Just what was Theron hiding from them? From her?
“Theron,” the one named Cerek said in a placating tone. “It’s not wise to—”
“Enough,” Theron barked. Casey jumped at the sound of his hard voice. “It’s not open for discussion.” He glanced at the blond guardian. “Zander will go with me. Cerek, you’ll stay here.”
Casey’s gaze shot to the dark guardian, who looked as enthused by that order as she was.
Casey touched Theron’s arm. “Theron. I—”
He turned her way, and she saw then the man he’d been when he came into her store that day. Hard. Unfeeling. Full of purpose that had nothing to do with her. She hadn’t realized just how much he’d softened toward her until this moment.
As if he knew what she was seeing, he gently took her hand and turned her toward the hall. “Come, meli. You need to rest.”
She let herself be pushed along, partly because she didn’t have the energy to argue and partly because she was still trying to make sense of the strange encounter. But behind her she heard Cerek say, “Skata. Did you hear what he just called her?”
That tingling ignited across her back again as Theron led her to the bedroom and tucked her into the massive bed.
“I won’t be long,” he said. His eyes were once again soft and gentle, but there was an edge to them that hadn’t been there before.
“I could go with you if you want—”
“No,” he snapped.
She recoiled, and he quickly sat on the side of the bed and took her hand. Turning it palm up, he rubbed his thumb over her skin. “No,” he said softer. “It’s Argonaut business. You’ll be better off here. And besides, I want you to get some rest.”
“You said the daemons couldn’t cross into Argolea.”
“They can’t. The portal’s safely guarded.”
“Then why did you tell Cerek to stay?”
His thumb rubbed a soft trail over the inside of her wrist. “Because I feel better knowing he’s here, that’s all. You have nothing to worry about, meli.”
Yeah. Like she was buying that one. She was just about to ask him what was really going on when she looked down at where he touched her. “You’re not doing that mind-control thing on me again, are you?”
He chuckled. “I was trying. Is it working?”
“No.”
He smiled then as he looked up. That same sexy grin that had nearly melted her before. At her house. In that cave. Here, right now. “I never was very good at it.”
His smile faded as he let go of her hand and stood. “I’ll be back soon. If you need anything, ask Cerek. He won’t harm you.”
She found his last comment oddly unnerving, but before she could ask what that meant, he was leaning down. She lifted her face for his kiss, only to be disappointed when he pressed his lips to her forehead. Then he was gone.
With a frown, Casey eased down into the pillows. She could smell Theron here, as strong as if he were lying beside her. The scent of thyme wasn’t as prominent in the bedroom, but it was still definitely somewhere in the house.
She closed her eyes and tried to figure out what was going on. Why wasn’t he being honest with her?
Her mind spun with possibilities, but before she could spend anymore time wondering, sleep claimed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Imbeciles!”
Atalanta roared out her frustration as she slammed her hands down on the altar of her temple. The solid stone split in two with an earth-shattering crack and fell together at her feet.
Two steps down, in front of the now-demolished altar, Deimus dropped his head in supplication. Behind him, and several feet away, three other daemons did likewise.
They were morons. All of them. And they were fucking up her plans.
She rounded the mess, her bloodred skirt flying behind her. “She lives and the half-breeds survive. You are useless, Deimus!”
He didn’t lift his head or try to defend himself, even as she reached for the sword at his hip, unsheathed the blade and plunged it deep into his chest in one mighty thrust.
Slowly, his head came up, and his green eyes widened until the whites were all she saw. The shock that ran over his face only fueled the venom in her veins as she twisted the sword, exacting as much pain as possible.
He gasped. Fell to his knees at her feet. Blood pumping, she braced one foot against his chest and yanked the blade out, then thrust her arm out to the side so the blade sliced through the air and severed his head. It rolled down the stone steps with a sickening thunk. Gritting her teeth, she pushed with the sole of her foot until his body followed suit and came to rest near the head at the base of the temple steps.
