He was the Prince of Darkness. Hades’s son. A monster in every sense of the word, one who enjoyed torture and pain as much as his father. Why would the Fates ever pair her with him? And why in the name of all the gods would they ever send her back to him?
But even as the thoughts rushed through her mind, she remembered he was also the god who’d freed Cynna so she could be with Nick, even knowing it would infuriate his father. He’d been imprisoned by Hades, probably tortured in ways she didn’t want to imagine, then released. And instead of hunting down those who’d wronged him, he’d come here. To Ehrendia. He’d rebuilt this kingdom. Protected these nymphs. Taught the silens to defend themselves. And when she’d found him in that club, when her intrusion into his life had caused him all kinds of chaos, he hadn’t retaliated against her. He hadn’t once hurt her. He’d rescued her. From satyrs and daemons and Pandora and… even herself.
Someone stepped into Talisa’s line of sight, blocking her view of the bedchamber.
Nysa pushed to her feet and turned, quietly speaking with whoever had interrupted them.
Footsteps sounded then faded. Sighing, Nysa turned back to Talisa. “I have to go check on another patient. Rhen needs to get back to the Prince’s Guard, but he can stay if you need to go—”
“No, I-I’ll stay with Zagreus.” The words were out of Talisa’s mouth before she realized what she’d said. She looked up at Nysa’s surprised face, even more surprised herself. But she didn’t want to take it back.
“Very well. You’ll need to clean up first. The last thing we need is to introduce some kind of infection to the prince’s wounds. Satyrs are known to carry all kinds of diseases. The bandage I put on your arm is waterproof. Helia brought you some clothes over there with the extra towels.” She eyed Talisa as if she wanted to say more, then finally turned for the door. “I’ll be back later to check on him.”
As she pulled the bathroom door closed quietly behind her, Talisa continued to hold the towel to her chest, listening to Nysa’s and Rhen’s muffled voices from the other room. She couldn’t make out their words, but she knew they were talking about her. About what had happened, why she was here, and what she was going to do.
She didn’t have a clue.
The only thing that seemed even remotely true was that there had to be a reason. A reason she and Zagreus had crossed paths. A reason he’d brought her to Ehrendia. A reason she hadn’t been able to leave.
Something more than just chance that explained why she, the daughter of a hero, and he, the son of the devil, were linked.
* * *
Max blinked in the darkness, confused why he’d awoken. No sound met his ears. Nothing but his own pulse echoing in his head.
Slowly, he became aware of the dirt floor. The chill in the air. The scents of earth and mildew. And he remembered.
The satyrs’ dungeon. If this place could even be called a dungeon. He’d only gotten one look before the lights had gone out, but his impression was that of a big empty pit.
He pushed up on one arm, cringing at the pain echoing through every muscle as he scooted back to lean against the cold stone wall. He was weak. Weaker than he should be. Whatever energy Zagreus had hit him with hadn’t worn off yet.
That thought left him more confused than before. He had no idea how long he’d been out or how long he’d been down here. But judging from his grumbling stomach and light head, it had to have been awhile.
He looked to his right, where the stairs had been. Knew instinctively they were still gone. Then glanced up toward the door that was somewhere above. His only hope was to find a way to get up to that door.
He placed a hand on the wall at his side. The rocks were stacked. Filled with some kind of mud or cement. If he had a pickaxe or a spike or even some kind of knife, he could use it as a brace to scale the wall. Of course, he needed energy for that. Which meant food. And it didn’t seem like his captors were all that interested in feeding their prisoners.
A shuffling sounded to his left. His head jerked in that direction. His first thought was mouse. Or rat. Both of which he could eat, though the thought disgusted him. Still, rat meat was better than dying of starvation.
A light flared, burning his retinas. He lifted a hand to block the glare and blinked several times. Then tensed, realizing the shuffling wasn’t a rat after all. Realizing also that he wasn’t alone down here as he’d thought.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The voice was female, not male. And it was sweet, almost like music to his sound-starved ears.
