Empire of Ash: A Passionate Paranormal Romance with Young Adult Appeal (God of Secrets Book 1)
Page 15
I pant, feeling my stomach lurch, and wobble to standing on a dirt and gravel patch a few seconds later. We land just before a gentle slope with a wooded copse ahead. Harpoc’s attention remains trained behind us.
“What are you doing? Where are you taking us?” My voice is a mix of panic and pissy at the rough treatment.
“Knossos.” He keeps his gaze behind us.
“What’s in Knossos?”
“There she is,” he says, then cups his hands to his mouth again. “Zephyr!”
Her awful screech tells me she spots us.
“What’s in Knossos?” I repeat, insistent as I turn and watch her approach.
Zephyr’s boobs bob as she swoops down, claws extended, nearly above us in no time. She’s fast!
I haven’t peed my pants yet, but…
“Give me your hand, Pell.”
I close the one step between us, and my stomach reels once more as darkness devours us.
“What are you doing?” I demand, the next time my feet find solid ground.
“Ever heard of playing cat and mouse?” Harpoc asks, eyes scanning the skies behind.
“We’re the bait?” My voice rises.
“Got a better idea?”
“Better idea? You’re gonna get us killed.”
“Hand.” He motions, post haste.
I extend my arm as Zephyr’s wings block the sun that’s still high in the sky. She shrieks, her tone increasing a decibel the instant she spots us, and we tripskip. Again.
“What’s in Knossos?” I bite out on our next landing. He still hasn’t said.
I hold my gut. My stomach has nearly lost it. I can’t be held responsible for what it does if we skip again.
“You know of the minotaur?”
Another screech from the “cat” nearly upon us, has us navigating blackness once more.
I fall to my knees and retch as soon as we land, almost wishing I puked on his boots. It’d serve him right.
“We’re heading to the labyrinth,” Harpoc says, as I spit out foul-tasting bile.
“The one Daedalus architected for King Minos?” I pant.
“The very one.”
“You do realize it’s been destroyed.” I run a sleeve across my mouth. I’m already a mess, why not stink like puke, too? See how well Harpoc enjoys that scent. I snicker.
I have to give it to Zephyr, she’s as persistent as I. Her screech reaches us not a minute later.
“Hand.”
I roll my eyes but stagger up, and we skip again.
I retch at the next four stops and start to wonder if a lung will come up next because there can’t be anything left in my gut. How I hate tripping.
I gulp in air, on hands and knees, after dry heaving again at our next destination.
How many? How many more times will we skip?
Harpoc lands us in a grove of conifers this time, so at least there’s a bit of cover.
He sends me a worried look but says nothing before turning his attention south rather than east as he has at every other stop. Lost in my stomach’s turmoil, I don’t care. It’s a free country, he can look anywhere he damn well pleases.
I ease back against the trunk of a tree, holding my stomach, and close my eyes. Zephyr will be here soon. I almost don’t care. I can’t handle much more.
A tremor interrupts my moaning not more than seconds later, and I spring up. “Harpoc!” I sway with the ground’s shaking, then bound for the nearest trunk and hold on.
He stands, feet braced, not ten feet away at the edge of the wood, staring at… what? What’s he staring at? At… ruins. I inhale sharply. I’ve been so sick I haven’t noticed.
Pell, get it together.
Sorry. Geez. Just puking up a lung.
The shaking continues, intensifying, but Harpoc doesn’t so much as twitch.
I lunge for the next tree trunk, then the next, until I clutch one nearest him and follow his gaze across a field of white foundations to four partially reconstructed buildings. Only two or three partial walls remain of each. Several red columns grace their entrances, and while I’ve never studied King Minos in depth, I recognize the place as belonging to his former palace. The fabled labyrinth, if it ever existed, lays below.
Tourists! They scream and dart here and there seeking safety from the quake.
My chest tightens. Surely Harpoc’s seen them.
The ground gives another good shake clearing any remaining visitors, then stops. Just like that.
