Enslaved

by Elisabeth Naughton

  ***

  An hour later, Titus stared down at the bloodbath beneath his feet. The motel room was something straight out of a Fright Night movie marathon. Five beheaded daemons, blood sprayed along the walls and floor, a bed torn to pieces.

  Skata. Gryphon knew better than this. He knew to cover his tracks. Humans were not to know about the war between the Argonauts and Atalanta’s daemons. Bodies were always to be destroyed. But this…he’d left this here for anyone to find.

  “Orpheus wiped the last cop’s mind,” Skyla said at his side. He hadn’t even heard her come back into the room. “That élencho comes in handy. We lucked out; this motel is in the middle of nowhere and there weren’t any other guests staying here.”

  “What about the hysterical kid?” Titus kicked a daemon sword to the side. After meeting Orpheus and Skyla at the site of those daemon bodies, they’d disposed of the remains, then continued west and come across a pack of dead hellhounds. They’d cleaned up that mess as well, and finally found this.

  Police lights swirling, an ambulance waiting. A handful of small-town cops who’d looked shocked to hell and back, mingling around outside. It was still night, but dawn would be breaking soon, and they had to clean up this disaster before anyone else arrived. Like the FBI special-crimes unit or some paranormal-obsessed freaks.

  “Orpheus wiped his mind as well,” Skyla said. “Kid was lucky. The daemons destroyed that office. I’m not sure how he hid from them.”

  Dammit. Gryphon should have wiped the kid’s mind, then torched the place after he killed these fuckers. If humans knew daemons roamed their world, pandemonium would break out. And there was no telling who or what Atalanta would target if that happened. Or what the gods would do in retaliation. It was the Argonauts’ responsibility to clean up Atalanta’s mess.

  Orpheus’s boots crunched over broken glass as he came back into the room. “They’re gone. For now. But we don’t have much time before others show up.”

  From the corner of his eye, Titus saw the way Skyla reached for Orpheus, wrapped her hand around his, and squeezed, giving him a little of her strength. And he thought back to the redhead at the colony. About how he could touch her like that if he wanted. About the light-headed, way-too-enticing feeling he’d experienced when his skin had brushed hers. About the fact she was the first person in over a hundred years he’d wanted to touch again.

  Orpheus swiped a hand over his brow, let go of Skyla, and stepped farther into the room. He looked like shit. Worry lines creased his face and dark circles marred the skin under his eyes. He probably hadn’t slept since Gryphon went missing, but then Titus couldn’t blame him. To bring his brother all the way back from the Underworld, only to have it result in this…

  “We’ll find him,” Skyla said softly.

  “I know,” Orpheus answered, turning a slow circle as he stood in the middle of the devastation. “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about what the fuck he’s doing in the meantime. He’s obviously not thinking right.” He eyed the handcuffs hanging from the bedframe. A sick look crossed his face, and Titus picked up the memory rushing through his mind, one of seeing those female undergarments on the floor in the bathroom.

  Skyla moved back to reach for his arm. “Maelea’s strong.”

  Orpheus huffed. “Maelea’s not strong. She’s a pincushion.”

  “She’s lived for thousands of years—”

  “In hiding. She’s not you, Skyla. You know the shit Gryphon went through. You know what it did to him. You saw it firsthand. If he…” He closed his eyes. Swallowed. When he opened his mouth to speak again, his voice was pained. “She wouldn’t know how to fight back. She wouldn’t know how to stop him.”

  Skyla wrapped her arms around Orpheus’s waist. His face slid into the hollow between her shoulder and neck, and he held on as if she really was his strength. Right there in the middle of a nightmare.

  Titus watched, more than a little in awe. Orpheus had spent hundreds of years on his own. Hadn’t needed anyone. Had been a thorn in the Argonauts’ sides as long as he could remember. But this woman…she’d changed all of that. Not only was he now serving with the Argonauts, he was different. Yeah, he was still a smart-mouthed sonofabitch, but he was now an utterly devoted, softer around the edges, cooperative, smart-mouthed sonofabitch.

