“Where is she?”
“Safe,” was all the god said, inclining his head.
Still, that one word comforted Reyes as nothing else could have. She was safe. Which meant she was alive. Which meant she could be sent back to him. “Show her to me. Please. I beg you.”
Every muscle in his body tensed as he waited. Finally Cronus nodded, waved a hand through the air, and a vision of Danika shimmered into focus. She was exactly as she’d described in the moments before she’d vanished. She lay on a marble dais, a golden, glowing vision. White draped her from neck to toes.
She was Sleeping Beauty.
“Is she…is she hurting?”
“Not even a little. I opted to keep her and so I healed her.”
“Thank you.”
“I did not do it for you.”
Didn’t matter. He’d done it, and for that Reyes would be forever grateful. “I want her back,” he managed to croak past the lump in his throat. He reached out, meaning to trace his fingertip over Danika’s soft red lips.
Another wave of Cronus’s hand and the vision faded.
Reyes felt the demon howl. “Please. I want her,” he said again.
“And she wants you.” Eyes narrowed, Cronus walked forward. No, he did not walk. He floated. His feet never touched the gravel-laden slats. “But now that I have her I plan to use her. My decision to have her killed was…hasty.”
“Why do you need her?”
“My reasons are my own. All you need know is that you would distract her.”
“I won’t. I swear it.”
“You will not be able to help yourself.”
“I love her.”
“Yes, I know, but that knowledge does not sway me,” the god said mercilessly. Then they were standing nose to nose.
Reyes smelled the sun, the stars and the moon, all in one inhalation. He hated the scent.
“The demon hordes want her, your mortal enemies want her. Even your friends seek to use her for their own gain. You cannot protect her on every front.”
“I can. I would die for her. I love her. I will let no harm befall her.”
Cronus arched a dark brow. “As you proved when you let Wrath stab her?”
Guilt swam through him anew. “Knowing she experienced pain nearly destroys me every time I think of it. I will not allow such a thing to happen again.” His hands fisted at his sides. “I saw something today, one of Danika’s earliest paintings. You…you were in it.”
The god’s head tilted to the side, his expression becoming pensive. “I am listening.”
“In the painting one of your enemies had taken your head.”
With every word Reyes had spoken, rage had further darkened the god’s face. “How dare you utter such blasphemy! No one is strong enough to do such a thing. I should strike you down for the mere suggestion.”
He knew he trod on dangerous ground, but he said, “It is true. I would hardly lie when so much is at stake.”
“Where is this painting? You will show it to me. Now.” The entire fortress trembled, stones rubbing together, some crumbling.
Reyes shook his head. “I will trade it for Danika.”
“The painting. Now!”
“First agree to my trade.”
Cronus drew in a breath, held it, slowly released it. It was as hot as a poker and smoke billowed from his nostrils. “She is my property, and unlike you, I do not barter what’s mine.”
His property? Hardly. “Then you may kiss your head goodbye. I doubt your Eye is ever wrong.”
Though Reyes had half feared the god would smite him for his impudence, silence reigned for a long while. Then, “When you can prove you’re strong enough to protect her, summon me again. We will talk.” With that, the god disappeared.
“YOU USED TO BE A GODDESS. Tell me how to prove to Cronus I can protect Danika.”
Anya had been in the process of flipping through her wardrobe while William sat on her bed, begging for the precious book of prophecies she’d stolen from him, when Reyes burst into her bedroom. Without knocking, she might add. Bastard. He was lucky she wore more than a smile and a pink boa. And the only reason she did wear actual clothing was because Lucien was on the hillside, checking traps. Well, that and William was here, and the man was too much like a brother to show off her favorite boa.
“First thing first, Turd Ferguson. I am a goddess,” she said to Reyes. To William, she added, “Begging is not a good look for you.” She continued flicking outfits out of the way.
“You promised me the book,” the warrior said.
“Yeah, but I didn’t say exactly when.”
“I’m staying here until I get it.”
