Wicked

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Her dagger hit the beast between the eyes, the blade sinking deep. Blood squirted in every direction. He dropped to the ground with a thud. Scooping the second satyr’s sword from the dirt so she had a blade in each hand, she swung out with both, battling through the beasts who’d taken notice of her attack and were advancing fast.

  Growls and snarls echoed around her as she kicked, swiveled, and struck out with both blades, taking down beast after beast as they closed in around her. They jerked back every time she made a kill, recoiling at her blades. It gave her a chance to fight her way through, to find and get closer to Zagreus in the sea of bodies.

  Metal clanked again and again, melding with the squelch of blood and howls of pain. The scent of death rose up around her. She shuffled back. At her feet, she spotted Zagreus’s arm lying still and bloody against the ground.

  “Get up!” she screamed, ducking under a swinging mace.

  Zagreus’s arm twitched. She shoved her foot into the satyr on top of him, knocked the beast to the ground, then swung out at another satyr who seemed to fly out of nowhere toward her head.

  A burn cut across her left arm. Her blade connected with flesh and bone, slicing right through the beast’s neck.

  Godsdammit. He wasn’t helping.

  “I can’t do this by myself!” she screamed, realizing two more were closing in fast.

  Sweat dripped into her eyes, messing with her vision. She arced out with the blade in her left hand, catching one satyr at the chest. He howled. Blood squirted over her and the ground as he fell at her feet. She shuffled back again, closer to Zagreus. Another satyr hit her leg with his knife, the burn making her grunt and stumble.

  Righting herself, she ground her teeth and swiveled, sinking her blade deep into the beast’s chest. Lifting her foot, she shoved the sole of her sandal into his groin and pushed, sending him flying as she yanked her blade free with a squelching sound that echoed all around her.

  She didn’t get a chance to rest. Another satyr charged. She swung out again with both blades.

  Her back ached. Her arms hurt. She’d been hit across the biceps and thigh, but she kept fighting. From the corner of her vision, she realized Zagreus was trying to push himself up from the ground. Trying to lift his hands and summon his powers to help.

  She couldn’t get a good look at him—she was too distracted keeping the growling beasts back—but she could tell he was bloody and dirty and weak, his clothing shredded, his face swollen, and he seemed to be having trouble moving, as if every muscle caused him pain.

  He was a god. He’d heal. So long as they got out of this. But she wouldn’t if he didn’t get his ass in gear soon.

  While she’d taken down a good portion of the pack, there were still about twenty or so left, and from the murder in their eyes, she knew if they got smart and decided to charge all at once, her measly blades wouldn’t save her. They wouldn’t even come close.

  “Do something, quick,” she yelled, swinging out again, panic pushing her voice higher, “or I’m going to fucking die! Is that what you want? You said you saved me in that club. Do it now!”

  That seemed to light a fire inside him. He managed to shift into a sitting position without falling.

  While she ducked under a blade and struck out again, he lifted both hands, closed his eyes, and muttered ancient words she barely heard amidst the growls and snarls and snaps.

  Energy shot outward from his palms, striking the satyrs in front of him, igniting their bodies in flames. As their horrific screams rose up in the night air, he moved his hands apart, forming a semicircle of charred satyr bodies around them.

  Talisa jerked toward the two remaining satyrs at Zagreus’s back who hadn’t been in the path of that energy. Both of their eyes flew wide, but instead of charging, they sprinted into the trees and disappeared in the darkness.

  The air grew still as the bodies around them burned to ash and smoked.

  Holy hell…

  Gasping for breath, Talisa dropped her arms and looked out over the mangled bodies and smoking ash, barely able to believe that had just happened.

  She’d done that. She’d killed those satyrs. Her warrior instincts had kicked in without a second thought. Even without any official Argonaut training, she’d managed to get the upper hand on fifty feakin’ satyrs.

  Zagreus flopped back on the ground with a grunt.

