Gryphon shot him a glare. “And let you have all the fun? I think not.”
Orpheus smirked, looked to Demetrius. “How about you, cowboy? Did you ever wonder what Pandora let out of her box?”
Demetrius tensed. There was no way Orpheus could know who and what Demetrius really was, but the intense expression, coupled with the look in the ándras’s eyes when he tipped his head toward the door, gave Demetrius a strange hitch in his gut, as if Orpheus knew way more than he should.
Orpheus took one step toward Demetrius. “Some things are better left unseen. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you, Guardian?”
Knowledge and secrets lingered in Orpheus’s words, drifted in his empty eyes. The black mist pounded at Demetrius from every side. The two parts of him he kept locked off from the world, the blackness inside and his so-called gift, strained to be set free. To finally be used.
Temptation was closer than it had ever been. All he had to do was lift his hands, give in to the power…
An ear-shattering scream rent the air. Demetrius looked past Orpheus toward the blue glow. And his chest grew impossibly tight. He knew that voice.
Instinct pushed him forward without a second thought. “Isadora.”
Chapter 4
Isadora thought Hades was the most terrifying immortal being she’d ever faced. She’d been wrong.
Shakes racked her body as she stood in the center of the great hall. Behind her, lightning flashed outside, illuminating the space through three high arching windows. Far below, the crash of waves against rock drifted up in a roar that churned and rolled in time with her fear. But what held Isadora’s attention wasn’t the lights or sounds or even what the witches were muttering. It was the glowing blue being floating across the ground toward her.
Floating.
Holy skata, it was floating.
Her heart pounded like a gong against her ribs. Terror gripped every inch of her soul and urged her to flee, but she couldn’t move. Even if the witches hadn’t been holding her, she’d have been frozen in this space. Because evil hummed and vibrated in front of her—the kind that was on a par with Atalanta and Hades and wasn’t supposed to exist in her realm—and she was powerless to do anything but stare and quake.
“You,” the glowing thing said in a raspy voice that sounded as if it rang out from the dead. “You are…more than I expected.”
Isadora had no idea what he meant. Her gaze was fixed on the silver hair that fell from a part in the middle of his skull and hung to his hips. A gray moustache seemed to rise from two clumps under his nostrils to frame his twisted mouth. Not a single hair swayed; the only thing affected by his movement was the long black robe he wore, which hovered inches above the weathered stone floor.
He stopped mere feet from her. The sallow wrinkles on his face pulsed with energy as he breathed deeply. And as his pupils dilated until there was no white around his irises, just one giant gaping black hole, Isadora knew this thing—whatever it was—had come to steal what was left of her freedom.
“My name is Apophis, wee one. Do you know who I am?”
Terror rendered Isadora speechless. Apophis. The mythological warlock. It couldn’t be. She’d heard stories of him as a child, but she’d never thought he was real. And now he was standing before her? No way.
“Atalanta was wise to hide your true power from me,” he said in that eerie voice when she didn’t answer. “She was also naïve to think I would not find out.”
“My lord?” the witch to Isadora’s left asked.
His glowing gaze stayed locked on Isadora. “With this one at my side, Isis, I will be more powerful than Atalanta. I will rise to the level of the Titans.”
The Titans…shit. They were the gods who had spawned the Olympians. Isadora’s anxiety skyrocketed.
Isis stiffened. “But, my lord, she is nothing more than a weak child.”
“Not a child. And not weak.” His lips twisted into an evil smile. “She is one of the Horae, Isis. Do you know what that means? Atalanta tricked us into thinking she only wanted the princess because she was royal, but this changes everything.” Excitement flared in his eyes. An excitement Isadora knew was going to equal bad things for her. “She has the power to look not only into the past and future, but the present as well.”
Isis gasped. And Isadora’s brow wrinkled as the warlock’s words set in. No, that wasn’t right. Her sister Casey had the gift of hindsight, and Isadora herself had the gift of foresight, but both of their powers were unpredictable. And they’d only recently discovered that Callia, their other sister, was the so-called balance between them, but they didn’t yet know what that meant.