I glance about, not sure what to make of the sudden end to the rumbling, not that I’m complaining.
Zephyr screeches and her shadow glides over us. She lands in the empty courtyard and peers about with squinted eyes.
I pray the tourists stay put. We don’t need a repeat of Hal and that sphinx.
“Pell,” Harpoc whispers. He motions me over. “We’re going to lure her into the labyrinth, right to the center, then tripskip out.”
My mouth drops open. I whisper back, “Harpoc, there’s no labyrinth.”
Zephyr struts about the open plaza, she’ll spot us any second.
“Did you happen to notice that earthquake?” He grins.
I furrow my brow. He can’t be serious. No, he couldn’t have. Could he? I give him a long look.
Why doubt now, Pell? Why not go all the way? You know you want to.
Who says I want to? I stop myself. There’s no time for this.
Okay, fine, maybe he did just rebuild the ancient maze. I shake my head. This is crazy. “You realize only Daedalus and King Minos knew the way to the middle?”
A corner of Harpoc’s mouth hitches up. “And me.”
I just laugh. Right, sure, of course he does. Courtesy of his secret magic, he and his wings swirl into and out of existence. He probably knows gobs of languages and can perceive the contents of those scrolls, why the hell would he not know this, too?
Harpoc turns his palm up, asking for my hand. His grin hasn’t died when I place it in his.
Suck it up, Pell, here we go again.
I swallow hard when the surroundings again take shape. We’ve tripskipped the few yards to a doorway leading into one of those partially reconstructed buildings. Five cranberry-colored pillars stand to the right, darkness straight ahead.
He can’t be serious!
Cat and mouse, my eye. My pulse races.
You’re… up. The voice in my head sounds nearly like Johnny Carson, extending that first word.
“Oh, Zephyr,” Harpoc calls in a saccharine voice.
The harpy squawks, eyes trained on us, then flaps her massive wings in a single downbeat, rising. She’s after us in a second.
“Follow me.” Harpoc reaches for my hand and pivots, dragging me with him at a sprint through the doorway, then down a long flight of surprisingly solid wooden stairs. That little ball of light he somehow created in the scroll room appears out of nowhere, brighter this time, thank god. Good thing, too, because it’s pitch-dark down here.
Screeches echo off the stone walls.
“She can’t navigate as quickly in these tight quarters,” Harpoc says, as he turns right at the third hallway that branches off.
“I hope you’re right.” My voice quivers. This maze held the minotaur. Somehow. Surely it’ll hold Zephyr.
Another squawk. This one closer, at least it sounds closer, but then I’m the last in line. What’s that saying, you don’t have to be faster than a bear, just faster than your friend? There’s no way I’ll outrun Harpoc.
My feet fly with Harpoc’s death grip on my hand. I just try to keep them under me. It beats being left behind.
A left, another right, then a left and another left.
Zephyr’s talons scrabble on the hard rock, between ear splitting cries, sending chills up my back. She’s definitely gaining on us.
“Why not tripskip to the middle?” My breathing labors as I try my best to keep up with Harpoc’s longer strides.
“What and lose her?” He isn’t even breath
ing hard. Showoff.
Another right, then a left, left, and left. I’ve no idea where we are anymore.
“How much farther?” I pant.
A short right, another right, then left, left, left.
I scream when Zephyr screeches, right behind me. Good thing she can’t impale me with her talons while running.
“Almost there!” Harpoc yells over a shoulder.
Better be!
He grabs the next doorframe and drags me into a square room. No more hallway, no more doorways. This is the end of the line.
Zephyr ducks her head under the lintel, then barrels in after us, shrieking. No doubt she thinks she’s finally cornered us.
Darkness swallows me in an instant. I’m never so glad.
Harpoc lands us back in that grove of conifers, and I collapse, chest heaving.
It takes a couple minutes to catch my breath, but once I do I ask, “I didn’t have a chance to talk to her like I did the sphinx, did I need to, to satisfy your secret magic?”
“Do you want to talk to Zephyr?” Harpoc laughs, leaning against a tree beside me. “We can go back.”