  Titus turned away, knew in the bottom of his heart he didn’t want a soul mate. Didn’t want to be left open to the pain losing one could cause. Or the responsibility of protecting someone else. And that meant he probably shouldn’t go back to the colony with the intention of finishing anything with Natasa.

  He wasn’t convinced she was his soul mate, but there was obviously some kind of connection between them. Something drawing him to her. Something that could get him into serious trouble if he wasn’t careful.

  And he’d had more than enough of that kind of trouble. Had been cursed because of it. Had vowed never to dabble in it ever again.

  “We need to go,” he said, more harshly than he intended. “I say we torch the place, then keep heading west. They can’t be far ahead of us. Wherever they’re going, we’ll catch up sooner or later.”

  Orpheus finally let go of Skyla. And before he even asked the question, Titus knew what he was going to say. “What about Theron and the others?”

  All the Argonauts wanted Gryphon back in one piece, but if they called this in now, Theron would have to report it to both Nick and the queen back in Argolea. And though Titus trusted Isadora, he knew the Council had spies in the castle, waiting for any reason to undermine the Argonauts. No, if they called this in, they wouldn’t be the only ones hunting Gryphon. For Gryphon’s sake—and Maelea’s—it was better to keep this quiet for the time being. “We’ll call Theron when we’ve found him.”

  Skyla slid her hand into Orpheus’s, turned to face Titus too. “Then let’s stop dicking around and find him.”

  Titus’s thoughts exactly.

  ***

  Doooooouuuulas… Come to me. Come…

  Gryphon sat straight up, cringed when pain ignited behind his eyelids. Grasping his head with both hands, he closed his eyes tight, breathed through the throb in his skull.

  He felt as if he’d cracked his head through a plate-glass window. His fingers passed over a knot on the back of his scalp, and he tried to remember where he’d gotten it. Couldn’t.

  Prying his eyes open, he glanced around the room. Sunlight filtered through windows covered in sheer white curtains. A slight breeze blew through the screen door. He was in a bed. White sheets were tangled around his legs, and whitewashed furniture sat against the wall on both sides of him. An open door led into a dark room to his left, and ahead, a white wicker chair held neatly folded clothing. At the base sat his boots.

  A quick look down confirmed he was naked, but he couldn’t remember how he’d ended up like this or where the blazes here was. But as he tried to clear his hazy mind, he had fuzzy flashes of skin, of heat, of the sweetest mouth he’d ever tasted. Of a blinding orgasm that even now made his dick hard.

  Doooooouuuuulas…

  He shook his head. Ignored the voice. It was there, but not as strong as before. And always in the back was that damn buzz he’d grown accustomed to.

  He pushed to his feet, gripped the dresser at his side when he wobbled. The sheet fell to the floor. On shaky legs, he made his way over to the chair, lifted a pair of jeans that definitely weren’t his. Since they were better than walking around naked, he tugged them on, was relieved when they fit. As he zipped the fly, he turned for the window, then pulled back the sheer curtain and looked out at…an ocean of blue.

  Surprise rippled through him. A balcony overlooked a beach. Rock walls created a sheltered cove on both sides. Trees rose up all around, offering privacy. And down below, waves lapped gently against the shore, where a female with long dark hair, wea
ring a thin white dress, frolicked in the sand near a cluster of seagulls.

  Something in his chest cinched down tight. He knew it wasn’t his heart, because he was pretty sure he didn’t have one anymore, but as he stared out at the female, something stirred inside him. A feeling. A calling. Something pulling him toward her. Something that wasn’t related to the darkness that still lingered from the Underworld.

  She turned and looked his way, almost as if she’d sensed him watching her. And as their eyes met, he remembered the hundreds of times he’d stared out at Maelea like this from his room at the colony.

  Sotiria…

  Images flashed in his mind. A boat rocking. A closet-sized bathroom. Closing his mouth over hers. Dragging her up his body. Laying her out over a table like an offering and all but devouring her whole.

