by Laura Kaye
Outside, thunder cracked, strong enough to rumble the rock around them. A whirlwind whipped through the cavern. Two stalactites crashed to the floor in a spray of limestone.
“You’re. Doing. What?” Zeph asked, voice seething.
“Did you even hear what I just said?” Chrys asked, white-hot adrenaline sending tremors through his body. Or maybe that was just the cold.
“How is such a thing even possible? He is not your equal,” Boreas said. “He is the son of the weakest Anemoi.”
“But he will be his equal. He almost is.” Tisiphone stepped in front of Aeolus, placing her body between them.
“How?” Chrys and Zeph asked at the same time. When Aeolus hesitated, Chrys pushed. “The less you tell us, the more vulnerable you make us. What are we talking about here?”
“I’ve amplified his native powers by having him drink of the Styx, and we’ve cultivated powers resembling mine by having him drink of the Phlegethon.”
Chrys dug his fingers into his temples, his brain balking at the magnitude of recklessness Aeolus was describing. Two of the five infernal waterways, the Styx was the river of hatred and the Phlegethon the river of fire. As she resided in the Underworld, Tisiphone’s contribution to the plan was at least clear now. But by the gods, it was the equivalent of putting Devlin on rage steroids and handing him a flamethrower. “Almighty Zeus, Father. That’s not a Hail Mary, that’s the fucking nuclear option.”
Aeolus’s green eyes blazed. “He will master it. He nearly has. And as he’s been finding ways to sneak off here for two months and keep our secret all this time, I believe he has more than proven his trustworthiness. And he has the greatest access to Eurus, including in the Eastern divine realm, where Eurus considers himself safe from all of us.”
Zeph glared. “But how do you know he hasn’t already told Eurus what you’re doing here? How do you know Eurus isn’t permitting it? He could be playing both sides, and you’d never know.”
“Eurus would never allow his son to become more powerful. And Devlin holds a grudge against his father that is a mile deep and twice as wide. He wouldn’t jeopardize the chance to take him down once and for all.”
“Be that as it may,” Boreas said. “That doesn’t mean he’s loyal to you, either.”
“Indeed,” Aeolus said. “But instinct tells me he is. Trust me.”
Zeph scoffed and jabbed a finger toward their father’s hand. “That would be easier if the recent history of deception didn’t exist.”
“Perhaps. But what is your alternative? This thing is done.”
His words hung in the air between them, their truth incontrovertible.
“So it is,” Boreas said. “Now what?”
“I continue to train Devlin for at least a few more days. A week at most. Then we set a trap and lure Eurus out. Between me, Devlin, and now you with the infernal dagger, we have the means to take him down.”
Zeph shook his head. “Am I the only one who sees this has catastrophe written all over it?”
Chrys nodded, the cold making it harder to breathe. “Maybe. Probably. But Father’s right. What’s done is done. We’ll get one shot at this, so we just need to do it and do it right.”
“Agreed,” Boreas said. “But here’s my question. How are you going to lure him? What’s the bait?”
Aeolus met each of their gazes, then glanced at Tisiphone. Heaving a long breath, he looked back at his sons. “Me.”
Chapter Twenty
Chrysander saw a resignation in his father’s eyes he didn’t like, but all they had were a bunch of shit options.
“Now, you should depart,” Aeolus said. “The rock and iron shield our energy, but don’t block it completely. If a storm hasn’t already kicked up, it soon will.”
Tisiphone stepped to his side. “Same time?”
“Yes.” He seemed to hesitate, but then he turned to her, took her in his arms, and kissed her.
Well, hello. His brothers’ expressions bore the same surprise he felt. Since his mother left long, long ago, his father had never done more than scratch the occasional itch. No more wives. Nothing you could call a relationship. Like father, like son. But the lingering kiss spoke of something deeper, something more meaningful.
They pulled apart. “Be careful,” he said.
She nodded, then looked their way and winked. “Close your mouths before you catch a fly.”
Aeolus smiled. Chrys arched an eyebrow at the unusual display.
