreus, indicating he could see through Zagreus’s glamour.
All eyes shifted Zagreus’s way. And in the silence, the shadow energy Zagreus worked to keep locked down swirled inside, breaking his concentration.
The glamour spell he’d cast shattered. Gasps echoed as recognition dawned in the faces staring his way. Like a wave, bodies shifted back in every direction.
Horror rushed over the female’s—Talisa’s—features.
Zagreus wrapped his hand around her upper arm before she could flee, jerking her tight to his side.
She grunted and yanked back on his hold—harder than he anticipated. His grip loosened, and he realized she was stronger than she looked, gifted with some kind of extra strength, which was probably why she hadn’t been afraid to venture into this club alone.
“Talisa!” The clank of a blade being drawn echoed through the room.
Zagreus tightened his grip around the female’s arm then threw out his other hand in the direction of the stupid Argonaut already charging toward him.
The female at his side screamed, “No!”
Bodies scrambled into the shadows, clearing the dance floor. Another feminine screech echoed near the front of the club, but Zagreus didn’t bother to look that way. He focused his powers and shot a stream of energy out from his palm that surged through the space and slammed into the Argonaut’s chest, throwing him to the ground.
“You son of a bitch!” The female darted in front of him and shoved her free hand hard against Zagreus’s chest. The force was so strong, it broke Zagreus’s hold on her arm, knocking him off his feet. He sailed backward into the wall.
Cement cracked. Zagreus landed with a grunt against the floor. Plaster rained down from the damaged ceiling. As he shook the dust from his hair, his gaze caught sight of the Argonaut across the floor, writhing on the ground as the energy ricocheted through his body.
Footsteps sounded, then a female with brown hair skidded to a stop at the Argonaut’s side and dropped to her knees.
“Max,” the brunette said, reaching for his hand. “Max, focus on me.”
Max... Zagreus pushed to his feet, searching his memory for anything the Fates had said about the male.
Maximus was the Argonaut Zander’s son, a descendant of Achilles. He wasn’t a full-fledged Argonaut yet and was still in training, because...
Zagreus’s memory came rushing back.
…because he had multiple gifts the other Argonauts didn’t possess. And because the Argonauts weren’t sure they could totally trust him yet thanks to the fact he’d been raised by the evil goddess Atalanta in the bowels of the Underworld.
The female Zagreus had just kissed stood between Zagreus and the wannabe Argonaut, the Argonaut’s blade now in her hand, her deadly gaze trained on Zagreus. His focus, however, was locked on the duo at her back.
He didn’t know who the new brunette was, nor did he care. But the unstable Argonaut... He might be a useful prisoner. With his gifts bound, of course.
Zagreus stepped forward.
The violet-eyed vixen lifted the blade in her hand. “Stay back, devil.”
Not slowing, Zagreus threw out a hand. Invisible energy shot from his palm, wrapped around the blade, and ripped it from her grip. He tossed the blade across the room, out of her reach. She gasped and shuffled back, but he was already on top of her, one hand grasping her wrist to pull her toward him, the other in front of her face as he muttered the ancient words that would bind the gifts the Fates had bestowed on her.
Her struggling immediately lost over half its strength, and her features contorted in pain.
He yanked her hard against his chest and glared down at her. “Do not test me, mono mia. Or you’ll wind up like your nosey friend.”
He advanced on the injured wannabe Argonaut, dragging the female at his side with him. She tried to pull away, but he only tightened his hold and promised himself he’d deal with her later.
The wannabe Argonaut stilled and looked up with wide eyes as they approached. Quietly, he whispered, “Elysia, get the hell out of here now.”
The brunette froze where she knelt next to the Argonaut and turned wide, chocolate eyes Zagreus’s way.
Elysia...
Zagreus knew that name as well. She was the queen’s daughter. The heir to the throne of Argolea. And the female Zeus’s Sirens had abducted and lost due to a different meddling Argonaut.
A smile curled one side of Zagreus’s lips as he looked down at the pair. Oh, his day was getting better by the second. These two would make prime prisoners he could ransom to the highest bidders.
He lifted his free hand and was just about to bind the Argonaut’s gifts when the sound of wood splintering and glass breaking filled the club, followed by growls. Familiar growls Zagreus would recognize anywhere.
Two satyrs moved out of the shadows to Zagreus’s left. Ahead, a pack of satyrs spilled into the club.
“Skata,” the female in his grip whispered, tensing beside him.
Zagreus’s jaw clenched down hard. He glanced at the duo near his feet then back to the beasts rushing forward. He’d have to let go of the female at his side to grab the prisoners on the floor, and he wasn’t about to let go of her for anything. From his peripheral vision, he spotted one of the satyrs from the shadows lift a blade and hurl it through the air.
He was out of time. He had but a split second to decide whose future to change forever.
Chapter Three
Max’s eyes flew wide when Zagreus poofed out of the club in a plume of smoke, taking Talisa with him.