“That’s just reason for me to keep it. You’re fun to have around.”
William dropped his head into his upraised hands.
“I do not mean to interrupt,” Reyes said, “but—”
“Second thing second, I wasn’t done. William, what do you think of this dress?” She held up a strand of beads.
“I love it,” the warrior said with a grin.
“Anya, please,” Reyes pleaded.
“Fine. I just hope you’re ready for my irritation.” Turning, she ticked off a finger and walked toward him as she spoke. “Look here, sugar plum. I helped break the death-curse that bound you to Maddox yet you bad-mouthed me to Lucien a few weeks later. That was very naughty of you.”
He opened his mouth to speak.
She held up another finger and arched a brow, daring him to utter a single word. He pressed his lips together.
William laughed, his own woes clearly forgotten. “You’re in trouble,” he sang.
“Then,” she continued, nodding with satisfaction, “you made Lucien wait days before telling him about Aeron. Plus, I already tried to help you with Danika. You didn’t say thank-you. Next, I don’t know the Titans all that well. They were already imprisoned by the time I was born. And last but definitely not least, you really smell. Ever heard of a shower, Painie?”
“I am sorry for every way I’ve ever wronged you, Anya,” he rushed out. “You have only to tell me what to do to atone for my sins, and I’ll do it. But please, help me first. Cronus demands I prove I can protect Danika before he’ll give her back to me.”
Gods, I’m a sucker for love. Anya studied the warrior in front of her. He’d lost weight, maybe because he’d stopped eating and only poured ambrosia-enhanced alcoholic beverages down his throat, and hadn’t showered or changed in what seemed like forever. He was pale, his unwashed hair standing on end from the many times he’d plowed his fingers through.
Frankly, he was a mess.
What drew her attention most, however, was the fact that for the first time since she’d met him, he was not riddled with cuts. “Hey, why aren’t you hurting yourself?”
He looked down at his arms, turning them in the light to study them, as if he hadn’t realized he’d stopped. “I hurt every minute of every day. There has been no need to cut myself.”
“But what if, when she returns, your pain leaves and you have to cut yourself again? Would you still want her?”
“I will happily cut myself to ribbons if only I can have her.”
“Interesting.” She propped her hip against the vanity beside her, tapping her nails on the marble top. Click, click, click. “Obviously you’ve spoken with King Craphead. What exactly did he say to you?”
William leaned forward, listening.
Reyes relayed the conversation, word for word, unconcerned by his rapt audience.
“And how did he take the news of Danika’s paintings?”
“With fury. Fear, I think. What if he never gives her back to me?” Suddenly his knees gave out, and he crumpled to the floor. He stayed there, waiting. “Damn. I don’t think I’ve ever been this weak.”
“Well, you’re not going to prove anything but weakness in this sorry condition.” She raised her hand and tapped her nails against her chin. “He said demon hordes are after her. Maybe you shou
ld, like, battle them. Kill them.”
“To war with them would require centuries,” William pointed out.
“Yeah, but he’s got nothing but time. Jeez.” She rolled her eyes. “Rain on my parade of smartness, why don’t you? If you don’t want to go that route…” she added to Reyes.
“I don’t.”
“Fine. Whatever. Let’s see, let’s see. There has to be something else. Think, Anya, think. You, too, Willy. Put that fat head of yours to work.”
Silence. Hours of silence.
“Maybe slap Cronus around a bit,” William finally suggested. “That would convince me of your strength.”
Anya clapped happily. “That’s it! Defeat Cronus, and you’ll end this little game right now, as well as rid the world once and for all of his nastiness.”
Reyes’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. Defeat Cronus?”
Hearing him say it dimmed her excitement. “You’re right. Probably not possible. Sadly, he’s the most powerful being living and you’re, well, not.”
“What I am is a man in love.” A crazed gleam entered Reyes’s eyes, a glint that scared her. If he went after the god king, Lucien would be upset. And she didn’t like when Lucien was upset.