The other three daemons looked down in horror.
“Thanatos,” she barked. “Come forward.”
The daemon in the middle cautiously looked up, and though he hesitated a brief moment, he obeyed, coming to rest where Deimus had once stood.
She liked that he didn’t quiver, though he had to be pulsing with fear. “Pledge your allegiance, here and now.”
He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “I vow to serve the goddess until death.”
Oddly calmed by his vow, she lifted her shoulders, straightened her spine. “Who is your master?”
“You are, my queen.”
“What is your quest?”
“To destroy Argolea and all that it represents.”
Atalanta drew a steadying breath. Because of Deimus’s ineptitude, she’d lost the half-breed. That didn’t mean it was over, though. She knew of Hera’s curse. She’d just have to believe the Argonaut wouldn’t go through with the joining of the Chosen. And she still had other means of vengeance.
She pulled Thanatos’s sword from its sheath and placed the flat end of the blade against the top of his head. “You, Thanatos, daemon of death, are hereby knighted the commander of my army.” Electricity flowed from her hand, down the blade and into Thanatos as the extra strength granted to that of her archdaemon seeped into his body. “Do not disappoint me. My patience grows dangerously thin.”
She lifted the sword and held it out to him. “Now rise. And go forth to kill. I want blood.”
“Yes, my queen.” Thanatos bowed, turned and stepped over Deimus without a look.
Alone, Atalanta drew one deep breath, then glanced to the blackened column on the right side of her temple. “Come closer, Maximus.”
Silence met her ears. But she sensed his breathing. And his fear. And it fed her. As it always did.
Slowly, two feet shuffled from behind the massive column, and the child stepped out of the shadows, eyes wide as saucers, face drawn in terror.
His striking resemblance to his father always stopped her. The blond hair, the chiseled features. The power. At ten he was big for his age, already hinting at the warrior he would one day become. Her warrior. Trained, molded, nurtured by her. “Closer.”
He stepped toward her, careful, she noticed, never to look at Deimus’s mutilated remains but to keep his eyes on her. When he inched close enough, she grasped his hand, her fingers sliding over and around the markings that started on his forearms and ran down to entwine his fingers. She jerked him down the stone steps until he was standing over Deimus’s body, his back pressed up tight against her stomach, her hands cemented on his shoulders to hold him in place.
She felt him tremble and smiled as she leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Look closely, yios, and tell me what you see.”
“I—I see…in-ineptitude.”
Already, he’d learned so much, but there would always be more. “Ineptitude, what?”
“Ineptitude”—he swallowed, hard—“Matéras.”
Mother. Her smile widened. “And what is your matéras, above all else, Maximus?”
He hesitated. She felt it. Knew the internal war between good and evil that lived inside him was raging hot and fierce. The internal war she would beat out of him until he turned to her fully and without conscience. “M…merc
iful.”
Her smile faded as she slid her arms down his chest and around to pull him tighter against her. The breath left him on a gasp, and still she tightened like a boa constrictor, knowing…showing that she held the ultimate power over him and always would. “Yes, yios. Your matéras is merciful,” she growled in his ear. “So merciful, I am the only one who can save you. You know that to be true. And you would be wise to remember it. Always.”
She held him long enough to know she’d made her point, until it was all he could do not to scream for a breath. His muscles tightened against her, but he knew better than to fight. Knew if he did, he would wind up in much, much worse shape than he was in now.
When she released him, he drew in a gulp of air and fell forward to land on his hands and knees on Deimus’s decapitated body. Blood stained his skin and clothing as he pushed up quickly, stumbled and tripped over the monster. But when he turned, breathing deeply, and his brilliant silver eyes finally lifted to hers, there was no longer fear smoldering in their depths, but determination.
Determination and a hatred forged by her hand.
Pride rushed through her. Oh, yes. It was beyond time he assumed his rightful place at her side and learned the full extent of her power. Especially now, when he may just be the key to her plan after all.
