Enraptured

by Elisabeth Naughton

  “What…is…this?”

  Words dried up in her mouth. She couldn’t answer. Didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t believe the gods could be so cruel.

  He couldn’t seem to stop his body from moving, and she knew he was right at the edge where control has fled and biology takes over. He clenched his jaw, thrust harder, deeper, jostled her against the wallboard. Too shocked to do anything but hold on, her muscles contracted, and as she felt him grow impossibly hard inside her, knew his release was consuming him. But hers was long gone.

  Tears she wasn’t about to shed burned her eyes. He drove deep one last time and groaned, then held still, pinning her to the wall with his body. She tried to steady her racing heart. Couldn’t. Tried to convince herself what she’d just experienced wasn’t real.

  But it was. Gods help her, it was. And a truth so horrendous she didn’t want to acknowledge it as real…became crystal clear.

  He wasn’t just a rogue hybrid causing trouble for Zeus. He was more. And their meeting had not happened by chance.

  He dropped his head against her shoulder, breathed deep. Braced one hand against the wall to steady them both. “My gods,” he mumbled against her, his hot breath tickling her oversensitive skin. “Who the hell are you?”

  She couldn’t tell him. Not now. Not ever. But the déjà vu feeling she’d felt before now made a sick sort of sense.

  She swallowed, braced her hands against his shoulders, and pushed with what little strength she had left. “You’re hurting me.”

  He immediately eased away, dropping her legs to the ground so she could stand. He wasn’t hurting her—at least not physically—but he didn’t need to know that. Hands shaking, she tugged her pants back on, reached for her shirt from the floor and shrugged it on, then found her boot, the whole time avoiding his eyes, trying not to notice the movements he made as he dressed, how similar they were to his.

  How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she seen it from the very beginning? And why in Hades hadn’t Athena warned her?

  “Skyla—”

  She turned for the kitchen. “I need to go.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “There’s food in the refrigerator if you’re hungry.”

  He grasped her arm just as she reached the door. “Hold on. We need to talk.”

  Panic pushed in. A panic she knew would sweep her under if she didn’t make tracks. So what if she looked like the weak female running from the scene after doing the deed? It wasn’t embarrassment over what they’d done driving her. It was a need for answers. And for an explanation that made no logical sense in a world she’d come to rely on.

  “Look,” she said quickly. “You don’t need to worry. I’m not fertile. Nothing will come of this.”

  “That’s not what I…” His hand tightened around her arm. “Skata. What the hell just happened?”

  She turned her face toward his. For a split second searched his eyes for some confirmation that what she suspected couldn’t be true. But she didn’t see it. For the first time since they’d met, she saw eyes she’d looked into hundreds of times before, thousands of years ago.

  Cynurus. The man she’d loved with heart and mind and soul. The one she’d nearly sacrificed her order for. The one whose death still haunted her, even now, over two thousand years later.

  The man she was responsible for killing.

  Pain slashed sharp and deep. Dear gods, it really was him. Reincarnated into this…this monster.

  “Skyla—”

  “Forget you met me, daemon. Forget everything about this night. If you know what’s best for you, you’ll forget what it is you seek and you’ll leave this realm. And you’ll never return.”

  Chapter 5

  The Fields of Asphodel were as depressing and desolate as Atalanta remembered. As she stood in the middle of the waving gray wheat and stared out at a dull gray sky, she remembered why it had been so easy to recruit souls from this forgotten land to build her army of daemons.

  Those that dwelt here existed between life and death. Frozen in time. Almost as if they’d never existed in the first place. Though some were truly evil and would ultimately find their way to Tartarus to begin punishment, others, the ones who’d led unremarkable lives, were simply awaiting judgment. All wanted out, though. For one never quite knew how long a soul would wait in the Fields of Asphodel before receiving that judgment. It could be days. It could be millennia. The promise of a second chance—even in the body of a daemon—had been Atalanta’s greatest enticement.