  Still breathing hard, Talisa looked his way. One glance over his bloody flesh and oozing wounds and she forgot all about the battle they’d just won.

  She quickly let go of her weapons, crossed to him, and fell on her knees at his side.

  “Okay,” she said between breaths, sucking back air as she leaned on her hands in the dirt. “Get up. We need to get out of here before those two get smart and bring back reinforcements.”

  “Go… home,” Zagreus muttered. “Before you… can’t.”

  He was barely moving, his eyes closed, and there was so much blood oozing from his flesh, staining his ripped and filthy clothes, she didn’t know which injuries were the worst.

  But it was the flat tone of his voice that worried her most. A dead sound that made the hair on her nape tingle.

  She didn’t want to think about why that tone bothered her right now. Grasping the only part of his bloody arm that wasn’t oozing, she pulled, trying to tug him up to sitting. “We’re both”—she grunted—"going home.”

  “I… told you. I… released you.”

  He was like dead weight. Not fighting her, but not helping, either. “Something you don’t know about me”—she shifted around his back to push against his spine—“is that I never do as I’m told.”

  “Just… leave me. I’m tired.”

  Scrambling in front of him, she wrapped her hand around his forearm, braced the soles of her silly sandals in the dirt, and yanked, drawing him to his feet.

  He fell into her, and she grunted as her arms slid around his torso, her body taking the brunt of his as she tried to hold him upright.

  Gods, he weighed a ton. Though she had the gift of extreme strength, her body was taxed from the fight and working hard to heal from the blows she’d taken. Every movement made her sweat and breathe even harder.

  She repositioned her feet, getting a better hold on him. Her gaze skipped to the stone archway, judging the distance she’d have to drag him. The image of the forest flickered, revealing the pool, the waterfall, and the rock cliff beyond that were supposed to be hidden.

  Shit. The camouflage spell he’d cast was fading. Getting him back beyond Ehrendia’s border wasn’t going to be enough. Somehow, she had to get him back to the castle, get a healer to fix whatever was wrong with him, and find a way to resecure the border. Otherwise, everyone in Ehrendia would still be in danger.

  Because she was certain more satyrs were coming. Soon.

  Her gaze lifted to Zagreus, leaning against her. His eyes were still closed, his head hanging at an odd angle. He couldn’t seem to support his own weight. Yes, she was strong, but even she had limits. In her current state of exhaustion, there was no way she could get him up that cliff and back to the castle without help.

  Her pulse raced. She knew of only one way to get his ass moving. The same way she’d gotten him moving in that fight.

  “Okay, listen to me.” She reached for his battered face, cupped his scraped jaw, and lifted his head from her shoulder where it was slumped. “I’m not leaving you out here. We’re going back to the castle together. You can either help me get there, or you can continue to slow me down. If you choose to slow me down, those satyrs are going to come back and probably kill me. Is that what you want? Do you want me to die? Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t get your ass in gear right this second.”

  His eyelids fluttered. His gaze was glossy, unfocused, but something in the way he looked down at her told her he’d heard what she’d said.

  His weight shifted. He stumbled.

  Tightening her arm around his waist so he wouldn’t
fall, she stepped with him. He grasped her shoulder and held on, moving toward the archway.

  Relief pulsed inside her. She gripped his forearm at her shoulder where it was draped and kept her other arm tight around his waist to hold him up as they moved beneath the arch and along the moonlit pool, trying not to dig her fingers into any of his wounds, but it was difficult. He was scraped and cut and bloody just about everywhere.

  Their movements were slow. Their steps, small. But every inch closer to the castle was an inch away from those satyrs.

  They made it to the path behind the waterfall. Several times they had to stop so he could lean against the rocks and catch his breath. So she could catch hers as well. They didn’t have a torch, so after they left the moonlight behind and turned into the tunnel, Talisa had to rely on her memory and touch as a guide.

  “Watch your head,” she said as they walked. “The ceiling is low in places.”