“Tomorrow you join Phobus in the training circle.”
Not a flicker of emotion ran over his features at the news that in a few short hours he would be fighting daemons like the mutilated one at his feet to the death. No fear, no horror, no disgust or railing that he was still a child. There was simply…nothing. Her pride swelled. Already he lacked the humanity bred into the Argonauts that would eventually be their downfall. His training would finish the job to turn him fully her way.
“Leave me now.”
He did. Without a single word. Shoulders held high, head up, back straight with a confidence born of the guardian class. Her eyes followed him as far as the outer wall around her temple before she turned her back and climbed the steps of her altar. And as she did, her gaze swept once again over the River Styx that so often was her only source of pleasure these days.
“He is a beast of burden, Meleager,” she said on a sigh. “But one day soon, he will be the son we should have had.”
Silence. Not that she expected Meleager to answer her. He never did.
She ran her hands over her cold arms. Shivered. Thought of all the day had brought.
It wasn’t over yet. She was the greatest hero to ever walk the earth. Her father had known that. Meleager had known it and died because of it. The rest would know it as well.
“Soon,” she muttered, staring at the water. “Soon I’ll have my revenge.”
Zander knew a dead end when he saw one. Hell, he was a living dead end, wasn’t he? And hadn’t he told Theron a thousand times the same damn thing Theron had just told him—that he was fine, and to leave his ass alone?
Yeah, he had. But this wasn’t about Zander. It wasn’t even about Theron, not really. It was about the Argonauts. And the Chosen Ones. And the future of every person in their race.
“What’s Phineus doing outside Isadora’s room?” Theron asked, glancing toward Isadora’s suite as they passed, trying—unsuccessfully—to change the subject. Again.
“The king ordered she be guarded,” Zander said, judging Theron’s reaction as they moved toward the king’s suite. Theron hadn’t said much since they’d left his house. And his silence and the memory of the way he’d called the Chosen One meli kept swirling in Zander’s head.
He seriously hoped this wasn’t what he thought this was. Theron was all business all the time. He wasn’t prone to human emotions. And he’d never fall for a female he shouldn’t fall for. Not like Zander.
When his kinsman only harrumphed and focused on the stairs ahead as they climbed toward the fourth floor, every step visibly tightening his shoulders and making his jaw tick like a time bomb about to go off, Zander knew his suspicions were correct. He cursed under his breath.
The leader of the Argonauts had fallen for the female. For the Chosen One to boot. Of all the stupid, meaningless moves…Hadn’t he learned a thing from Zander’s mistakes?
Zander’s frustration grew as their boots clunked across the marble landing outside the king’s chambers. But it ground to a halt when Theron opened the outer door and Callia stepped from the king’s bedroom suite. Just that fast, Zander’s chest ignited as if he’d taken a searing blade into the depths of his flesh.
This was why he hated coming to the fucking castle.
A servant jumped from where she’d been sitting behind a desk and bowed. “The king is expecting you, guardians.”
Callia’s gaze darted up, skipped over Theron to Zander, then quickly darted away as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. And why the hell that pissed Zander off was as foreign as the rush of pain he thought he’d let go of long ago.
He was immortal, dammit. A fierce fighter who wasn’t afraid of anything. And yet five minutes in this castle and he wanted to run away screaming like a little gynaíka.
His mood slid to black. Oh, lucky him. He had all of eternity to get over this one.
At Zander’s side, Theron’s eyebrows drew together and he glanced between them, obviously sensing…something. But like Theron earlier, Zander did not want to get into it. No way, no how. He shook his head and muttered, “Don’t ask.”
Theron didn’t. He glanced back at Callia instead. “How is he?”
Callia’s gaze snapped Theron’s way, and she lifted her chin. “He’s resting. Not too long. I don’t want him anymore agitated than he already is.”