  She walked through the field, the palm of her hand brushing the stalks of wheat, the entire meadow undulating in the breeze like an old-time black-and-white movie. Back then—when she’d recruited from this realm—she’d drawn power from the Underworld, where she’d resided. But now, after being expelled from Hades’s realm and reestablishing her army in the human world, she found herself back in this gray and barren land. Only this time she wasn’t just visiting. She was an inhabitant. Trapped here by her disloyal son and the daemon spawn who shared her son’s Medean powers.

  Anger welled deep in her soul, burned her flesh until she tasted the embers on her tongue. She stopped, looked down at her once bloodred robes now as gray as the sky, at what was her milky skin now ashen and plain. She couldn’t stay here. Every day that ticked by in the human realm was a day she would never get back. And there was so much vengeance to be had. So many Argonauts—her son included—to destroy.

  “Mistress. I beg for yer attention.”

  Atalanta whipped around, stared down at the three-foot-tall troll-like creature whose pointy ears barely crested the wheat. “Galto, I’ve been waiting for word. I trust you’ve brought me something of use.”

  The creature she’d recruited to help her in this plight—the one who was supposed to be monitoring the inhabitants of this realm, his directive from Hades himself—rubbed his scaly hands together and glanced back and forth with large oval catlike eyes that dominated his triangular face. “I have, mistress. But…these fields have ears. If ye will come with—”

  “I’ve waited long enough, Galto. Tell me your news. Now.”

  The creature swallowed hard. Though he knew, as she did, that she retained her godlike powers, she couldn’t use them to free herself from this vile holding cell. She’d been trying for nearly three months and had come up empty. Her only hope was now this pint-sized…friend.

  And if he couldn’t help her, she’d use her powers to turn him to dust. She still had that much strength left.

  He shifted on his feet. Leaned forward and whispered, “The gates to the human realm are watched. There’s no passage through there.”

  “Bollocks.” She twisted away, the wind blowing her black hair behind her as she stared at the barren sky above. I will blast you for this, Demetrius. For every second I’ve been locked here. You and the daemon spawn who helped trap me here.

  “But…” Galto whispered at her back.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “But what?”

  He looked around again as if searching for eavesdroppers, stepped close, and motioned her down with his gnarled hand. She bent to hear his soft words. “But rumors circulate of an Argonaut in the Underworld. One sent here by magic, not death.”

  “An Argonaut, you say? Here in the Fields of Asphodel?”

  “No, mistress.” He glanced around again. “In Tartarus.”

  Atalanta stared down at the scaly creature as ideas, opportunities, plans solidified. Aside from death, there was only one magical force strong enough to cast people into Tartarus. And only one magical force strong enough to free them.

  “Can you get me into Tartarus?” she asked.

  “Of course, mistress. But the journey is fraught with danger.”

  She looked across the undulating gray field again, only this time she didn’t see the drab wheat and colorless vegetation. She saw a way out. And a way to finally have her revenge.

  “Danger, Galto, is only a matter of perspective. And where we
’re heading, it’s worth it.”

  ***

  Skyla didn’t stop at the gates of Olympus and announce herself as was customary after returning from the human realm. She bypassed the guards and headed straight for Athena’s temple.

  The facade was as gleaming and ornate as Zeus’s palace, although the interior was a different story: plush furnishings, bold colors, rooms that bled from one richness to another and showcased the goddess’s affinity for whimsy.

  She passed through the main hall with its canary yellow walls and purple tile-framed mirrors, down three steps into Athena’s living quarters where leather furnishings were paired with whitewashed tables and heavy eggplant-colored velvet curtains. She searched the whole of the palace before she realized the goddess wasn’t there. Glancing toward the clock high on the wall, she realized Athena would be with the Sirens at this hour. Training for kills yet to be made.

  She closed her eyes, pictured the Siren Compound—well within the walls of Olympus but outside the gods’ domain—and flashed there, opening her eyes when the ground solidified beneath her feet.

