Marked (Eternal Guardians #1)

by Elisabeth Naughton

“Imbeciles!”

  Atalanta roared out her frustration as she slammed her hands down on the altar of her temple. The solid stone split in two with an earth-shattering crack and fell together at her feet.

  Two steps down, in front of the now-demolished altar, Deimus dropped his head in supplication. Behind him, and several feet away, three other daemons did likewise.

  They were morons. All of them. And they were fucking up her plans.

  She rounded the mess, her bloodred skirt flying behind her. “She lives and the half-breeds survive. You are useless, Deimus!”

  He didn’t lift his head or try to defend himself, even as she reached for the sword at his hip, unsheathed the blade and plunged it deep into his chest in one mighty thrust.

  Slowly, his head came up, and his green eyes widened until the whites were all she saw. The shock that ran over his face only fueled the venom in her veins as she twisted the sword, exacting as much pain as possible.

  He gasped. Fell to his knees at her feet. Blood pumping, she braced one foot against his chest and yanked the blade out, then thrust her arm out to the side so the blade sliced through the air and severed his head. It rolled down the stone steps with a sickening thunk. Gritting her teeth, she pushed with the sole of her foot until his body followed suit and came to rest near the head at the base of the temple steps.

  The other three daemons looked down in horror.

  “Thanatos,” she barked. “Come forward.”

  The daemon in the middle cautiously looked up, and though he hesitated a brief moment, he obeyed, coming to rest where Deimus had once stood.

  She liked that he didn’t quiver, though he had to be pulsing with fear. “Pledge your allegiance, here and now.”

  He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “I vow to serve the goddess until death.”

  Oddly calmed by his vow, she lifted her shoulders, straightened her spine. “Who is your master?”

  “You are, my queen.”

  “What is your quest?”

  “To destroy Argolea and all that it represents.”

  Atalanta drew a steadying breath. Because of Deimus’s ineptitude, she’d lost the half-breed. That didn’t mean it was over, though. She knew of Hera’s curse. She’d just have to believe the Argonaut wouldn’t go through with the joining of the Chosen. And she still had other means of vengeance.

  She pulled Thanatos’s sword from its sheath and placed the flat end of the blade against the top of his head. “You, Thanatos, daemon of death, are hereby knighted the commander of my army.” Electricity flowed from her hand, down the blade and into Thanatos as the extra strength granted to that of her archdaemon seeped into his body. “Do not disappoint me. My patience grows dangerously thin.”

  She lifted the sword and held it out to him. “Now rise. And go forth to kill. I want blood.”

  “Yes, my queen.” Thanatos bowed, turned and stepped over Deimus without a look.

  Alone, Atalanta drew one deep breath, then glanced to the blackened column on the right side of her temple. “Come closer, Maximus.”

  Silence met her ears. But she sensed his breathing. And his fear. And it fed her. As it always did.

  Slowly, two feet shuffled from behind the massive column, and the child stepped out of the shadows, eyes wide as saucers, face drawn in terror.

  His striking resemblance to his father always stopped her. The blond hair, the chiseled features. The power. At ten he was big for his age, already hinting at the warrior he would one day become. Her warrior. Trained, molded, nurtured by her. “Closer.”

  He stepped toward her, careful, she noticed, never to look at Deimus’s mutilated remains but to keep his eyes on her. When he inched close enough, she grasped his hand, her fingers sliding over and around the markings that started on his forearms and ran down to entwine his fingers. She jerked him down the stone steps until he was standing over Deimus’s body, his back pressed up tight against her stomach, her hands cemented on his shoulders to hold him in place.

  She felt him tremble and smiled as she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Look closely, yios, and tell me what you see.”

  “I—I see…in-ineptitude.”

  Already, he’d learned so much, but there would always be more. “Ineptitude, what?”

  “Ineptitude”—he swallowed, hard—“Matéras.”

  Mother. Her smile widened. “And what is your matéras, above all else, Maximus?”

  He hesitated. She felt it. Knew the internal war between good and evil that lived inside him was raging hot and fierce. The internal war she would beat out of him until he turned to her fully and without conscience. “M…merciful.”

  Her smile faded as she slid her arms down his chest and around to pull him tighter against her. The breath left him on a gasp, and still she tightened like a boa constrictor, knowing…showing that she held the ultimate power over him and always would. “Yes, yios. Your matéras is merciful,” she growled in his ear. “So merciful, I am the only one who can save you. You know that to be true. And you would be wise to remember it. Always.”

  She held him long enough to know she’d made her point, until it was all he could do not to scream for a breath. His muscles tightened against her, but he knew better than to fight. Knew if he did, he would wind up in much, much worse shape than he was in now.

  When she released him, he drew in a gulp of air and fell forward to land on his hands and knees on Deimus’s decapitated body. Blood stained his skin and clothing as he pushed up quickly, stumbled and tripped over the monster. But when he turned, breathing deeply, and his brilliant silver eyes finally lifted to hers, there was no longer fear smoldering in their depths, but determination.

  Determination and a hatred forged by her hand.

  Pride rushed through her. Oh, yes. It was beyond time he assumed his rightful place at her side and learned the full extent of her power. Especially now, when he may just be the key to her plan after all.

  “Tomorrow you join Phobus in the training circle.”

  Not a flicker of emotion ran over his features at the news that in a few short hours he would be fighting daemons like the mutilated one at his feet to the death. No fear, no horror, no disgust or railing that he was still a child. There was simply…nothing. Her pride swelled. Already he lacked the humanity bred into the Argonauts that would eventually be their downfall. His training would finish the job to turn him fully her way.

  “Leave me now.”

  He did. Without a single word. Shoulders held high, head up, back straight with a confidence born of the guardian class. Her eyes followed him as far as the outer wall around her temple before she turned her back and climbed the steps of her altar. And as she did, her gaze swept once again over the River Styx that so often was her only source of pleasure these days.

  “He is a beast of burden, Meleager,” she said on a sigh. “But one day soon, he will be the son we should have had.”

  Silence. Not that she expected Meleager to answer her. He never did.

  She ran her hands over her cold arms. Shivered. Thought of all the day had brought.

  It wasn’t over yet. She was the greatest hero to ever walk the earth. Her father had known that. Meleager had known it and died because of it. The rest would know it as well.

  “Soon,” she muttered, staring at the water. “Soon I’ll have my revenge.”