Tisiphone took to the back of the cave and disappeared. Since the caves possessed deposits of infernal iron, there clearly was a connecting tunnel that allowed her passage to the Underworld. Aeolus’s use of this place might’ve been twisted, but it was equally brilliant.
“Where will you go?” Boreas asked.
“Nowhere. I’m staying here.”
Chrys nodded. “When should we next meet?”
“Week from today. If Devlin appears ready sooner, I’ll send for you.”
They all agreed, then awkwardness settled into the spaces between them.
“Okay, well,” Zeph said.
“A week, then,” Boreas said. “I’ll, uh, leave first. I’m going back to Owen’s.” He met Chrys’s gaze.
Chrys’s gut clenched. A shudder tore through him. Laney. Guess it was time to face the music. “I’ll meet you back there.”
Boreas nodded, then shifted into the elements. His energy shot from the room.
“I’m going home. Stay in touch,” Zeph said to Chrys. He gave Aeolus a tight nod, and followed after Boreas.
Chrys looked, really looked, at his father. Exhaustion carved lines into the other man’s face. “Need anything?”
Aeolus shook his head.
“Well, I’m outta here, too.”
“Wait.” Aeolus stepped closer, and Chrys braced. His father’s hand settled onto his shoulder, and he forced his body to tolerate the contact. “I wronged you, earlier. This isn’t your fault. Not any of it.”
Surprise stole his response. He could probably count on one hand the number of times his father had admitted he was wrong.
“Not any of it, Chrysander. Do you hear me?”
He swallowed, hard, appreciating the words even if he couldn’t fully believe them. But still, he said, “Yes.”
“Good.” Aeolus dropped his hand. “Go, before the cold harms you further.”
“See you in a week.” Chrys disappeared into the elements.
He backtracked through the crevices and crags and caverns, anticipating the comforting Mediterranean warmth surrounding him. Already the air was warmer…so why was an icy feeling of dread crawling down his spine? He extended his consciousness, specifically opening himself to read other energy signatures. Below, his father remained as he’d left him. Ahead… Alarm. Aggression. Desperation. But it was like watching a screen filled with static. The damn rock obscured the full picture of what he was flying into.
Whatever it was, though, wasn’t good.
Chrys poured on the full force of his godhood, working his way through ever-larger spaces, until he shot out the sea-level cave door through which they’d entered Gibraltar.
Screech, screech, screeeeeeech!
What in the hell?
The rough sea tossed and crashed. Gusting winds blew spray into the air. And three enormous birds circled and dove in the tumultuous, night sky above him.
Chrys shot up. The birds swooped and dive-bombed. Lightning split the sky. He slammed on the brakes and reared back.
Not birds. Oh, shit a fucking brick. Harpies. The heads of women with long, colorful hair atop the bodies of birds with thick-barreled chests, broad wingspans, and sharp talons.
They were shrieking and circling and clawing at one space of air.
Boreas.
His brother flashed in and out of the elements as the preternatural assault continued, his shirt shredded, along with the skin underneath. Damnit all to hell. What kind of dumb bad luck was it to run into them now? Vicious and cruel, Harpies wer
e known for abducting and torturing. If they got their claws into Boreas, it was going to be game over.
Zephyros’s energy torpedoed into one of the beasts, knocking it across the dark sky. The assault distracted the other two just long enough for Boreas to shoot up and away.
The beasts quickly regrouped and searched out their target. Chrys swung wide around their flight pattern to reach Boreas. Where had the one Zeph hit gone? Chrys scanned in a three-sixty.
There. On the peak of Gibraltar. The lame Harpy scrambled to gain purchase. Further down the ridge stood another figure, a hooded cloak whipping around him in the wind.
Not so fast, big brother, you’ll spoil my fun.
Eurus! Chrysander spun, feeling his brother’s energy but unable to pinpoint it with so many divine beings in the storm-beaten sky at once. All he knew is that Eurus’s voice came from above him, not from the direction of the unknown observer.
Boreas loosed a blood-curdling scream.