“Uh, Reyes, baby, let’s put our heads together and come up with something else. Something—”
If he heard her, he gave no notice. He’d lumbered to his feet and limped from the room. Anya wished like hell she’d kept her big mouth shut.
AFTER STUFFING HIMSELF with more food than his stomach should have been able to hold, Reyes had Lucien flash him to the storage facility where Danika kept all of her paintings. Her mother, sister and grandmother had come along for the ride, a comfort to him. He was grateful Hunters hadn’t beaten him to it.
Every hour he sorted through the stacks of canvas, his determination to win Danika increased. Though Cronus had never reappeared, Reyes could always feel the god’s eyes on him, boring, watching, waiting for a glimpse of the mysterious painting.
But Reyes didn’t offer it to him. Not yet. Since that night upon the roof, he had ceased playing the tapes of Danika’s childhood. And though he longed to see them again, he knew it was for the best.
“Just a little more time, angel, then we’ll be together again. I swear it.” He’d already uttered the words at least a hundred times. For her. For him. Her family had stopped shaking their heads in surprise when he did so.
Ginger dusted her hands together. “I can’t believe the nightmares my little sister has had to deal with.”
Tinka wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist. They made a beautiful pair, sandy hair gleaming, cheeks glowing rosily. Danika should be here, enjoying them.
Pain grunted an agreement.
“She’s stronger than I ever knew,” Ginger continued, glancing at the stacks of art. “A better painter, too. I mean, I knew she was good, but I had no idea.”
Tears poured from Tinka’s green eyes, eyes so very much like Danika’s his heart wanted to explode every time he looked into them. “I can’t believe I shamed my daughter into hiding these in storage. They should be in a gallery. They’re hauntingly lovely, aren’t they?”
Like Danika herself. “Yes. They are.”
Mallory pulled a plastic bag from her purse, opened it and offered half of a peanut-butter sandwich to him. “Before we left, your friend Anya told us we had to help you keep your strength up.”
He accepted it gratefully and had it consumed in two bites, liking the thoughtfulness of the woman’s gesture. Danika’s family—not to mention Anya herself—seemed to have forgiven him for his crimes against them. “When Danika is returned to us, she will find joy in her paintings. This I swear to you.”
“I so wanted to hate you,” Ginger said on a sigh.
His lips twitched. Her tart tongue amused him, reminding him of Danika.
Would everything remind him of Danika? he wondered then. He didn’t mind the reminders, he loved them, but many more and he might break down, give in to the misery of being without his woman.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Tinka asked, suddenly beside him.
“Ask Mallory,” was all he said, unwilling to cease his search to explain. He would not give up. If necessary, his last breath would be expended finding Danika.
“Look for anything involving Cronus, King of the Titans, and set it aside for Reyes to study. And before you ask, Cronus is tall, with thick silver hair and a beard, and always wears a white toga.”
One of the portraits caught his eye, a colorful depiction of angels and demons, life and death, blood and smiles. Like Ginger, he was amazed by what she had seen in her young life. Amazed even more that she had thrived despite her burden, emerging as the determined yet gentle warrioress he knew.
A few more flips, and he found four paintings of Cronus. His heart rate sped up. In some, the god paced the corridors of a prison cell, flames licking the walls, smoke filling the air. In others, he fought his way free, killing with expert precision, using his scythe, which stretched and stretched and stretched miles past its usual length to take the heads of his enemies.
Why had Cronus not carried the scythe when he’d visited Reyes? Afraid he would use it and regret it? If that were the case—which Reyes seriously doubted—it would mean Cronus needed him alive. Perhaps the king had traded it for something. Danika’s life? Anya had once mentioned that even the gods were bound by the laws of give-and-take, sow-and-reap.
Reyes frowned, pushing the thoughts from his mind. For now. They weren’t as important as saving his woman. He moved to another stack of canvases, the first of Cronus cornering a group of trembling gods and backing them into the very cell he himself had occupied. Gods Reyes had once guarded. Seeing them now, he felt a pang of forgotten loyalty. Cronus’s expression was one of cold determination. It was obvious he wanted to kill them, but wanted them to suffer the same fate he had even more.