  Acacia and wild olive trees rimmed the compound. The five main buildings—Siren headquarters, the training facility, mess hall, and barracks—were made of wood, painted white to match the marble monstrosities of the gods but clearly meant for those less endowed. Bitterness brewing, Skyla skipped steps to reach the porch of the main building, pulled back the screen, and stepped into the lobby of the Siren Order.

  Head shots of each Siren who’d ever served lined the white-painted walls, a veritable yearbook of those who’d served and died. But today Skyla had no desire to walk down memory lane. She wanted answers and she wanted them now.

  The front desk was empty. She stepped out of the welcoming area, moved past Athena’s empty office, and reached the end of the hall, where she glanced out the back window toward the training field beyond. Just as she’d thought, Athena was at work with a group of six Sirens—mostly new recruits—covering mortal-combat maneuvers.

  Skyla crossed the emerald green grass. And as if the goddess sensed her presence, Athena looked up and frowned.

  Athena straightened from a crouch, eyes still cast Skyla’s way. “I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got time for, ladies.” She looked back at her newest recruits. “We’ll take a short break. Get some water.”

  The newbies, three of whom Skyla had never met, sized Skyla up. When Skyla sent them a withering glare, they moved off toward the barracks across the field in a cocoon of whispers, leaving Skyla alone with her mentor.

  The pain of betrayal burned hot in Skyla’s veins, but she capped her anger, knowing there had to be a logical explanation. Something that made sense of a situation that couldn’t possibly be real.

  Athena braced her bow against the ground, brushed her chestnut curls over her shoulder. Though the goddess of war could have passed for a Victoria’s Secret model, she was as tough as they came. Her blouse was white silk, her hip-hugging trousers jet-black, and her goth boots as kick-ass as the ones Skyla wore. Yeah, it made sense Athena was the head of the Siren Order. She could lure a man in with simply a look, then gut him even before he knew what had happened. “Well, that was quicker than I expected.”

  Skyla’s stomach dropped. And in her mentor’s eyes, she saw reality sharpen and clear.

  “You know.” Betrayal burned a hole straight through Skyla’s gut. “You knew he was Cynurus and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Oh, Skyla. You make it sound like I set out to deceive you. I had no such intentions.”

  “What would you call it?”

  Athena bent to pick up her throwing stars from the ground. “I call it an assignment, plain and simple. Who he is changes nothing. And had you not slept with him, you would never have known the truth. You did sleep with him, didn’t you? That’s the only reason you’d even know. My gods, Skyla. It’s been years since you fucked a mark. It didn’t even occur to me that you would screw a human, let alone a daemon hybrid.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Skyla either. She hadn’t understood the pull she had toward Orpheus. All she’d known was that between seeing him in that concert crowd and tending his wounds in that stopover apartment she’d taken while she waited for him to show up, he’d awoken some primitive womanly part of her she’d shut down eons ago. And in that moment of release, when they’d been joined and her guard had been stripped bare, she’d seen into his soul.

  Athena’s betrayal seared her heart. A heart she’d buried so long ago, she didn’t realize it could still hurt. “You should have told me. Keeping his identity secret was not your call to make. I had the right to—”

  “To what?” Athena asked. “To decide his fate? That’s not your job, Skyla. Your job is to do as you’re told. If you remember, I tried to talk Zeus out of sending you on this mission, but you claimed you were ready, and I went along with you because I trust your judgment. Regardless, though, who your target was is of no importance. It’s who he is now that matters. And what he’s done.”

  Skyla stared at the goddess she’d once regarded as her friend. The only person who’d understood her. But now she realized Athena hadn’t truly understood her at all. Not if she could so callously brush this aside as if it meant nothing.

  “How is it even possible? He died. I saw his body. I…” She closed her mouth, swallowed. Couldn’t say the words. Because even just thinking them cut with the fierceness of a jagged blade. He’d been her lover, her heart, the one person she’d been willing to leave the Sirens for. Until he wasn’t.

  Athena pressed the button on the end of the magical weapon. It shrank down to a six-inch metal bar, which she slipped into the leg of her platform kick-ass boots. “That was not my doing.”