Chrys shot upward and ran into a current of superheated air. Bastard was using the South Wind—his wind—against Boreas. They couldn’t get that fucking ring back fast enough. Holding steady in the steaming flow, Chrys concentrated on attracting every bit of the air into himself. Splintering thunder cracked overhead.
Behind him, Boreas groaned.
B? B? You okay, man? No answer. Zephyros, get Father! Go!
Zeph’s energy whipped past him, scattering the Harpies as they made for Boreas again. Slashing rain erupted from the swirling clouds.
The South Wind stopped blowing, freeing Chrys to look for Boreas. They had to get him out of here.
In a cacophony of flapping wings and screeching birdcalls, one of the Harpies dive-bombed Chrys. They could perceive him in all his forms, and he just barely avoided a haircut of the ripped-out-of-your-skull variety. He whipped around and… No! Pounding thunder made the very air vibrate.
One of the Harpies had its claws deep in Boreas’s bloody bicep. The other swooped in on great spread wings to grab his free arm.
Over my dead body.
Chrys shot out over the sea, rippling into corporeal form, infernal dagger in hand.
That can be arranged, Eurus sneered.
Out of nowhere, icy air lashed at his body, created a frigid turbulence that fought his forward motion. Chrys pushed through it, drawing on the overload of South Wind heat he’d imbibed moments before. It countered the attacking North Wind, allowed Chrys to come up fast behind the Harpy that already had Boreas in its clutches.
Chrys reared back his arm just as the bird turned its feminine head. He swung the dagger in a vicious slash, opening up a bright, red gaping wound in its throat. The Harpy issued a gurgling screech and flailed, but didn’t drop his brother.
A blast of North Wind knocked him back. Chrys cloaked himself in more of the South. But the sub-zero air surrounding him would wear through his reserves quickly. Just where he was, the rain froze and ice pelted him, cutting and bruising his face and arms.
He launched himself at the bird-woman again. It thrust its wing out to protect its core, so Chrys jammed the blade through the feathers and used the leverage to pull himself up the Harpy’s big body.
With an outraged screech, it dropped Boreas, leaving him dangling by one arm in the other Harpy’s clutch.
That’s right, you screeching bitch.
He tugged the blade free, lunged for its neck, and aimed hard and fast for its chest.
Eurus materialized right in front of him, arms outreached to block the blow.
The dagger sliced full and deep across the palm of Eurus’s hand and plunged into the Harpy’s chest. His brother roared in pained outrage; the bird screeched in agony.
Eurus lunged at him. Pain exploded across Chrys’s cheekbone. The blow knocked him back, forcing him to pull the knife free, but the job was done.
A wall of frigidity rammed into him. Then another. From every angle, the blistering North Wind battered him until he was in a freefall with no idea which way was up. He could do nothing, nothing but grip the dagger with all his might. He couldn’t lose it.
Commotion erupted above him. Lightning flashed. Thunder boomed in deep cracks. The remaining Harpy screeched. The cavalry had arrived. He was vaguely aware of Zeph’s and Aeolus’s voices.
He slammed into the churching black water.
Time slowed to a crawl as the impact reverberated through every part of him. The sea might as well have been cement for how much it cushioned his fall.
The height from which he fell drove him under. Waves rolled and crested overhead.
The cold stole his breath, made his muscles seize, and his joints threaten to snap.
Extreme heat, Chrys could do all day long. The cold, though? That was a complete show-stopper. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
His skin, his lungs, his eyes—everything burned.
Something seized his neck. Chrys gasped, sucking in great mouthfuls of cold sea water.
Jesus, not like this. Don’t let it end like this.
Cold. Alone. So many regrets.
Consciousness flickered.
Not yet. Not before I can… In a flash, Laney’s beautiful face, her dark hair, her deep blue eyes, all came to mind. He struggled to hold on to the image, onto why it mattered.
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. It faded, and Laney was gone, and so was everything else.
…
Laney pushed away her empty ice cream bowl and rubbed her stomach. “So good, Tabitha. Thank you.” She glanced at the clock. Ninety minutes had passed since she’d talked to Seth. Depending on rush-hour traffic, he’d be here within two to three hours. God, let the Beltway be a parking lot. She needed every minute to figure out how to explain the situation.
