Wicked

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Her gaze dropped to her arms and the Argonaut markings on her skin. Was he not her soul mate as she’d thought?

  Something warm echoed in her chest. Right where her heart should be. Telling her… Yes, he was her soul mate. But she felt something else, too. A fullness that screamed the connection she felt to him was more. Something bigger. A bond that couldn’t be broken.

  She swallowed hard and looked at Lachesis again. “H-how…?” she managed, blinking because her eyes were suddenly hot. “How do I know what I feel is real? I’m not the same person I was those other times—”

  “No, you’re not. But neither is he. He has lived every lifetime you have. More because he’s had to fill in the gaps between. And though his body might not have died as yours did, his soul was damaged each time he lost you. No one falls in love with a body, Talisa—that’s lust. But the soul—even one that is cracked and bruised and broken—can be healed. It can still love. It can still be loved, if it finds the part of itself that is missing. It can even be redeemed.”

  Talisa’s gaze swept back to the bed. To Zagreus’s relaxed features and thick dark hair. And as she looked at his bruised and bleeding body, lying still against the mattress, she remembered the way he’d kissed her in that club before all hell had broken loose. How alive he’d been then. How real. Then how he’d kissed her in those woods just prior to letting her go. As if she’d been his everything. As if he’d sacrifice anything to protect her.

  She wasn’t sure what she felt for him. Didn’t know if it was infatuation or love or something in between. She only knew that she couldn’t leave him. That she didn’t want him to leave her.

  He needed her. And she needed him. For reasons that still didn’t completely make sense.

  She swiped at her eyes. “You have to do something to help him.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You can. You can’t just poof in here, tell me all this, then poof away again. Not after all the ways you fucked things up for us.”

  “I told you, we do not interfere in his affairs anymore.”

  “This isn’t an affair. It’s his life.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. If it didn’t you wouldn’t be here.”

  “I’m not here for him, paidí. I came for you. So you would understand. So you would not spend the rest of your life searching for answers. Your parents were afraid for you to know the truth about your link to Zagreus, but they were wrong to keep it from you. Just as we—the Fates—were wrong not to trust you. Zagreus fulfilled his destiny. You helped him do so, and for that, we are extremely proud of you. But whatever happens to him now is his choice, not yours. You have to let him make it. Just as we have to let you make yours.”

  Frustration gathered inside Talisa. She didn’t like that answer. Didn’t understand it at all. If his destiny was to restore balance to the world, then he hadn’t done that yet. The world was more fucked up than ever.

  Her patience reached its limit. She glared at the Fate. “And what choice is that? According to you I have no choice.”

  “You always have a choice, paidí.” Lachesis began to fade. “If you search that strength inside you, you’ll find it for yourself.”

  Wide-eyed, Talisa stared at the empty space where the Fate had just been and fought from screaming in frustration.

  No wonder her father hated the Fates. No wonder all the Argonauts did.

  “Meddling, aggravating, stupid Fates…”

  She stalked toward the bed but drew up short when her gaze slid over Zagreus lying still as death against the mattress.

  “Whatever happens to him now is his choice, not yours. You have to let him make it. Just as we have to let you make yours.”

  The Fate’s words echoed in her head as she watched him. She didn’t know if she was destined for something great as the Fate wanted her to believe or if her life was all just bullshit in some grand immortal fuckstorm. And she didn’t know if she could trust what the Fate had said about Zagreus.

  He was still Hades’s son. His satyr army was responsible for killing hundreds of her people. She couldn’t just overlook that.

  And yet…

  If he was that malicious, that wicked, wouldn’t he still be commanding those satyrs? Wouldn’t he have imprisoned the nymphs and silens in this kingdom?

  Her mind searched for an answer—for an explanation as to why he would be fooling everyone now—but came up empty. All she could think about were the Argonauts back home who’d lived through horrific things. First, Ari, who’d become so unhinged after his soul mate was murdered, he’d gone on a fifty-year killing spree that had resulted in his banishment from the Argonauts. Then, Gryphon, who’d been so fucked up after being trapped in the Underworld for three months, he still struggled.

