BOUND

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Natasa’s eyes grew side. She scrambled back. More shouts echoed from deeper in the city, and her head whipped that direction just as Titus’s did. Blood-curdling screams reached his ears, followed by hooves pounding the earth and male voices rising in the night sky.

  Natasa lurched to the railing and looked down. Shock raced over her features. She stumbled back, turned, grabbed her dagger from the ground, and raced toward Titus.

  “What the hell’s happening?” He fumbled with the bindings on his right ankle. That arrow hadn’t come from her. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t an Amazon weapon. Which meant it had to have come from someone or something else.

  Natasa sheathed her blade, then unstrapped his other leg. “Zagreus’s army found us.”

  “Zagreus…as in Hades’s fucking son?”

  Her hand closed over his upper arm, and she pulled him from the altar. “I don’t know how, but be thankful. I wasn’t going to be able to distract Aella’s guards for long with my flaming arrows.”

  Heat built in his veins and shot straight to his belly.

  She tugged him out of the torchlight and into the shadows of a tent. As soon as they were covered by darkness, he closed his hand over her wrist, yanked her close, and captured her mouth with his own.

  She gasped in surprise, but he didn’t let it slow him. He dipped into her mouth, slid his tongue along hers, and reveled in the warm, wet taste of her. That and the fact he couldn’t feel anything other than the heat of her body, the silkiness of her skin, and the pulse in her veins that indicated she was alive.

  He pulled back and brushed his finger over her soft cheek. “You did it again. You saved me. You do care.”

  “I…” A frown turned her lips. But he saw the desire in her eyes. And the heat. “I haven’t saved you yet. Save your thanks for someone who deserves it.”

  He kissed her again. Quick. Safe. Chaste. Not at all like he wanted to kiss her. “I will. When we get out of here and are finally alone, I’ll thank you properly. That’s a promise.”

  Something in her eyes warned that wasn’t a good idea, but he ignored it. She’d come back for him. That meant something.

  He grasped her hand and led her around the other side of the tent. A sound that was oddly similar to a horse whinnying or a goat baying rose up from below. The clank of steel against steel echoed through the trees. He peeked over the railing and watched an Amazon lunge at a man dressed all in black with a thick beard, his head shaved and painted white with a black stripe down the middle.

  “Zagreus, you said?” Titus asked in a whisper.

  “His satyrs,” Natasa answered, her voice thick. “Evil satyrs who thrive in his pain palace. That’s why the nymphs are here. The Amazons protect any otherworldly females being hunted.”

  Titus looked closer and realized the man—no, satyr—wasn’t wearing shoes. Where feet should be, hooves peeked out beneath his pants.

  He turned to look at Natasa. Her gaze was fixed on the battle below, but when she lifted stormy eyes to his, he saw fear.

  He squeezed her warm hand. “Zagreus isn’t going to catch you.”

  “He’s not the one I’m afraid of.”

  Emotions brewed in her eyes. Emotions he couldn’t feel in her skin or read with his mind. He wanted to ask what had spooked her. Wanted to know who and what she was hiding from. But this wasn’t the time or place. And when she glanced away and blinked several times like she was holding back tears, he told himself whatever happened, he had to keep her safe.

  “Come on.”

  He tugged her with him. Crouched low so they wouldn’t be spotted and moved behind another tent. The battle echoed from decking to their right. Zagreus’s army had reached the city.

  Skata, he needed a weapon. He scanned the area as they ducked from one shadow to another. Any kind of sword would suit him just fine right about now.

  “We need to get to the ground,” he told her.

  Natasa pulled back on his arm when he would have rounded another tree. “This way.”

  He followed, thankful she hadn’t let go. She tugged him around another tent, then drew up short and gasped.

  Titus hit her from the back, looked up, and realized why she’d stopped.

  A satyr sniffed the air once, muttered, “Not a nymph,” then lifted the sword in his arm and swung.

  “Get back!” Titus knocked Natasa out of the way and lunged for the beast.