He barely had time to wonder where they went, though. The thunder of hooves charging was too close. He shifted so he could see what was coming at them.
Seven, eight… No, ten satyrs.
All stocky and hulking, with shaved heads and thick beards. They wore dark pants to cover their grotesque legs, but their open leather dusters showcased their hairy chests and bulging muscles. And each one held a weapon—a blade, a spear, a mace—intent on doing serious damage.
Shit. This was not good. Not good at all.
Max tensed and tried like hell to make his muscles work. That energy blast had done something to him. His arms and legs weren’t working right, and he knew even if he could find a way to stand, he’d never be able to lift a blade.
“Lys,” he rasped, fighting to sit up. “Lys, you have to get out of here.” He managed to get his hands in front of him. “You have to get home.”
“What? No. I’m not leaving you.” She pushed against his back to help him up and reached for his blade, which Zagreus had wrenched from Talisa and thrown to the ground.
“You have to! You have to go now.” Somehow he found the strength to bring his pinky fingers together, opening a portal. Bright light filled the room. The satyrs growled and moved faster. “Go now and get help!”
Elysia glanced up at the monsters bearing down on them, muttered, “Oh gods.” Slapping the handle of the blade against Max’s chest, she pushed to her feet. “Stay alive, you hear me? Stay alive, and we’ll come for you. I promise.”
She squeezed his shoulder once then
let go and jumped through the portal.
As soon as she was clear, Max jerked his hands apart. The portal disappeared, leaving behind darkness and a sizzle of energy that echoed like fading fireworks.
“Stupid move, Argonaut.” A satyr knocked the blade away from Max.
Max grunted and tried to reach for the weapon, but another closed a meaty hand around his arm and wrenched hard, jerking Max to his feet.
He grimaced at the pain rushing through his shoulder and torso. His legs nearly went out from under him, but he managed to find his footing and take a little of the weight off his arm.
“Not as strong as he looks, eh?” the satyr holding him said to another at his side. “Zagreus flattened his ass pretty easy.”
“All those Argonauts are the same.” The other satyr kicked his blade away. “Pussies.” He looked toward a satyr stalking toward them from the shadows, this one bigger and more muscular than the rest, his red beard hanging halfway down his chest. “What should we do with him?”
The big satyr stopped in front of Max. He was roughly Max’s height, but out-weighed Max by at least fifty pounds. Black eyes narrowed on Max’s face as he studied Max’s features, and though Max tried to call up his gift, it wasn’t working thanks to Zagreus’s energy blast. His body was overwhelmed still trying to heal from that.
“The prince knew him,” the big satyr said, the one who was clearly the leader, his eyes fixed on Max as if trying to see through him. “He wanted this one for a prisoner.”
“Argonauts don’t make good prisoners.” The satyr holding Max upright shifted his grip on Max’s arm, sending another shot of pain through Max’s flesh. Max ground his teeth to keep from making a sound. “The last one Zagreus tried to hold caused a giant fucking mess.”
They were talking about Nick. The leader of the half-breeds, the Argonaut Demetrius’s brother, and—through a strange twist of fate—the evil Titan Krónos’s bastard son. The one Zagreus had thought would grant him the power to release the Titans from Tartarus so he could start the war to end all wars.
Max forcibly relaxed his muscles even though doing so caused him more pain. He didn’t want to give these fuckers any reason to think he had some kind of connection to Nick, even though—technically—he did.
“The last one wasn’t really an Argonaut. This one, though…” The big satyr grasped Max by the jaw and stared hard into his eyes. A foul stench wafted from his body, one that made Max want to gag. “If the prince was interested in him, it means he’s important. What did he tell us about that dead bitch Atalanta and the kid she had with her in the Underworld?”
Max stiffened.
“That she stole him from an Argonaut,” the satyr to Max’s left said.
“That’s right,” the big one answered, not moving back or letting go of Max’s face. “And that he had some kind of unique powers all the gods wanted. He’d be about this one’s age.”
Max didn’t dare move. Didn’t want to do anything to give himself away. But his heart was already doing it for him. Pounding hard and fast against his chest. So hard he was sure these beasts could hear it.
“Yeah,” the satyr said with a malicious grin. “That’s what I thought.”
Shoving Max’s face aside, the satyr looked to the one holding Max’s arm. “If this is him, we’ll find out and use his powers for our purposes then make a pretty penny when we’re tired of him.”
“And if he’s not him?” the second satyr asked.
The big one smirked. “Then we’ll kill him and leave his carcass for the vultures.” He turned for the front of the club. “Bring him. It’s time for us to ride.”
Talisa stumbled as uneven dirt formed beneath her boots. The death grip Zagreus had on her biceps kept her from falling face-first into the ground.
She looked up and around, trying to identify their location. A fading forest loomed, growing darker by the second, made up mostly of towering conifers and a few ash and willow and oak.
They were somewhere in the human realm, but Talisa didn’t know where. An owl hooted high above, and the gentle wind whistled through the canopy like an ominous warning.