Max slowly lowered his hand, squinting to focus on the voice. All he could see was a gold halo of light. But slowly, a shape formed in the light. A female shape, barefoot and wearing a torn white slip dress that showcased her curves in all the right places.
His gaze lifted to the mass of curly dark hair falling past her shoulders, to her smooth features coming into focus, her small nose, full lips, and the lightest blue eyes he’d ever seen.
He blinked, sure he was hallucinating. But nope, she was still there. Still standing in the middle of his hell, still holding a lantern, still gazing down at him with an almost—expectant—look on her beautiful face.
“Who—” Holy shit, his voice was raspy. He’d been down here a lot longer than he’d thought. “Who are you?”
“Ana.”
She moved closer. He tensed as she knelt at his side and set the lantern on the ground.
An easy smile curled her perfect mouth. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” She set a satchel beside the lantern. “They sent me down to help you.”
“They?” he asked cautiously as she rummaged through her bag.
“The satyrs. Ah, here.” She pulled out a canteen, twisted the cap free, then lifted it toward his lips. “Sip slowly. You’re dehydrated.”
He sniffed as the canteen came near his face. Couldn’t smell anything.
She smiled in the dim light. “It’s just water, I promise.”
He had no idea who she was or why she was here, but he was suddenly parched. He lifted a shaky hand to the canteen and took it from her, swallowing as soon as the cool liquid reached his throat.
“Easy. Not too much at first.”
He wanted to guzzle down the whole damn thing, was suddenly thirstier than he’d ever been, but knew she was right. The last thing he needed was to get sick.
Forcing himself to lower the canteen, he swiped a hand across his lips and looked back at her. Her head was down. She was rummaging through her bag again. Dark curls fell across her cheek, hiding her eyes from his view, but some instinct told him she wasn’t a threat.
Her thin dress was dirty and torn in several places. He spotted several streaks of mud on her bare arms, her legs, even on her left cheek. And he was almost certain there was a twig stuck in the back of her hair.
“There it is.” She pulled a small vial from her bag and held it up. Some kind of blue-green liquid sloshed inside the glass. “Not exactly a steak dinner, but it should be enough for now.” She popped the stopper and held the vial out to him.
He eyed her warily. “What is that?”
“Liquid energy.” She smiled when he only stared at her. “I’m a healer, not Atropos come to snip the thread of your life.”
No, she definitely wasn’t a Fate. He’d met Lachesis—the Fate who spun the thread of life—and she’d been old. White-hair, wrinkly-skin-old, which this female definitely was not. As all three Fates were the same age, there was no way she was Atropos, the Fate known as the Angel of Death.
Still…
His smile faded as he eyed the vial. There were plenty of otherworldly creatures in the human realm who employed witches to conjure all kinds of spells.
“I’m not one of those, either,” she said.
“One of what?”
“A witch.”
“How did you—?”
“Know what you were thinking? I didn’t. I guessed. Wasn’t much of a stretch, considering t
he skeptical look on your face. I’m a nymph.”
A nymph? His gaze skipped over her again. She was stunning, even in the low light, even with the filthy dress and smear of dirt across her cheek. But his senses told him to be careful. He was definitely weaker than he’d thought because he couldn’t tell if she was lying. In fact, he couldn’t pick up any signals from her.
“If you’re really a nymph, then what’s in the vial?”
“Electrolytes and vitamins. A special mixture I came up with. Your body’s having trouble replenishing itself because of the energy hit you took. This will help you rebalance.”
“How do you know about the energy I was hit with?”
“Because I’ve treated several of Zagreus’s victims. His tactics are well-known in these parts.” She held the vial out to him again. “Trust me. You’ll feel better in a few minutes.”
He wasn’t willing to trust her yet, but he was quickly running out of options. Carefully, he took the vial from her fingers and lifted it to his lips.