“I thought the Horae needed each other to harness those powers,” Isis said.
“For themselves, yes,” Apophis answered, “but with the power of the dark arts I can harness the strength in this one alone. Imagine what I will be able to do once she and I are joined. I will be able to see everything. Past, present, future. Even what the gods have planned.”
The impact of what he was implying rushed through Isadora like a wave, shutting down all other thought. If he was right, then it meant together she and her sisters had the power to look into the present, to visualize what was happening elsewhere, to tap into the future and see what others had planned, even Atalanta. And it also meant, with the strength of the Argonauts behind them, together they could ensure no one man, creature, or deity disrupted the balance of the world.
Something inside her chest solidified, as if years of wandering finally made sense. Isadora’s father, the king, had once told her she would play an important role in the world—if, that is, she stopped being so darn timid. Could it be this was her role? Not simply to rule over their realm as queen as she’d thought he meant, but to aid the Argonauts as they carried out Zeus’s ancient decree that the Eternal Guardians protect not only Argolea, but the human realm as well?
She was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t realize Apophis had moved close until she felt the chill from his hand hovering over her chest. Startled, she looked up to see one bony, gnarled hand with razor-sharp black fingernail-like claws inches from her skin.
“Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, she will do nicely. Not only is she Horae, but she is untouched.” He lowered his hand. “We will not be sending her to Atalanta as planned. We will keep her. Her virtue will fuel my powers, and once the union of our bodies and souls is complete, I will have the strength to open the portal on my own whenever I choose. Then Atalanta will bow to me, not the other way around.” He turned to Isis. “Prepare her for the ritual.”
Union of bodies and souls? Ritual?
Hold on…wait a minute…
Isis scurried off. One witch secured Isadora’s left arm to a horizontal bar that hung from the ceiling as Apophis moved across the room to reach for something from the wall. Another witch chanted in Medean at Isadora’s side. And Isadora knew right then, if Apophis so much as touched her, the world—both Argolea and the human realm—would be forever altered. Survival instincts welled inside her, triggered her anger and what little training Orpheus had given her to this point. She wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing. She wasn’t going to let this thing have her.
She dug down deep for her courage. And when Isis moved around the warlock and reached for her other arm to secure it as well, Isadora struck.
She grabbed the athamé, the black dagger hooked in Isis’s belt. Her fingers closed around the handle. She pulled back and swung. The blade caught Isis’s upper arm. The witch howled, stumbled back. Her eyes flew wide and glowed—oh, skata—yellow. Fear leaped in Isadora’s chest as Isis hissed and advanced with fury coating her features. Panicked, Isadora swung out blindly again, this time catching the witch across the jugular.
Bright yellow blood sprayed across the room, splashed over Isadora and the ground. She screamed when it connected with the skin on her forearms, sizzled, and popped. Across the room, Apophis screeched and jumped back, as if the blood had burned him too. I
sis’s eyes went bug wide; her hands flew to her neck. As her body slumped to the floor, her face twisted and transformed. The youthfulness and beauty faded before Isadora’s eyes, leaving behind gnarled and wrinkled skin, canary yellow eyes, sharp pointed teeth, and hair that was no longer short and stylish but made up of hundreds of small snake heads, striking and hissing.
Horror pounded against Isadora’s chest. The burns on her arms forgotten, she shifted toward the other two witches. They both hissed and jumped back. Their eyes turned the same neon yellow as Isis’s as they began to chant again.
Isadora swallowed hard and gripped the dagger tighter. She tried to move back but her left arm was still secured above her.
Across the room, Apophis yelled, “Quai!”
She’d almost forgotten about him. Isadora twisted in his direction, then wished she hadn’t. The warlock was no longer the size of a regular man. He’d sprouted to nearly seven feet, the blue glow now a blinding glare.
“You are mine, paidi.” He held out his hand, curled his fingers forward. “And you shall not enjoy a moment of what is to be.” As if he were grabbing hold of something in the air, he yanked. Isadora’s body jerked forward as if her spine were being pulled right out of her body.