  Natasa screamed. Titus hit the goat man in the waist, and the two toppled to the decking.

  Titus’s head swam. The satyr’s emotions pummeled him, but he fought against the emotional transfer. Pain ricocheted through his body, and in a rush he realized most of what the beast was conjuring was hate. He could funnel that. Like Atalanta’s daemons. He let the hate feed him.

  His arm felt like dead weight, but Titus hauled back then plowed his fist into the satyr’s jaw. The beast’s head cracked against the decking. Titus did it again and again, until blood pooled from the creature’s mouth and his hairy arms went limp against the wood.

  “Titus!

  Natasa’s hand tugged at his shoulder. Warmth flowed into his bare skin, slid beneath his ribs, and condensed. He stumbled off the beast and swayed. Natasa turned him, wrapped both arms around his waist, and pulled his weight against her, keeping him from landing on his ass.

  “Breathe. Gods, just breathe.”

  The emotions receded, and slowly the haze cleared. Probably not any faster than they would have if he’d been alone, but man, he liked that worry in her eyes. Liked the panic in her voice. Liked the way she was holding him tight.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I—” He gave his head a shake. He needed to let go of her. They didn’t have time to screw around.

  He didn’t want to let go, though. Man, when she got close, he swore he lost brain cells.

  He looked down at the satyr at his feet and noticed the blade. Reluctantly, he eased out of her arms and knelt to pick it up. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

  “I was thinking the same thing.” She turned, took a step, winced, and reached out for the trunk of a tree.

  His gaze shot to her leg and the ripped black fabric against her thigh. “Skata, you’re hurt.”

  “I’m okay.” She pursed her lips, steadying herself against the tree. “It’s…not deep.”

  Blood stained her pants. Titus pressed a hand against the cut, realizing the satyr’s blade must have gotten her before he took the beast down. She hissed in a painful breath. He pulled his hand back. Fresh blood stained his palm.

  The wound was shallow but long. She’d be okay, but the sight of her blood tossed his stomach on a sea of nausea and helplessness. “Hold still.”

  The battle echoed below while she leaned back against the tree hidden in the shadows and rested her weight on her good leg. Titus recoiled at the stench but yanked open the satyr’s coat and tore the shirt from the beast’s hairy chest. When he came back, he knelt in front of Natasa and tied the garment tight around her thigh. “This is going to stink. I’d give you my shirt if I had one.” He looked up. Tried to smile. “Kinda lost mine.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t lose your pants too.”

  His fingers stilled against her warm thigh. “You are?”

  She nodded. Torchlight from somewhere close reflected off her face. Made her skin look darker, her hair redder, her eyes flicker with dancing flames. And even though there was a war raging around them, he felt frozen in time. Like she was the only person for miles.

  “About what happened before,” she said, “in my tent. I’m…not exactly stable. In a lot of ways. You should know that before anything else happens.”

  His heart beat faster. “Neither am I. In a lot of ways.”

  Her gaze locked on his. Slowly, he pushed to his feet. Watched her watching him with the same intensity. The same need.

  “You should go without me,” she whispered. “I’ll just slow you down. I don’t want anything else to happen t
o you…because of me.”

  She was trying to save him again. Being the hero when that was his job. Her heat surrounded him. Warmed him. Gave him a strength he’d been lacking, not just today but every day. Gave him purpose… Something he’d lost during the long course of his life. “I’m not leaving you, ligos Vesuvius. I told you back in the woods you were stuck with me. I meant it.”

  The tiniest smile pulled at the corner of her mouth, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Those darkened with secrets and…pain. A pain he was desperate to ease. “You can’t save me, Titus.”

  She’d said something similar before. At the portal, when he’d offered her help. No matter what Theron and the others said about her, they were wrong. He knew deep in his soul that she wasn’t evil.

  Now, more than ever, he was determined to prove them, and her, wrong. “But I will. That’s a promise.”

  * * *

  “Any news?”