“Can I have more of the orange?” Owen asked.
Everyone chuckled. It was his second serving of seconds.
“What?” he asked.
“All yours. Makes me happy to see,” Tabitha said.
She’d come over about an hour before, and Megan had whipped up a quick and hearty salad with crisp lettuce, chunky vegetables, sweet fruit, and grilled chicken. Summer in a bowl. The four of them had chatted while they ate, Teddy eating and playing at Megan’s side, and the fun, free-flowing conversation set Laney more at ease. For the first time since she’d woken up scared in the middle of the night, she felt comfortable, like these people were friends.
“So, Laney,” Megan said. “What kinds of things do you write— What is it, Owen?”
Laney frowned and tried to scan their faces, unsure what she’d missed.
His spoon clanked and he jerked into a standing position, judging by the movement of the white light around him. “I’m very sorry, Tabitha. This is rude and unexplainable, but you should go.”
“What?” she said.
“Owen?” Megan asked again.
Laney’s stomach rolled. The quiet alarm in Owen’s voice, so different from his usual easy-going demeanor, told her something was very wrong. “It’s okay,” he said. “Damn, too late.”
What was happening? Did it have something to do with Chrys?
An image slammed into her mind: the god they called Boreas, prostrate on the ground, Owen, Megan, others kneeling around him, Zeph pressing on his chest. She gasped as the scene disappeared as quickly as it came.
Out of nowhere, a commotion erupted in the living room. Men’s voices. Groans. Oh, God. Owen’s light darted across the room. Footsteps followed.
A hand grasped hers. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Tabitha asked.
What the hell was she supposed to say? In truth, no, not really. And what she did know would make her sound crazy. “Uh…”
“Come on,” she said, urging Laney up.
“I think we should give them some space,” Laney hedged. Surely Tabitha didn’t know what Owen, Boreas, and the others were. Owen had ordered her to leave for a reason. Obviously his senses had alerted him to the appearance of his magical family.
Tabitha
tugged her up. “Sounds like someone’s hurt.”
Fear tightened Laney’s throat. “I know.”
“You know something.”
Finally, Laney nodded. “Owen’s family. They’re…different.”
“I’ll take care of Boreas. Help Chrys,” a male voice ordered. Zephyros?
Why does Chrys need help? Every fiber of Laney’s body demanded to know what was going on. Indecision pulled Laney in two directions. But Owen was right, with his family already here and having appeared out of thin air, it was too late to shield Tabitha from knowing more than she should. “Please guide me in?”
She wrapped Laney’s hand around her arm. They crossed the room and passed through the doorway. “Oh, my God,” Tabitha said.
Heart beating a mile a minute, Laney scanned her vision over the sudden crowd of people—gods, by all the divine auras—who suddenly filled the room. Zeph leaned over Boreas, who was sprawled on the floor. Owen and Megan were at his side, Teddy’s fussing ratcheting into a full-out cry.
“Stay here a minute. I’m going to grab Teddy,” Tabitha said.
Laney nodded, still searching for Chrys. Men—gods—she didn’t know stood at the windows. One pushed by her and moved to the back door, judging by the sound of his footsteps. Thunder rumbled overhead and she gasped.
Where was Chrys? Between the number of people, the rush of voices, Teddy’s cries, and the storm brewing outside, both her vision and her hearing struggled to make sense of it all. Why couldn’t she at least find the golden glow she normally saw around him?
“Let me have him, Megan.”
“What? Oh, God, Tabitha, I’m so sorry you have to see this.”
“Don’t worry about that now. I’ll take care of him. Should I call 9-1-1?”
“No,” a chorus of voices responded.
“We need to get him warm,” a man’s voice said. Who were they talking about? And where was Chrys? “Find as many blankets as you can.”
“Go with Ted,” Owen urged. Wind gusted against the side of the house.
“No, I’m not leaving Boreas.”
The sound of the baby’s cry neared. “Come on, Laney,” Tabitha said.