The liquid was slightly bitter, but not horrible. He swallowed, half-expecting something cataclysmic to happen. All he felt was a warmth that spread down his chest, into his belly, then slowly out through each limb.
“Good.” She took the vial from his hands and slipped it back into her satchel. “We’ll give that a few minutes to work, then I have some food for you.”
At just the mention of food, his stomach growled.
She smiled. “I see my concoction is already working.”
It was working. The fogginess was already clearing from his head, and he felt suddenly stronger, more alert. He sat up against the wall, his gaze studying her closer as she reached in her bag again. A lock of hair fell across her cheek.
Something about her was familiar, but he was sure he’d never met her before. “You’re a nymph, yet you work for the satyrs?”
“I came across the satyrs by accident. Once they found out I was a healer, my choices were either to be thrown down here like you or cooperate. Ah, there it is.”
She pulled something wrapped in cloth from her satchel and handed it to him. Warmth met his palms, and the scent of fresh-baked bread hit his nostrils.
His stomach growled all over again as he sat forward, tore the wrapping free, then ripped off a chunk of bread and bit into it. He groaned at the sublime taste.
She chuckled. “My concoction is definitely working.”
He swallowed another bite. She didn’t interrupt him, just sat back on her heels and watched, handing him the canteen when he looked around for it.
The bread was the best thing he’d ever eaten, and by the time he finished, he was sure he could eat ten more loaves. But she didn’t pull anything else from her magick satchel, and he had a sudden thought that maybe instead of scarfing it down, he should have rationed it, in case it was all he was going to get.
She tipped her head as he leaned back against the wall. “You’re an Argonaut.”
He didn’t answer. Wasn’t sure he should. Instead, he lifted the canteen to his lips again and swallowed a mouthful of water.
“I’ve never met an Argonaut before.” Her hand drifted toward the markings on his forearm, then she hesitated with her fingers mere inches above his skin and flicked a look up to his eyes. “Do you mind?”
He still couldn’t pick up any signals from her, and he wasn’t sure how to read her strange question. But he could already feel the heat from her hand washing over his flesh, and for reasons he didn’t understand, he wanted her to touch him. Ached for it in a way he’d never ached for another’s touch. Ever. “I guess.”
Her palm and fingertips grazed the markings on his skin. Warmth and electricity immediately zinged up his arm and into his chest.
His gaze shot to hers. The lantern she’d lit was already dimming, but in her light blue eyes he saw sparks of excitement. Of heat. Of a hunger that couldn’t be sated by bread and water.
The same hunger suddenly consuming him.
She moved her hand up his arm, to his biceps, then across his shoulder where her palm finally stilled against his chest. His stomach tightened as she drew close. Closer than she’d been only moments ago. So close she straddled his lap and the warmth of her breath tickled his lips.
“What is your name?” she whispered as the light continued to fade.
“M-Maximus.” He lifted his hand and covered hers against his chest, no longer caring about food. Wanting only to taste her. Her skin was as soft as velvet, and her sexy jasmine scent—dear gods, it was making him high. “My name is Maximus.”
“Maximus.” Her gaze held his, hypnotizing him with the clear blue of her eyes. “That means greatest. Tell me, Maximus, are you the greatest?”
For her, he suddenly wanted to be. “I-I don’t know.”
“Tell you what.” A seductive smile curled her lips, and her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Since we’re trapped down here together for the time being, why don’t we find out?”
The lantern went out, dousing the room in darkness once more. But Max didn’t care. Because her lips were suddenly on his, her kiss giving him strength, giving him life, giving him a reason to fight. Telling him with one taste that being captured by these satyrs, being thrown in this cell had not been a matter of chance.
It was fate. His fate.
And she was the key to everything.
Chapter Eleven
Talisa didn’t remember bathing or dressing. She did both in record time. She didn’t even look at her reflection as she tugged the loose cotton nightgown over her head and finger-combed her damp hair.