  Both Ari’s and Gryphon’s suffering had been short in comparison to Zagreus’s. If either of them had been tortured and punished as long or as often as he had, would they have been able to survive? Would they have had the strength to return to the mortal realm and do the right thing? Or would they care only about themselves—about power and revenge and hate?

  Would any of the Argonauts? Would she?

  Her heart beat hard and fast as she stared at Zagreus. And out of nowhere, Nysa’s voice, when she’d told Talisa there was nothing she could do to help him, echoed in her head.

  “Maybe the darkness is too strong in him now. Maybe he sensed you were too different. Or maybe, when you ran, he realized that this is his chance to break the cycle. To let you finally live and for him to be the one to die.”

  “No,” she whispered as she moved around the bed and carefully sat next to him. “No, I don’t believe that.” With a hand that shook more than she liked, she brushed the dark hair back from his forehead, amazed at how soft the locks felt against her skin.

  The marking on her hip tingled and warmed.

  “I don’t believe the darkness is too strong.” Her fingertips skimmed the bandage on his forehead. “I don’t know how I know that, I just… I just do.” She let her fingers slip down his temple and carefully graze the scrape across his cheek. “And I don’t care what everyone back home thinks or even what that Fate said. You’re not a lost cause, and I’m not going to let you make this choice because of me.”

  She leaned close to his face and brushed her knuckles over the soft stubble on his square jaw. “Do you hear me, dios? Don’t give up on me, because I’m not giving up on you.”

  That nickname—dios—fell from her lips before she even realized she’d said it. It was an old word, meant from the light, and she’d never used it for anyone before. Yet for reasons she couldn’t rationalize just yet, it fit. And the warmth spreading outward from the center of her chest, the rightness of it, told her she’d called him that a very long time ago.

  He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. And fear—a fear she still didn’t completely understand—tightened her throat.

  As the fire burned low, causing the room to grow darker, she stretched out on her side next to him on the bed and continued to skim her fingertips over his face, his throat, his shoulders—any part of him that wasn’t covered with bandages. And as she rested her head on the pillow next to his and watched him, she breathed in the scent of lavender and prayed.

  She prayed she really was as strong as everyone said. And that somehow—in some way—that strength would be enough to save them both.

  Chapter Twelve

  He was dreaming.

  A gentle voice somewhere close hummed the notes of a song Zagreus recognized but couldn’t quite make out. Against his skin, a whisper-soft caress traveled the length of his arm, across his shoulder, up his throat and over his jaw and cheek.

  No, he wasn’t dreaming. He never dreamt. Barely even slept these days. This trippy hallucination had to be the last of his brainwaves fizzling out. A flickering fantasy. Delirium as he ceased to exist.

  Still…

  That delicate brush against his flesh felt pretty damn good. And the vo
ice… That female voice was almost a purr, lulling him into a state of relaxation he hadn’t felt in… Hell, hundreds of years.

  Slowly, he became aware of the unique scents of cinnamon, vanilla, and orange blossom. Also familiar, but new. And he realized something else. There was warmth in that gentle touch. A spreading heat that lit up his skin wherever it moved.

  The tantalizing touch stilled in his hair. The humming quieted. A rustling sounded, almost like fabric brushing. “Dios?”

  Dios…

  He knew that nickname. Knew it well. And was certain now his brainwaves were fading because the last time he’d heard it had been way longer than five hundred years. It had been thousands of years ago. Before he’d fucked up the very first time.

  A dark fog closed in around him. Filled with shadows and mist he’d been fighting his whole damn life. Immortality wasn’t a blessing as the gods all thought. It was a curse. And he was tired of bearing it.

  “Dios?”