Zagreus clearly knew where they were because he didn’t once look around. Just tightened his hold on her arm and pulled as he stepped forward. “Come on. There are darker things than me out here in these woods.”
She had no idea what he meant, but the second he started dragging her through the brush, her instincts kicked back in—fiercely.
“Let me go.” She struggled against his hold, unable to do much more than slow his pace.
He didn’t answer. Just dragged her along like a sack of potatoes. She wasn’t sure why her strength wasn’t working, but she had a hunch he’d cast some kind of spell to mess with it.
Cursing the fact she’d left her blade in a locker back at that club, she reminded herself she was a warrior, not a victim. And it was time she started acting like one.
Her boots kicked up dust and debris as she wrestled against his grip. He grumbled something about her slowing him down, but she barely heard him. While he was distracted pulling her along as she fought, she reached back for the dagger she kept sheathed against her low back, hidden beneath her clothes.
She waited until he yanked her past a large oak, and as soon as the space was clear, she gripped the handle tight in her hand and arced out with the blade.
The steel came within centimeters of his throat, would have sliced through the carotid artery of any mortal, enhanced or not. But he wasn’t mortal. He was a god, with reflexes that bested any from her world. And she realized that a split second too late.
He jerked back from the glinting blade, grasped her at the wrist and squeezed so hard, pain shot up her arm like a bullet, causing her fingers to instinctively fly open and the dagger to drop at her feet.
Her vision wavered. With both of her arms captured, she couldn’t strike out again, but she wasn’t about to give up. She lifted her knee, aiming for his balls, but she never made contact. He whipped them around, jerked her close, and shoved her back. Leather and spices filled her nostrils but was quickly gone. And then she was flying, not through a portal this time, but through air, flung backward as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.
Her body slammed into the ground. She grunted as dry leaves flew up around her. Pain shot down her spine and radiated through her limbs. Blinking, she tried to clear her fuzzy head, then looked up toward the god stalking toward her with her dagger in his hand.
The dark and malicious and deadly god who was something straight out of her nightmares—or dreams.
She blinked several times. Tensed against the ground, ready to strike out if he lunged for her. But he didn’t. He just stopped at her feet and looked down. And as she stared up at him, she realized instead of the enraged expression she expected to see in his features, there was only… annoyance.
Annoyance? No, that couldn’t be right.
He hooked her dagger in his belt and tipped his head. “Are you done playing games?”
Was she done? Not even close.
Her jaw clenched, but before she could answer, he leaned down, grasped her arm, and wrenched her to her feet. Then he pulled her hands together in front of her and muttered words she couldn’t quite make out.
Magickal black ropes formed around her wrists, binding them together.
Her eyes flew wide. She looked from the ropes up to his face. “You asshole. Take these off me.”
“I don’t think so.” He grasped her arm again and tugged, resuming his pace to she didn’t know where. “I told you there were darker things out here than me. We don’t have time for your theatrics.”
Theatrics? Theatrics?
“Darker things?” She stumbled over a tree root and only kept from going down because he was holding her. “Like your satyrs?”
“Those weren’t my satyrs.”
“Bullshit! What did they do with my friends? If they hurt them, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?”
&n
bsp; He jerked her to a stop and rounded on her, towering over her like a... Well, like a pissed off god, which he was. One who could smite her into ruin in a heartbeat.
“Look around you, female. You have no power here. I bound the little gift your goody-goody Fates gave you, and your warrior skills are no match for mine. If I’d wanted to break a few bones back there when I threw you, I could have. I chose not to. But make no mistake. You’re my prisoner now. And that means you’ll say and do exactly what I tell you to say and do, or the courtesy I’ve shown you up until this point will be a thing of the past.”
Courtesy? Abducting her had been a courtesy? Blasting her cousin with that ray of electricity had been a courtesy? Slamming her into the ground was a courtesy?
Belatedly, she realized he’d turned her around before he’d thrown her, and that she’d hit some kind of pile of dead leaves, not the hard-packed earth. She could be in a lot worse pain, but she wasn’t about to start thinking of him as any kind of compassionate individual. She knew too much about him for that, and she wasn’t about to fall for his tricks—at least not now that his glamour had faded.
“I—”
“Shut up.”
He waved his hand in front of her face, and the words instantly dried up on her tongue.
Her eyes widened again. She opened her mouth to yell at him, only no sound came out.
The son of a bitch hadn’t just abducted her and bound her strength, now he’d cast some kind of spell to keep her from making a sound.
Rage colored everything around her red. Then she realized he was looking over her head into the trees, intently listening for something—or someone.
She closed her mouth and tuned into her own senses. Twigs and dried leaves crackled under footsteps. She picked up two—no three—bodies moving quickly toward them. Preceded by a wave of chilled air that told her just what they were.
She reached both bound hands toward Zagreus’s arm and shook her head, trying to tell him to give her a blade or something to defend herself with, but the asshole only muttered, “Stay here,” and shoved her to the ground.
Wicked Page 3