  He grumbled something about not caring about his head. And several times she heard a thwack that told her he’d hit it on the rocks. But whenever she asked if he was all right, he muttered she should just leave him. That she should go on alone. Even though he never stopped helping her make it up the path.

  He was sweating profusely by the time they finally came to a stop in front of the steel door. She helped him lean carefully back against the rocks then slowly lower to the floor so he could sit. Once his breaths evened out in the small dark space and she knew he wasn’t going to fall over, she swiped her sweaty palms on her ripped skirt and reached for the handle.

  Locked. Dammit, she’d forgotten that.

  She shoved her shoulder into the door and tried to use her strength to muscle it open, but it didn’t even budge.

  Shit. Ana had the key.

  Panic pressed down on her chest. There had been no one in the lower level when she and Ana had come through earlier. It was still the middle of the night. For all she knew, it had been years since anyone had been down in that dungeon.

  She turned toward Zagreus, his slow breaths echoing at her feet. “I need a spell to open this door.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “Zagreus?” She lowered to her knees and reached for his face, feeling in the dark until her hands connected with his scruffy jaw.

  She tipped his head upright. Her fingers moved over his skin to find his eyes closed again. “We’re almost there. I need you to focus. You can sleep when we get upstairs.”

  He still didn’t answer.

  Keeping one hand cupped around his jaw to hold his head up, she used the other to grasp his shoulder so she could shake him awake. “Zagreus?”

  Nothing. He didn’t move a single muscle.

  That panic inched up her chest, tightening her throat. Still holding his face, she used her other hand to frantically feel around his neck for a pulse.

  There.

  Her fingers stilled. The steady rush of blood in his veins pulsed beneath her fingertips. But it was slow. Way too slow for a mortal let alone a god.

  Oh shit. She looked down. Couldn’t see anything in the dark. “Zagreus?”

  Still nothing.

  Her heart raced. The blood pounded in her head like a doomed drumbeat as the seconds ticked by with no response. As his pulse grew even slower beneath her fingertips.

  Gods couldn’t die. They lived forever. They were immortal. Her mother’s best friend Nick was a god. He couldn’t die unless—

  Every thought came to a whirring stop when she remembered what her mother had once said about Nick.

  He was Krónos’s son. Zeus and Hades’s brother. And Zagreus’s uncle. When he’d come into his god-powers, the Fates had told him the choice to stay with the living or move to the afterlife rested with him.

  No. No, no, no, no…

  “You’re bailing now?” A burst of anger surged through her. She gripped Zagreus’s jaw in both hands and lifted his face toward hers even though she couldn’t see him in the dark. “That’s bullshit, and I’m not going to let you do that. Are you listening to me? You are not going to die on me down here.”

  Just as quickly as the anger hit, it rushed out, leaving her chest tight and her muscles weak.

  Her head fell forward, her forehead grazing his. “Dammit, Zagreus. I need you to wake up. Too many people up there need you. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To help them? I didn’t believe it before, but I believe it now. If you die, those satyrs will come back. They’ll come back and kill everyone in this kingdom. And it’ll be my fault. You don’t want that, do you?”

  Tears she didn’t understand stung her eyes. She lifted her head. Tried to see him in the dark. Still couldn’t. “They need you. I need you. Stay with me. Help me. Don’t give up. Please. I can’t do this by myself.”

  He still didn’t answer, didn’t even move.

  Carefully, she pressed her forehead back to his and drew in a slow breath. She could already feel her Argonaut genes healing her wounds from that battle, but something deep in her heart—something that was connected to him in a way she didn’t understand—told her she would never be the same after this night.

  “U-use… the… amulet.” Zagreus’s raspy voice echoed in the dark space.

  She lifted her head. Looked down at him. Still couldn’t see anything in the utter blackness. But she could hear him. Which meant he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t dead yet.

  She sniffled. “Amulet?”