I cuff his leg, then rise to sitting. “No, I was just wondering what your magic required.”
He smiles.
I love that look on him.
“Firstly, it’s not my magic, but you were involved in the solution, so yes, secret magic has been satisfied.”
We stare out over the ruins. Tourists have reemerged from wherever they’ve taken shelter during Harpoc’s quake and are ambling about the site again, seemingly none the wiser.
I bite my lip. How is that even possible? How have they not freaked out hearing Zephyr? I glance at Harpoc, then shake my head. I won’t question, he’s shielded us from wind and rain, no doubt he can block sound. I shake my head.
“What’ll happen when archeologists discover the rebuilt labyrinth?” My stomach tenses.
“They won’t.” Harpoc nods toward the doorway we took down into the maze.
It’s a far bit away, and I squint, not sure I’m seeing things right, then glance back at him with narrow eyes. “You… you…”
His metallic eyes dance.
There’s no sign of the opening. Just like the wall in the cistern stairway, he’s somehow concealed it.
I exhale. “What’ll happen to her?”
He meets my gaze, and his look tells me all I need to know. She’ll die down there, without food or water. What a horrible way to go. I shudder, but no amount of humanitarianism in me will ever convince me to intervene. She’d kill untold numbers if she ever got loose, it’s that simple.
Does my callousness condemn me to hell, or worse, damnation? Probably, but I’ll never stand in judgment before Zeus, which is how this whole thing started, with Zephyr not wanting to get in trouble with the god. Someone recorded her secret, then I read it aloud. Yes, I have a large part in this, but she started it.
Surprisingly, my inner voice remains quiet.
The sun’s casting orange rays across the landscape when Harpoc asks, “Ready?”
“For what?”
“Unless you want to sleep under the stars tonight, I think we should head to more appropriate lodgings.”
“Oh, yes. Good.”
Harpoc grins, and seduction fills his voice. “And we’ll pick up our previous conversation.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Previous conversation. Previous conversation.
My eyes go wide as Harpoc’s promise concerning a consequence for undoing his duster’s buckle bolts to the forefront of my mind.
What’d you get yourself into this time, Pell?
My stomach flutters. I’ve no idea, but I’m not entirely sure I’m opposed.
My inner voice coughs.
“Our hotel isn’t far,” Harpoc says, “So I thought we’d fly.”
I meet his gaze. “You have a reservation?”
“No, but hopefully they’ll make room for us.”
I tilt my head. ‘They’ll make room?’ What’s that supposed to mean? Has he stayed there before? Is he some VIP they’ll move the world to satisfy? It wouldn’t surprise me.
My natural tendency would have me questioning and pushing for answers to his mysterious statement, but Harpoc has surprised me at every turn. Why not just let things unfold? What harm can there be? Maybe I can live spontaneously for once.
You? Spontaneous? My inner voice guffaws.
I smile to myself. What’s this man doing to me?
“Flying sounds good,” I reply, more to muzzle my inner voice than anything else.
He extends a hand and helps me up from where I’ve been lazing under the trees, and I step beside him. The buckles of his duster close in unison and he wags his brows, not letting me forget my earlier indiscretion.
My traitorous cheeks warm, which his grin tells me he sees.
I look down, busying myself zipping my own jacket. Pugh, I stink.
He wrinkles his nose, and I laugh. But the next thing I know, the smell of jasmine replaces puke.
“Much better,” he says.
I don’t disagree.
He bends forward and picks me up. I grab him around the neck and his citrusy clove smell fills my senses. Mmm, mmm, mmm.
“You seemed to do better with me holding you.” He opens his mouth to say more, then closes it again. But the look in his beautiful metallic eyes as our gazes meet makes the butterflies in my stomach take flight.
His dark features, those onyx brows and stubbled jaw, his pleasing lips, and olive skin, they hold me captive. For his part, he seems to be drinking me in. He studies every aspect of my face, especially my lips, as our gaze holds.