For hours more, Reyes pored over the artwork. The women supplied him with water and snacks but remained silent, as if sensing his need to focus. Finally, he had examined every single canvas.
He hadn’t found the one he wanted—had Danika destroyed it? Hidden it elsewhere?—but he had learned some valuable information and began ticking each fact off in his mind.
Cronus hated confinement. Would do anything to avoid it.
He preferred revenge over absolute safety, for never again could the Greek gods challenge him for the heavenly throne if Cronus had killed them. Instead, he’d locked them away, taking Anya’s greatest treasure to ensure they stayed where they belonged.
His scythe could elongate as surely as Reyes’s nails.
All of that, on top of the first painting Reyes had seen…his mouth fell open as the answer finally, blessedly shifted into place. He jumped to his feet, having trouble catching his breath. Grinning for the first time in days.
“What?” the women asked in unison.
“I know what I have to do.” Close, he was so close. All he had to do now was find a way into heaven.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“I MISS YOU SO MUCH, angel.”
A long while passed, but there was no response.
Reyes lay on top of his bed. He had been there for hours, perhaps an entire day. He’d lost track of time. Over and over, he’d attempted to connect with Danika on the mental plane. She was up there, in heaven. She was a portal, and she’d propelled him there twice. It was reasonable to think she could do so again. The problem was that this time there could be no penetration to pave the way. Reyes could only hope their joinings had forged an emotional and spiritual bond strong enough to substitute for a physical coupling.
“I’m lost without you.”
We’re lost, the demon piped up.
“We’re lost without you. Your family wants you back as desperately as I do. I’ve come to love them, for they helped shape you into the woman you are. One with such strength and courage.”
Still nothing.
“Do you carry
our child, Danika? If not, I want nothing more than to give you my baby, watch your belly grow.”
Clearly, impending motherhood wasn’t the key, either. He swallowed. “Danika,” he growled. “Talk to me. Now. I’m angry, Danika.” Not with you, never you. But he continued darkly, “Soon I’ll be forced to cut myself. I’ll bleed. And you won’t be here to patch me up and make me feel better. I—”
Reyes?
Reyes blinked open his eyes. That had been Danika’s voice, whispering through his mind. It had worked. It had really worked! Sweat beaded all over his skin, relief and joy spearing him. Pain lit up inside his mind like a demonic Christmas tree. “Danika? Talk to me again.”
Oh, my God. Is that you? Really you? I’ve dreamed of you and prayed for you and begged for you.
“I’m here, I’m here.” Tears burned in his eyes, scalding his irises. “I need you to pull me to you, angel.”
How? The word rushed from her, as desperate as he felt.
“Picture me in your mind. Picture your hands reaching for me, wrapping around me. You can do it. I know you can.” This has to work. Please let this work. “You’re a portal. You can—”
Something cold pushed inside him. Ice crystallized in his veins, but he didn’t move. Pain was grasping for her, but couldn’t seem to latch on. “I can feel you.”
And I you, but…
The sound of her frustration echoed in his mind. “What’s wrong, angel?”
I can’t get to your spirit. I’m grasping air, nothing but air.
“Grab hold of my physical body, then.” He didn’t even have to finish the sentence before fingers, ghostly but firm, clutched his arms—just as cold, but solid—and jerked so powerfully he was lifted off the bed and through the ceiling. The plaster cracked and gave way, falling beneath him like rain.
He slammed into another ceiling, thought he saw Maddox rolling from his bed and reaching for a blade, a naked Ashlyn gasping. Reyes was unable to hold back a grimace.
Stop? Danika asked, his journey already slowing.
“No, no! Keep going, angel. Keep pulling. No matter what sounds I make, keeping tugging me to you.”
Lords of the Underworld Bundle Page 102