  His fingertips grazed her chest, sending a burst of heat all along her flesh. She sucked in a breath and held still. Then his fingers found the chain he’d slipped over her head, and his touch traveled the length of the necklace before stopping on the fat amber-colored gem hanging between her breasts.

  “I-it will give you… extra strength. Just… Just focus.”

  Her breasts tingled. Heat exploded in the marking on her hip. Images from that dream flashed in her mind, making her ache for more of his touch anywhere—everywhere. Even though this wasn’t even close to the right time for that.

  She blinked several times. Tried to stay focused on what she needed to do right now. Not on her stupid fantasies.

  There were all kinds of magical amulets in the world. Charmed by gods and witches and mages of every race. She’d barely seen this one before he’d slipped it over her head—had no idea why he had it or what made it special—but if he was telling her to use it, he had to know how it worked.

  Better yet, he knew that it could work.

  She swallowed hard. “I-I’m not a mage. Or a witch. I can’t cast spells. And I already tried to break the door down with my strength. It wouldn’t budge.”

  “No… spells. No… muscles. You’re strong”—his fingers lifted from her chest then grazed her forehead—“here.” His touch slid to her temple. “Use… this.”

  His touch disappeared, and she heard the soft thud as his hand dropped to land against his thigh. The muscles in his neck relaxed even more, pushing the weight of his head against her palm.

  She swallowed hard. He was growing weaker. If she didn’t try something, he really was going to die here. And for reasons she wasn’t ready to examine just yet, she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen.

  A strength she hadn’t known was in her surged in her veins. Gently, she tipped his cheek against the rocks so he could lean against the wall without falling. Then she squeezed his hand and whispered, “Hold on. Just hold on a few minutes more.”

  She pushed to her feet, faced the door, and wiped her hands on her filthy skirt again. She had no idea if this would work, but she had to try.

  Wrapping one hand around the amulet hanging at her chest, she lifted the other to the door handle and focused every thought she had on that lock.

  The amulet grew hot in her palm. So hot she was afraid it might burst into flames against her skin. But she didn’t let go. She didn’t stop focusing. She willed the handle to turn as she flexed her muscles.

  A click sounded, echoing through the space. Then the handle moved with barely any effort.
r />   Talisa’s eyes shot open. She jerked back, yanking the door open. Stale air from the dungeon whooshed around her.

  “It worked. Oh my gods, it worked.” She braced her foot against the door to keep it open, then knelt to reach for Zagreus. “Come on. We’re through.”

  He grunted as she drew him up against her and off the floor. He was even heavier now, harder to move because he was barely helping. She managed to get him to his feet and through the doorway, but as soon as the door snapped closed behind them, he stumbled and went down.

  “Zagreus!”

  She wasn’t able to grab him before he hit the floor. He didn’t make a sound, though. Nothing but a thud as his body collapsed in the dirt.

  Dust flew up in the air, making Talisa cough. She stumbled and dropped to her knees. Feeling around in the dark, she realized he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t moving at all.

  Panic closed in again as she quickly found his neck and searched for his pulse.

  There.

  But even slower.

  “Skata.” If only she had a fucking torch so she could see where the hell they were.

  A hiss sounded above her head. Then light suddenly illuminated the dark dungeon as torches burst into flame along the walls every ten feet, leading a path straight to the stairs that led up to the main level of the castle.

  She had no idea how that had happened, but as she looked down at Zagreus, bloody and bruised and still as death against the dirt floor, she suddenly didn’t care.

  She leaned over him. “I’m gonna get you help. Do you hear me?” She tipped his face toward hers. “Zagreus?”

  No movement. His pulse was barely a whisper now. And his breaths were growing slower and farther apart.

  Oh gods…

  Tears burned her eyes. Tears that told her a part of her was about to die, too.

  “Don’t you dare give up. You hold on.” She pressed her lips to his temple then quickly pushed to her feet. “Hold on just a little bit longer. For me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Talisa’s pulse was a whir in her ears as she hit the grand hall.