  His skin grew hot. He turned away from the window, tried to slow his racing pulse. He didn’t know where they were, but he was pretty damn sure the images flitting through his mind weren’t fantasies. They were real. Which meant that sometime between the motel where those daemons had attacked them and here, he’d done something horrible. Something he never ever should have done.

  Fuck. Fuck! He gripped his hair and pulled until pain shot across his scalp. Why couldn’t he remember? Why did his brain feel like it was short-circuiting?

  Doooouuulas…

  Why the hell was that voice suddenly the least of his worries?

  His skin tingled with the intensity of a thousand needles stabbing into him over and over. His pulse was a roar in his ears. He didn’t bother with a shirt or shoes, had only one thought in mind as he pulled the bedroom door open and headed out into the hall in bare feet. He had to see for himself that he hadn’t hurt her. But shit…would he know if he had? That kind of pain, the kind he lived with every damn day, was on the inside. It couldn’t be seen, only felt. Sickness brewed in his stomach, threatened to push up into his chest at the thought that he’d done that to her.

  He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, gripped the newel post, and breathed deep, forcing back the bile. When he was sure he wasn’t about to lose it, he scanned the wide family room with white beadboard trim, comfy oversized furnishings grouped around a fireplace, the adjacent open kitchen alight with an orange glow, and the wide windows that looked out over the serene beach.

  Serenity was the farthest thing from his mind. His nerves kicked up as he crossed the room, pushed the screen open, and stepped out onto another deck, this one with stairs that led down to the sand.

  Maelea stood ankle deep in the gentle waves, throwing breadcrumbs up into the air for the seagulls to catch, her dark hair flowing in the breeze behind her. The birds squawked and fluttered over her head. The gauzy white, long-sleeved gown with the wide cuffs hit at her calves, cinched in at her waist, and was open just enough at the neckline to showcase her breasts. Tight, firm, high breasts he remembered closing his mouth over, drawing deep, licking to stiff peaks.

  Skata. He was every bit the monster Nick and all the other colonists thought he was. Orpheus never should have rescued him from the Underworld. The Argonauts shouldn’t have let him stay in the human realm. They all should have left him in Tartarus to rot. He deserved that. Deserved more than that now.

  His skin felt three times too small. He swiped a hand over his brow. Forced his feet forward. If Maelea heard him, she didn’t show it, and that only increased his guilt and nausea. As he moved down the stairs and crossed the beach toward her, all the shitty things he’d done and said to her since the day he took her hostage at the colony rolled through his mind. But none of them—not even all of them combined—compared to what he’d done to her on that boat.

  He stopped several feet away, shoved his hands into his pockets so as not to scare her. Didn’t know what the hell to say. What could he say?

  She threw up the last piece of bread, dusted off her hands, then turned his way. No surprise rushed over her features in the sunlight, and he couldn’t read her dark eyes. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know what she was thinking.

  “I thought you’d sleep longer,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

  How are you feeling? Seriously? She was asking him how he felt? He searched her face for any signs of injury, didn’t see it. But that didn’t mean there weren’t internal injuries…emotional injuries.

  “Maelea…” His throat grew thick. Words dried up on his lips. Now that he was out here, now that he was staring at her face-to-face, he didn’t know what the hell to say. What the hell to do, for that matter. His stomach rolled, and that bile pushed right back up his throat.

  She stared at him for several seconds, waiting, he knew, for him to say something. Anything. When he didn’t, she looked past him to the house. “You were out most of the trip. I thought it was best to let you sleep. After all, it was my fault you were hurt in the first place.”

  Her fault? Confusion seeped into his already hazy mind.

  “It’s mine, by the way.” She gestured behind him. Still not sure what the hell was going on, he turned to look at the two-story beach house with wide decks, nestled into a private bay. No other houses could be seen. No other people, either. Just trees and cliffs and the one little house. “I bought it over a hundred years ago. It’s been remodeled once. Probably about due for another update, but I don’t get up here very often.”

  He looked back at her. She was talking about a stupid house, when inside he wanted to die over what he’d done.