  Pressure grazed his cheek again. Then his neck, his arm—but it wasn’t soft this time. It was insistent, jostling his body. And it too was fading.

  “Skata. Don’t do this to me. Not now.”

  Something pushed against his left hip, then his right. Heat slid along his entire body as more pressure sank against one shoulder, then the other.

  He didn’t know what was happening. Was on the verge of no longer caring. Then that pressure moved to his forehead, drawing his attention to that spot. To the warm breath washing over his nose, his lips, his chin. Followed by that whisper-soft brush against his jaw once more.

  “You said my being here wasn’t a coincidence,” the voice whispered. The sweet, familiar voice. “It was destiny. You said I found you, not the other way around. I… I didn’t believe you before, but I do now. You were right. I was looking for you. I’ve been looking for you for a very long time, I just didn’t know it.”

  That tantalizing touch grazed his jaw, and something warm and wet slid down his cheek.

  “You’re not what everyone thinks you are. You’re not a monster. Do you hear me, dios?” A gentle touch grazed the corner of his mouth. “I’m not letting you give up. Stay.” Tingles rushed across his lips. “Stay right here. With me.”

  Those tingles turned to a pressure he couldn’t ignore, and he opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t form words. Then he didn’t care because there was suddenly heat. And wetness. And life. All sliding between his lips and into his mouth. Infusing him with strength. With vitality. With a power that wrestled through the shadows until he sensed the flickering light.

  She—the dream, fantasy, delusion—was kissing him, her tongue moving slowly against his at first, then with more vigor. And holy hell, the taste of her…

  The dark, spicy, unique flavor he remembered so well fired a current along his nerve endings, making him aware of the cool mattress beneath him. Of her warm body straddling his hips. Of her hands and lips and scent, making him crazy for more.

  More of her touch.

  More of her kiss.

  More of everything he could get from her before the darkness claimed him for good.

  “Mono… mia…”

  The pressure lifted from his mouth. Her warm breath tickled his lips. She didn’t speak, but he could still feel her. Could feel her fingertips on his jaw, her forearms grazing his shoulders. Could feel the warmth between her legs teasing his groin. And in his hip, where the marking that bound them together brushed the matching marking on her skin, electricity. So much crackling electricity, he was sure she had to feel it, too.

  “I’m here,” she whispered, her fingertips grazing the stubble on his jaw again. “I’m right here, dios. I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”

  He knew those words were nothing more than a figment of his imagination, but he no longer cared. He lifted his mouth back to hers. Desperate to touch her, to taste her again, even if she was nothing more than a delirious hallucination.

  She opened to his kiss. And then her wicked tongue was sliding between his lips. Stroking his once more. Her soft hands framing his face. Her lithe body sinking down, pressing against his until she was all he knew.

  He lifted his hands to her sides, his fingertips grazing the soft cotton of her sleep gown as she kissed him deeper. His touch wandered down her ribs, to her hips, then along the outside of her sexy legs where she rested her weight on her knees, straddling his hips.

  She explored his mouth slowly, and he let her take the lead. Let her kiss him however she wanted, because this dream was his Elysium. It was all he was going to get. And he never wanted it to end.

  He found the hem of her gown. Tugged the fabric up her thighs, to her hips and past her waist. She groaned into his mouth as the cotton reached her breasts, then pulled away and helped him drag it over her head.

  The garment landed somewhere on the floor. He opened his eyes to find her naked and straddling his waist, her satiny skin reflecting the glow from the fireplace, her hair like dark silk falling past her shoulders, drawing his attention down. To her succulent breasts, the perfect size for his hands. To the twin silver balls on each side of her pierced nipples that made him ache to taste them with his mouth.

  He brushed his hand over the outside of her breast then cradled the soft mass, enjoying the way she sucked in a breath and held still. The heat of her sex pressed against his stomach. And her scent—the familiar fragrance with its enticingly erotic tones—left him absolutely wild and made him feel alive.