Flames crackled in the giant fireplace when she stepped into the bedroom, casting everything in an eerie orange light, especially Zagreus, lying still in the center of the massive bed. The blankets were pulled up to his waist, his shirt missing, his injuries covered with damp white cloths that left the whole room smelling of lavender.
Rustling sounded. Talisa glanced to her left and spotted Rhen standing quietly in the shadows. He caught her eye, nodded slightly, then slipped into the hallway and closed the heavy wood door softly behind him.
Alone with Zagreus, she looked back at the bed and drew a deep breath, then slowly stepped toward the mattress.
His eyes were closed, his head tipped her way on the pillow, his thick dark hair in stark contrast to the crisp white sheets. Her gaze skipped over the bandage on the left side of his forehead, to the long red scratch marring his cheek, down the small nicks and cuts on his throat, then across the bandages covering most of his torso and arms. The bandages tinged pink and covering wounds she knew were worse than the ones she could see.
She swallowed hard, watching his chest to make sure it was still rising and falling. Relief pulsed through her when she caught the slight movement. Not deep breaths, but enough to tell her he was still with her.
Still with her…
Those words echoed in her head as she carefully sat on the mattress beside him.
Was he with her? He shouldn’t be. None of this should even be possible. She knew this was her chance to run. That the nymphs could take care of him. Yet, no matter how many times she told herself to leave, she just… couldn’t.
Her hand trembled as she gently lifted it from the sheet and covered his, lying still on the mattress at his side. His skin was rougher than hers. A full shade darker. But warm where they touched, and she held on to that one small thing because it was real.
“I… I don’t know what’s happening here,” she said softly, staring down at her hand over his. “I don’t know why you did that back there with those satyrs or why you’re not fighting to get better right now, but…”
She lifted her gaze to his face, his features not tense as she’d seen them before, but relaxed, his skin smooth. In sleep, the lines disappeared from around his eyes and mouth, making him look younger than before. Handsome instead of intimidating. More angelic than devilish.
Her heart skipped. “There are a lot of people in this castle—in this kingdom—depen
ding on you, Zagreus. They need you to fight. And”—she tightened her fingers around his and swallowed again because the words felt foreign on her tongue but also right, in a bizarre sort of way she didn’t want to analyze just yet—“and so do I. I’m not going to be the reason you die. Not when I know you did that to save me. Not when I…” Her throat grew thick again. “Not when I still don’t understand any of this.”
He didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even move a single muscle to tell her he’d heard her words.
“You owe me an explanation.” Her eyes grew hot all over again, and she blinked several times, fighting to hold back the hitch in her voice. “About what I’m doing here and why I feel this way.” She squeezed his hand. “About why you called me mono mia. Just open your eyes and talk to me. Please.”
Still, he didn’t move. The only sign he was alive the shallow movements of his chest as he breathed.
“It seems some things don’t change,” a voice said softly at Talisa’s back. “Our Ziggy was never one for conversation.”
Shocked because she hadn’t heard a door open, Talisa whipped around and blinked at the female standing behind her.
No, not standing, floating. In a diaphanous white robe that fell past her feet and dangled above the hardwood.
Talisa tightened her hold on Zagreus’s hand, a new sense of fear rushing through her.
The female was tiny, even hovering a foot above the floor, with long white hair that fell past her shoulders and wrinkled skin that showed her age. Her nose was small, her lips the slightest shade of pink, but her eyes… They were laser focused and so light blue, they almost glowed.
“Do you know who I am, paidí?”
“I… Y-yes.” Talisa’s heart raced, and her mouth was so dry, she could barely form words. “You’re a Fate.”
Please don’t be Atropos…
The Fate smiled. “Your father obviously prepared you.”
“N-not my father. My mother.”
The Fate chuckled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Your father is not my biggest fan.”
Wicked: Eternal Guardians Page 16