Blinding pain tore through her stomach, her hips. The dagger flew from her hand, smacked against the wall, and clattered to the stone floor. Her knees gave out. A sharp stab rocketed through her shoulder as her body slumped and her weight shifted to her wrist, shackled above.
Apophis advanced, menace blazing in his soulless eyes. “For the glory of Hecate I claim you here and now.”
Isadora lifted her head. Stars fired off in her line of sight and her shoulder felt as if it were being yanked from the socket, but all of it was overridden by the knowledge that he wasn’t going to end her suffering. He was going to torture her. And then…then she didn’t want to even think about what he would do.
Apophis’s vile voice echoed in her head as he drew closer. Shouts and screams ricocheted off the rock walls around her. Tears burned her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to curl into herself, but the blood-curdling roar from the doorway tore her eyes open.
A figure bolted through the opening, blade held high, malice coating his features. A body and face Isadora knew well. She blinked twice, barely believing the sight.
Demetrius. Only this wasn’t the almost-lover she’d envisioned in her dream. This was death and destruction intent on annihilation, pulled straight out of a nightmare.
His blade blurred silver as it sliced through air and slashed into Apophis’s robe at the arm. The warlock screeched, the sound a spine-chilling howl that vibrated through the stone-cold floor and into Isadora’s bones.
Two more males stepped into the room behind him. Orpheus joined the attack on Apophis, while Gryphon set his sights on her. Apophis lifted his arms out and shot electricity from his fingertips. A bolt hit Orpheus in the shoulder, sent him sailing backward, slamming him into the doorway. Demetrius dove to the side, narrowly missing a shot to the chest.
The witches at Isadora’s side screeched, and Isadora whipped around as they rushed Gryphon, who had made it past Apophis and was racing her way.
“No!” Isadora’s adrenaline surged. The pain dulled. She reached up with her free arm, grabbed the bar with both hands, and pulled herself up. When the witches got close enough, she swung her legs up and kicked out as hard as she could.
Bare feet met flesh and bone. The closest witch fell into the other with a howl. They both slammed into Apophis, sending him careening off balance. He hit the ground, twisted, and surged to his feet. Demetrius charged again. Apophis flicked out his arm and backhanded Demetrius in the face. A flash of blue erupted where they made contact and sent Demetrius staggering. The two witches scrambled to their feet. Orpheus swung out and caught the first across the chest with his blade before she could strike out at Isadora again, then plowed into the second, shooting her across the floor and into the wall.
Gryphon reached Isadora. “Hold on.” He worked the bind on her hand above. “Can you walk?”
Isadora’s energy lagged, but her will to live had never been stronger. And she’d never been as grateful to see the Argonauts—Demetrius included—as she was right now. “Y-yes. Hurry.”
Across the room, Apophis roared. His arms darted out and an electrical bolt shot from his fingertips. Demetrius swung out with his blade, nailed Apophis in the back, but it was too late. The current was already flying, sailing at light speed in their direction.
The beam struck Gryphon square in the back. Energy jolted through him. His eyes flew wide and his whole body jerked and seized. He dropped to the ground like a board.
A scream tore from Isadora’s chest. Demetrius swung at Apophis again. Orpheus attacked. The remaining witch pushed up from the floor and turned her fury on Isadora with a shriek.
Isadora scrambled back as far as the bar still holding her arm would allow. She glanced down and found Gryphon’s blade at her feet.
The training sessions with Orpheus condensed in her mind. Instinct ruled. She focused on the parazonium and envisioned it in her hand, breathed deep to center herself. Energy gathered near her Horae marking on her thigh. Power surged up into her body and shot down her free arm. Gryphon’s blade rocketed into her hand. Her fingers closed around the grip with deadly intent, and she swung as hard as she could. The blade stabbed deep into the witch’s chest.