  Alive in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  Alive in a way he shouldn’t feel right now.

  He skimmed his thumb over her sensitive nipple, jostling the barbell. She moaned and pressed her knees against his hips. But she didn’t take her violet gaze off his. And in her eyes, he didn’t see distrust as he’d seen before. He didn’t see worry, either. He saw only heat. Need. And a hunger that consumed every thought left in his mind.

  He slid his other hand into her hair, around the back of her head, and pulled her mouth back down to his. She groaned and opened, kissing him deeply the moment their lips met, her tongue wild and wet against his. Just the way he wanted.

  Reaching between them, he tugged at the fabric covering his chest, desperate to feel her breasts against his skin. Bare. Perfect. His.

  She jerked back from his mouth and gasped, looking down between them.

  “Oh my gods.” Her violet eyes widened in the low light. She grazed her fingertips over his left pec, sending jolts of electricity through his torso until he groaned. “Your wounds. They closed.”

  He didn’t know what she was talking about. Didn’t care. Wasn’t sure why she was wasting time with words. He needed more of her kisses. More of her touch. More of her warmth seeping into his flesh.

  “Come back...” He reached for her again.

  She pressed her lips to his once more, kissing him deeply, just as he wanted. But she didn’t lower her weight. And against his mouth, she whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You… can’t.” He cradled her face in his hands, letting her silky hair cascade around their faces, cocooning them together. “Just… kiss me. Touch me. Before it’s too late.”

  “I won’t let it be too late.” She slanted her mouth over his, kissing him slowly. Completely. So thoroughly, he knew true euphoria.

  She tipped her head the other way and kissed him deeper. And then she lowered her naked body to his, and the gem hanging around her neck landed against his chest, warm from her skin, followed by her nipples—her sweet, succulent, hard nipples—grazing his sensitive flesh.

  He moaned at the hot, perfect feel of her. At the way her flat belly pressed into his. At the way she was the same, yet new and different. At the fact she was here, with him again, one last time. Even if she was nothing more than a delusion.

  “It’ll never be too late, dios,” she whispered against his lips as she shifted her knees back then slid one hand between them and down his belly. “Not for you and me.”r />
  Her slim fingers wrapped around his aching cock, making him gasp. And when her grip slid up his length and back down again, he twitched in her hand, completely lost.

  Lost and delirious and mad with a lust he’d never been able to resist.

  He pressed into her hand and kissed her hard. Grunted at the way she stroked him, completely from base to tip, squeezing at the top until he groaned. And when she shifted, when she positioned him at the entrance to her steamy channel, he held his breath, afraid to move in case it made this whole fantasy disappear.

  Her heated gaze held his as she slowly sank down, taking him into her tight, soft wetness. A long groan echoed from her succulent lips when her hips were flush with his and he was seated deep inside her.

  His brain short-circuited. Electricity raced down his spine. He knew he didn’t deserve this, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her. From groaning at the hot, insistent pressure enveloping his cock, closing around what was left of his soul.

  Her lips met his. He licked into her mouth and swallowed her moan as she began to move, rocking over him, setting a slow and steady pace as she squeezed on every downstroke.

  He wanted to keep kissing her. Couldn’t stop looking at her. Hypnotized by her glazed eyes, by the pleasure in her features, he let his hands drift to her hips, helping her move as he savored every stroke. Every lingering grunt and gasp. Every final kiss of her sweet lips against his own in the growing darkness.

  He’d never been good enough for her. Not at the beginning that first time thousands of years ago. Not in each of her subsequent lives. Not even this last time, when he’d finally done the right thing. The real her—not this illusion—would forever hate him, but here at the end, he was okay with that. Because here, finally, he knew it was ending the way it was supposed to.

  He lifted his fingertips to the gem pressed between them. “Mono mia.”

  “Dios…” Her hips flexed against his. The muscles in her thighs tightened as she rode faster.