  “But you know.”

  “What I know is irrelevant.” She shrugged. “My guess, though? A meddling Fate.”

  “What would a Fate care about one man’s actions?”

  Athena turned to look past the Siren Compound toward the shimmering palaces of Olympus beyond. “More than you know.”

  Before Skyla could ask what that meant, Athena turned back to face her. “The man you were so ready to leave the Order for, Skyla, was so angry at Zeus for convincing his father Perseus to put another on the throne of Mycenae instead of him that he used you to gain access to Olympus and jump-start his revenge against the King of the Gods. He stole the air element right out from under Zeus’s nose. An offense punishable by death. And when you couldn’t kill Cynurus as you were ordered to do, Zeus sent others in your place to finish the job.”

  The stab of Cynurus’s betrayal still stung, over two thousand years later. Skyla remembered all too clearly how humiliated she’d been when she realized she’d been duped, that he had in fact stolen the palm-sized gem that held the chthonic powers of the sky. And when Zeus had ordered her to kill him, she was so distraught over her misjudgment, she hadn’t been able to think, let alone act.

  She’d spent the long years of her life knowing that misjudgment had sealed his fate for all eternity. And she’d justified it by believing he was guilty. But now…

  If he was truly guilty, as Zeus and Athena claimed, why would a Fate give him a second chance?

  “Lachesis was pissed when Zeus stepped in and had Cynurus killed prematurely,” Athena went on, oblivious to the painful memories washing over Skyla like a wave. “Why? I’ll never know, nor do I care. My guess is she took her appeal to Hades and brokered a deal for a second shot at life for the bastard. And as he did back then, now, in the body of this daemon hybrid, he’s pulling the same shit as before. Only this time he has his sights set on the Orb of Krónos. And ultimate control of everything. The soul is black, regardless of the body. Then as now, Skyla, that is the same.”

  The Orb of Krónos. Holy gods, that’s what this was about? Athena had told her Orpheus was after a relic. One that held great sentimental value for Zeus. But that’s not what this was. This was the source of ultimate power. The object that had the strength to release the Titans
from Tartarus, to start the war to end all wars, and the power to control what was left behind.

  Armageddon in all its glory.

  “I covered for you, Skyla, for a very long time.” Athena stepped close, and in her eyes Skyla could see she’d pushed the goddess past her patience limit. “And when Zeus wanted you cast out of the Sirens, I made sure you had a place to stay. I trained you. I molded you. I taught you everything I knew so that you’d never be misled again. Everything you have and everything you’ve done is because of me. Because I cared enough to see that you were never hurt by the lie that is love again. The Siren call to duty is one that is meant to be answered, served, then abandoned, and we never intended for you to serve this long. But to spare you, I alone allowed you to remain. You are not immortal, even though you choose to think you are. Before you start spewing accusations that will only have you cast out for good, I suggest you think long and hard about who used you and who was there for you when you needed it most.”

  Athena brushed past Skyla and headed down the hill toward the main building. As Skyla watched, a host of memories rippled through her mind, bombarded her heart, tore at her soul. But the clearest—the most excruciating—was the moment she’d realized the man she loved was gone forever. In those static seconds, it hadn’t mattered what he’d done. All that had mattered was that she was alone.

  Head spinning, Skyla moved toward the barracks. As she climbed the front steps, the sound of voices and laughter drifted to her from behind the structure. She ignored her sisters and headed into the lobby. The place was set up like a fancy hotel, with plush couches and chairs. Skyla bypassed the comfort and climbed the stairs to the right, heading to the third floor and her personal residence as her mind continued to flicker over events long since past.

  “I knew that hybrid kicked your ass. I just didn’t expect to still see you licking your wounds.”

  Skyla’s feet slowed. Sappheire leaned against the wall, sharpening one of her many knives. The Siren’s mane, a mixture of blond and brown and red, fell to her biceps. Her piercing blue eyes—for which she was named—were homed in on Skyla as if she could see past flesh and bone and deep into the soul.