The witch gasped. As she staggered backward, the blade pulled from her chest cavity, creating a sucking sound that echoed across the chamber. Yellow goo spurted from the wound, droplets searing Isadora’s cheek. She recoiled at the burst of blinding pain. The witch dropped to her knees, then slumped to the floor.
Across the room, Orpheus struck the warlock’s leg with his sword. Apophis screamed and went down to one knee, whipping Isadora’s way. Crimson blood oozed from numerous cuts and scrapes across his body. Unlike his witches, he was still mostly human. And he bled. Bright red. Just like her.
Sweat poured down his face. That perfectly ordered gray hair was now a knotted mess around his grotesque features. His eyes took in the dead witches, darted back to where Demetrius and Orpheus prepared for the kill blow.
“You haven’t seen the last of me.” With one final glare Isadora’s way, he poofed into nothingness.
“That’s right, motherfucker,” Orpheus muttered. “Run back to your hole and hide like the pussy you really are.”
Demetrius crossed the room in three strides and reached for Isadora’s bound arm. He didn’t speak as he worked and Isadora was too juiced to care.
Orpheus finally caught sight of Gryphon out cold on the floor and rushed to his brother’s side. “Gryph! Shit.” He dropped his blade, rolled Gryphon onto his back. Burn marks marred both the front and back of the guardian’s clothing. “Dammit, Gryphon. Wake up, you moron.”
Isadora’s hand jerked free and she fell into Demetrius. He caught her around the waist. Faintly she was aware of the blood and sweat coating his clothing, but his arms were strong and warm and crushing as they closed around her. And she didn’t give a rip that he smelled like witch goo. He was solid. He was real. Right now he was everything she needed.
He was also gone way too soon. He set her back, made sure she was steady on her feet before he let go, but then he was gone, sliding his blade into its scabbard and kneeling on Gryphon’s other side as he and Orpheus worked to wake the unconscious Argonaut.
She was still too stunned to feel anything as she turned to watch them work. But the scream that resounded from the doorway drew her immediate attention.
Saphira, Isadora’s handmaiden, charged with her sword out like a spear. Only this wasn’t Saphira as Isadora had ever known her. This female’s eyes were a frightening neon yellow, her face a horror of menace and rage, and the murder gleaming on her face was a clear indication that what was left of her humanity was long gone.
“Fuck,” Demetrius muttered when he caught sight of the rabid witch. “
Orpheus!”
Orpheus twisted, grappled for his sword. Demetrius’s hand darted to his back for his blade.
Isadora didn’t think, she reacted. She lifted Gryphon’s parazonium, still in her hand, and hurled it end over end. The tip of the blade impaled the witch dead center in the chest. Her eyes flew wide, she stumbled, and her mouth dropped open in shock. The sword fell from her hand as she grappled to pull the weapon free. But there was no time for even a scream to slip from her throat. Her glamour flickered and died as she collapsed forward on the cold floor and the blade pierced flesh and bone to protrude from her back.
Isadora’s hands cupped her cheeks. As she stared at Saphira’s lifeless body, she couldn’t help but think of the thousands of times she’d looked at that face and trusted she was her friend. The energy that only moments before had propelled Isadora forward rushed out of her on a wave. She took a step back just as her knees went out from under her.
“I’ve got you.”
Strong arms closed around her. Still reeling, she looked up to find Demetrius holding her tight against him once again.
Demetrius?
Yeah. Demetrius.
She focused on his face to keep the panic at bay. On the bloody and bruised skin streaked with dirt. On the faint lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, that hard mouth, the slight dimple in his chin. On the strong cheekbones and his intense gaze, which seemed to be looking all the way through her, right into her soul. This was the same Argonaut she’d seen in her dream. The same one she’d cowered from so many times she couldn’t count. Only this time something felt…different.
He pushed her hands away from her face, focused on her burn, and muttered, “Bitches.” Gently he blew on the tender skin and his breath, cooling against the sting of the burn, heated other places inside her she definitely shouldn’t be aware of right now.
Her body reacted, shifted deeper into his arms. Even though some small place in her mind screamed, What the hell do you think you’re doing?
Tempted Page 5