  The wind blew a lock of hair across her face, the contrast between the dark of her hair and the light of her skin reminding him of her lineage. Of who she was and how long she’d lived. She tugged the lock away from her eyes, shook out her hair. He remembered her doing that in the caves, when her hair had been wet and plastered to her face. Remembered sliding his fingers in those thick locks as he’d kissed her again and again on that boat.

  He swallowed hard, forced himself to find his voice. “Maelea—”

  “No one will find us here, in case that’s what you’re worried about,” she said. “I paid cash for it. Didn’t put my real name on the deed. And it was so long ago, it’d be hard to track this place to me. Plus, I used the ore.”

  “The what?”

  “The mineral? The one you picked up in the caves? I found it in your backpack when we got here. I did some research on therillium while you were asleep, and you were right. When heated, it makes the area around it invisible from the outside. The invisibility factor seems to spread out at least a quarter mile from the source. Or at least that’s what I found from my unscientific tests. I have it under a heat lamp inside. From the road up on the hill, you can’t even see the house anymore.”

  He wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed or way the fuck confused.

  Confusion won out. “Maelea—”

  “Let’s go inside,” she said, moving out of the waves and up on the beach. The bottom of her skirt was wet when she stepped onto the sand and moved by him. She didn’t touch him, but her heat warmed the air nearby. Stirred a memory of their bodies locked tight together on that boat. “It may be July up here on Vancouver Island, but that doesn’t mean its beach-weather warm. You look cold.”

  For the first time, he noticed the temperature. Brisk. The slight wind puckering his nipples. Likely only in the upper sixties, even with the sun.

  “Vancouver Island?” he asked as she headed for the house. Why the hell wasn’t she screaming at him? Why didn’t she look…hurt and upset? What the fuck was going on? “How did you get us all the way from that motel in Montana to here?”

  “I drove.”

  “Drove? The whole way?” No, that wasn’t right. He remembered water, a boat. He remembered bending her over a table, closing his mouth over hers, pushing—

  She stopped at the base of the steps and looked back as she gripped the banister. “Okay, I didn’t drive the whole
way. When we got to Coeur d’Alene, I had to stop. We needed a place to get cleaned up, and you were injured, so…”

  Coeur d’Alene. There was a lake there. A big one. That’s where he remembered the boat. Guilt seeped back in to tighten his stomach to painful levels as he crossed the sand. “Maelea, about the boat—”

  Her eyes snapped to his, but he didn’t see anger there. Or fear. He saw…heat.

  His feet faltered. No, that wasn’t right either. She couldn’t possibly have enjoyed what he’d done to her.

  A rose tinge spread up her cheeks. “Yeah, about that. I’m…I’m sorry.”

  She was sorry? His head spun. What could she possibly be sorry for?

  She looked at a spot on the banister. Wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I…I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you when you were…injured…like that. I should have stopped it. I think it was the adrenaline rush from killing those daemons and being on the run. And then when you kissed me on that boat, I…” Those cheeks turned even pinker. “Yeah, I…that was a stupid idea. But you don’t have to worry. I won’t get pregnant or anything. I mean, I can’t. Hades’s curse and all that.”

  She blew out a breath, and her cheeks turned a full-blown red. “Oh boy, that was more than I needed to share, huh? How about food? Are you hungry? Because I’m starving all of a sudden.”

  She jogged up the steps in her bare feet before he could stop her. Before he could figure out what the hell was going on.

  She’d taken advantage of him? Images ran back through his mind. Maelea unbuttoning his pants. Her small hand stroking his cock. Her fingernails digging into his shoulders and holding on tight.

  His blood ran hot, and that sickness that had been churning in his stomach since he awoke slowly morphed to arousal.

  Oh, Gryphon. Yes, there. Right there. Don’t stop.

  He grew rock hard when her words drifted back into his mind. And even in the cool breeze, sweat broke out all over his body.

  He hadn’t forced her. He hadn’t hurt her. He looked up at the house as his pulse roared in his ears. She’d wanted him.