  Cerek turned from the virtual computer in Titus’s suite and frowned as Demetrius stepped in the room. “Nothing. His Argos medallion hasn’t gone off, and for whatever reason, I can’t find it. He of all people knows to keep that damn thing on.”

  More good news. Just what Demetrius needed.

  Evening pressed in from the arched windows that looked out over the sparkling city lights. The party was winding down, and Isadora and the others were downstairs saying their good-byes. Demetrius knew he should be by Isadora’s side, but he couldn’t go to her. Not yet.

  He looked to Orpheus. “What do you think?”

  Orpheus crossed his arms over his broad chest and scowled. “I think the Argonauts’ little gizmos are crap if one measly female can so easily screw with not only the portal but your silly tracking devices.”

  “Hey,” Skyla said, shooting her mate a look from the seat next to Cerek where she’d been helping the guardian try to crack Titus’s computer. “They’re your silly tracking devices now too.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “And she wasn’t just a measly female,” Skyla added. “She’s something more.”

  Orpheus scowled but stepped forward and squeezed Skyla’s shoulder. “If she was a Siren, maybe then I could buy her super-warrior skills. But we know she wasn’t.”

  Skyla faced the computer, her long blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she moved, and flipped screens. “From what happened at the portal, no, she definitely isn’t a Siren. She’s stronger. Any ideas?”

  “She’s not a nymph,” Cerek said. “Too tough.”

  “A fury?” Orpheus asked.

  Cerek cut him a look. “No way. Too hot.”

  Orpheus exhaled a sound that was part shock, part amusement. “Since when do you notice hot or not?”

  Cerek turned back to the computer, feigning disgust. “I might not act on my base desires like you, daemon. Doesn’t mean I don’t notice.”

  Orpheus looked to Skyla and raised his brow. Skyla shook her head in a Well, what do you know? way and grinned, then refocused on the computer screen. She bit her lip. “Great power… She could have been a muse, I suppose.”

  “Nah. Not submissive enough.”

  Skyla’s green eyes sparked when she glanced at her mate.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Get to know a few muses in your day, did you, big guy?”

  Orpheus’s grin widened. He leaned close and kissed her temple. “Not as well as I know you, Siren. And they never wanted to play. Not like you.”

  Demetrius fought from rolling his eyes at the direction of the conversation. Honestly, he really didn’t give a rip who or what the female was. He was too busy stressing. And wishing like hell he hadn’t seen what he’d just seen.

  Pain tightened his chest, making it hard to breathe. The memory of Nick kissing Isadora sent every inch of his skin throbbing with a mixture of rage and helplessness. He should have plowed his fist into Nick’s jaw. He should have stayed and talked to Isadora instead of turning and walking away. But he hadn’t been able to do either. Because seeing them together like that… It was like looking at a scene from the future. Of what could be if he did the right thing. If he just stepped aside and finally let her go.

  His brother was right. He couldn’t protect her here. Not her and the baby. The Council would move on her soon. If not before she delivered, then right after, when she was at her weakest.

  He couldn’t keep her here, not if it meant her life. But the thought of handing her over to Nick...

  “Demetrius? Are you listening or what?”

  He cut his gaze toward Orpheus. The guardian’s gray eyes were fixed on him as if he’d grown a third eyeball. Which he felt like he had. Words echoed in his head, but he couldn’t make sense of them. Isadora… She was the only thing that made sense. She was the only thing that ever had. “What?”

  “I said,” Orpheus went on, exasperation in his features, “do you think she’s a witch?”

  Thought slowly came back. Demetrius’s brow lowered. He and Orpheus—though they were no blood relation—were both part witch, and if this female had fried the portal the way Phin and O said she had, it was a possibility she was part witch too. But something about that simple explanation didn’t add up.

  Wondering, though, gave Demetrius something to obsess over besides his mate. And what the hell he was going to say to her when the last of the partygoers downstairs were finally gone.

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I think it’s time we spoke with Delia.”

  “The coven leader?” Cerek turned back to the screen, but there was a look in his wide brown eyes. A look Demetrius couldn’t quite read. “If it’s all the same, I’ll let you two handle that one without me.”