Theron nodded once. “We won’t be long.”
Callia cast a quick look Zander’s direction, then headed down the long stone corridor without another word, just as she always did when their paths crossed, her shoes clicking softly in her wake.
That anger hovered on the edge, pushed at Zander from all sides and tempted him to take the bait. He didn’t want to give in to it, but when Theron made a move to open the king’s door, Zander saw himself and every one of his wrong turns. He moved without thinking and stopped Theron with a hand on his arm. “Hold up. Before you go in there.” This isn’t your problem. “What in Hades is going on with the half-breed?”
Theron’s jaw clenched. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Zander dropped his arm but he didn’t back down from Theron’s defensive posture. So much for it not being his problem. Deep inside he’d be damned if he let one of his kin go through even an ounce of what he had. “It didn’t look like nothing from where Cerek and I were standing.”
Theron’s jaw twitched again. “It’s none of your business. It’s between me and the king. Let it go, Argonaut.”
“Not my business?” Zander stepped between Theron and the king’s door before the leader of the Argonauts could dismiss him. The flash in Theron’s eyes warned him he wasn’t in the mood to be toyed with. Well, fuck it. Zander wasn’t in a mood to dick around either. Not after the last few minutes. “The hell it’s not. Theron, this concerns all of us. And our futures.”
Theron pursed his lips and took a step back. At his silence, Zander pressed on. “What the hell are you doing, man? She’s a half-breed.”
“I know.”
“And the Chosen.”
Theron dropped his head and rubbed a hand over his brow. “I know.”
Pity crept into Zander’s chest. Pity for his kinsman, who was obviously totally conflicted right now. But Theron needed to know his superhuman strength wasn’t going to save him this time. He was about to hit rock bottom. Over a female. And Zander knew all too well just how bad that fucking hurt. “You gotta let her go, Theron. This isn’t going to end well and you know it. You’re just prolonging the inevitable and making it worse.”
Theron’s head snapped up, and fire rekindled in his eyes. “Whom am I making it worse for, Guardian? For the king? He’s dying. In a few weeks he won’t give a shit about any of us. For Isado
ra? No one even knows what’s going to happen to her. For our race?” He scoffed. “Most in our kingdom don’t even understand what the hell we do for them. The Council’s made sure of that. Why should I give a rip about them?”
Theron’s uncharacteristic reactions set off warning bells in Zander’s head. “Because it’s your duty.”
“My duty’s changed.”
“Theron—”
“No,” Theron reached for the door. “I’m sick of sitting back while he plays god. You don’t have a clue what he’s done, Zander. Not a fucking clue.”
Theron pushed by Zander and thrust the king’s door open. Immediately the scent of healing herbs and the odor of sickness permeated the air. Reluctantly, Zander followed, though what he wanted to do more was pound some sense into Theron before the guardian made the biggest mistake of his life.
The heavy velvet curtains were pulled closed, emitting only a line of light around the edges of the fabric that did nothing to lighten the room. Sheets rustled on the bed. “Who’s there?” a weak voice asked.
It took Zander moments to find any familiar features in the frail ándras propped up in a mountain of pillows. The king’s cheeks were hollow, his eyes sunken. The skin seemed to hang off his bones and his hair was now snowwhite. He looked as if he’d aged fifty years in the last few days alone.
“Speak up,” the king barked. “Who’s there? I may not be able to see anymore, but I know I’m not alone.”
“You sent for me,” Theron said in a dry voice. “I came.”
The king’s face softened. “Theron. There you are, my boy. I was beginning to worry.”
Theron’s jaw tightened.
“Tell me,” the king said with excitement brewing in his voice. “Did you find her?”
Theron glanced at Zander, and in his eyes Zander didn’t miss the warning: Don’t fucking say a word.
Shit. Zander stiffened, knowing a train wreck when he saw one. This was about to go from bad to worse, and there was virtually nothing he could do to stop it.
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