Discomfort at the rawness of the moment makes me look away, my heart pounding.
He doesn’t say a word as his wings appear in a swirl of shadows over his back and he lifts off with several mighty downbeats.
I drop my arms from around his neck and bite my lip, trying to distract my raging heart with the view of the clear blue water that’s near the coast, not far ahead. Even as dusk starts to settle over the land, I can see the sea’s sandy bottom and out a ways.
A few minutes later, he points at a two- and three-story white stucco cluster of buildings, so iconic of Greece, that sprawl along the shoreline. “Here we are.”
Pathway lights already illuminate the walkways and highlight the trunks of olive trees as well as wooden chaise lounges beside beach umbrellas, collapsed for the night, down by the water. The sound of waves lapping the white sand beach adds to the calm.
I inhale deeply, filling my lungs, letting some of the stress of the day drift out to sea on those waves. Harpoc definitely knows how to pick hotels.
He sets down in a dark recess shielded by manicured bushes, near the curved driveway. A host of uniformed attendants staff the posh hotel entrance not far away. At least that’s what I discover once his wings disappear and we’ve emerged from our hideaway.
I don’t mind this kind of secrecy, tucked away as I’ve been in his arms.
Pell… My inner voice rises.
Harpoc puts a hand on my back and despite my puffy jacket, I swear I feel every inch of it as we walk up the drive. The bellman who greets us schools his surprise when we tell him we have no luggage and escorts us inside without so much as a discourteous look.
What does he think about my dirty attire? No doubt, that I’m some uncivilized barbarian. I twist my hair. I don’t belong here.
He’s probably seen worse, Pell. My inner voice tries to comfort.
Somehow I doubt that. Thank god, I don’t smell like puke anymore.
Harpoc seems oblivious—typical guy—as we stop before the front desk. Of course, he doesn’t look like something mangy that the cat dragged in, like me.
“We’d like a room for the night,” Harpoc tells the woman who looks up from her computer and greets us with a smile.
Her face scrunches up. “I’m so sorry but I’m afraid we’re completely booked this evening.”
I glance between him and the woman, then back again. Is he up to something?
The woman starts tapping keys, and I turn around to take in the surroundings.
My mouth drops open as I scan the posh lobby with a view overlooking a spacious blue-water pool and, beyond, the sea already illuminated by lights from shore. This is an expensive place. My stomach tightens, not used to such lavish surroundings. Harpoc’s loaded, he fits in here, but I’m—I sigh—an unemployed archeologist.
Don’t touch anything you can’t afford to pay for, Pell. Mrs. Alden, an ultra-strict caretaker from my formative years, her voice romps through my brain.
A pair of ladies meander across the lobby in fine evening dresses, drinks in their hands. One of them eyes me, then turns up her snout and continues past in conversation with her friend who gesticulates animatedly.
I turn back around.
Lots of tapping of keys later and the woman brightens. “Oh, sir, you’re in luck. It seems one room just opened up. It’s a spa suite on the waterfront, one of our most impressive. Would you like it?”
“We would, thank you.” Harpoc hands her a credit card, then turns to me and wags his brows.
I motion, and he bends down. “What did you do?” I whisper in his ear.
He stands straight. “What do you mean?”
I poke his shoulder; he hasn’t denied it. But we have a room, a top of the line one it seems, for the night, and I’m not complaining.
He turns back to a man he’s been chatting with as the woman works. “That’ll be fine. Thank you.”
“What’ll be fine?”
“Patience, Pell.” His eyes dance.
My stomach quivers. What have I missed?
Harpoc hands me a card key a couple minutes later, and I hold it against the room’s door lock, then push it open when the green light appears.
I suck in a breath. The room’s humongous. I shed my coat in a flash, tossing it on the floor beside a taupe armchair—I don’t want my filthy jacket to dirty it—as I pass, then belly flop, spread eagle across the ginormous bed, my dirty boots hanging off. I can’t help noting that its white bedspread has been tucked with hospital corners—the standard I was forced to adhere to growing up.