  Interesting. Cerek, afraid of a witch? He’d never shown any fear around Demetrius or Orpheus. And, come to think of it, the last time the Argonauts had visited the coven—when they’d been looking for information about the sorcerer who’d kidnapped Isadora—Cerek hadn’t seemed afraid then. Of course, then Demetrius certainly wouldn’t have noticed what the hell Cerek was up to. Then he hadn’t been paying attention to anything but what was happening to Isadora and what he was going to do.

  A lot like now.

  “Groovy.” Orpheus kissed Skyla’s temple once more and pushed away from the desk. “Let’s do this. The sooner we figure out where the hell Titus went, the sooner we can get back to more important things. Like playing.”

  Skyla grinned as they headed for the door and called out, “In that case I’ll dig out my whip.”

  “Oh, Siren.” A wide smile spread across Orpheus’s face. And danger and heat brewed in his eyes. “I can’t wait.”

  In the hall, he winked Demetrius’s way. “Admit it. You’re so freakin’ jealous you can barely see straight.”

  Demetrius’s jaw tightened, but he kept his focus directed ahead. Yeah, he was jealous. But not of Skyla. He was jealous of the relaxed relationship the Siren had with the Argonaut. The type of relationship he wished he had with Isadora.

  Pain sliced deep again. Because he feared, relaxed or not, soon they wouldn’t have any kind of relationship.

  * * *

  They found coats in an empty tent. A flashlight and a fresh canteen, the strap of which Titus hooked over his shoulder. When he tried to grab a blanket, Natasa tugged it from his hands and threw it on the floor. They didn’t have time to pack, for gods’ sake.

  “Which way?” Titus asked as they crouched in the shadows, scanning the trees and decking. Blades striking blades echoed from below. Screams from nymphs who had to be scared out of their minds. Grunts and gasps as Aella’s warriors battled Zagreus’s hired thugs.

  “Natasa?” Titus asked, squeezing her hand. “Which way?”

  Her head snapped his direction. She blinked twice. Hadn’t realized she’d been zoning out. The sounds of battle were growing closer, as if they were overrunning the city. And—shit—were those flames rising from the canopy behind him? She hadn’t started that, had she?

  She swallowed hard and ros
e to her feet, winding at the pain spiraling up her leg. “Toward the west end of the city. There’s an exit. And I’m thinking we need to hustle and get out of here before that reaches us.”

  He twisted to look over his shoulder, muttered, “Fuck me,” then pushed to his feet. “Come on.”

  They wove around tents and tree trunks, staying as far from the battle as they could. Warmth spread down Natasa’s leg. She knew without even looking that the cut was bleeding more than she’d thought.

  They reached the far end of the city, deserted and quiet. Natasa rested her weight on her good leg and grasped the railing while Titus searched for the rope ladders she’d told him were rolled up and stored against the trees. This was the exit she used to come and go from the city, and it was usually guarded by at least one Amazon. But not tonight. And that didn’t settle Natasa’s nerves any.

  Anxiety spread beneath her ribs. In her attempt to do the right thing, she’d caused more damage than if she’d left well enough alone. The cyclical pattern of her life kept repeating itself, and she seemed helpless to stop it.

  “Found it,” he called. He latched the end of the ladder on the hooks drilled into the decking and flung the ladder over the side. Then he stopped to look at her. Concern tightened his features. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She shook his hand off her arm—the one that felt way too damn good—and climbed over the side. Darkness beckoned from below. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  Pain radiated up her leg, making her weak. She grasped the rungs of the rope ladder and moved slower than normal, trying to compensate for her injury.

  She reached the bottom, breath heavy, legs tired. Grasping the trunk of a nearby tree, she stepped off and swiped at the sweat running down her forehead.

  Titus moved off the ladder at her side and looked through the trees back toward the battle. They were at least a hundred and fifty yards from the action, but the screams still echoed through the night and the red glow of flames high above was growing stronger.