Escape. Go now.
Slowly, she inched her way up the wall until she was standing, then leaned forward and braced her hands on her thighs as she breathed and worked not to get sick again. From the corner of her eye, she caught her reflection in the mirror.
Blood stained her mouth, her chin. Dried blood was gathered in her hair. Hand shaking, she touched her finger to her lips, trying—fighting—to remember how it had gotten there, but couldn’t. Her stomach rolled again, and she only just made it to the toilet before she retched once more.
She had to get out of here. She couldn’t stay. Not anymore. Something in her gut told her whatever Zagreus had done to her last night was nothing compared to what he intended to do next.
A plan formulated in her head. A plan that would free her for good.
Only she wasn’t going alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nick couldn’t sit still.
He paced the back of his cell, the shackles and chains on his wrists rattling as he moved. He knew it was night. Even though his cell was dark, he kept track of time and figured it had to be about two in the morning. A good twenty-four hours since Cynna had last come to see him.
She hadn’t been by at all today. No one had come for him, in fact, which was odd. In the six months he’d been here, he couldn’t remember a single day where they hadn’t poked or taunted or tortured him in some way. Except for yesterday and all of tonight.
The scars on his back tingled, a sign something was happening behind the scenes, something that wasn’t good. Had Zagreus seen what she’d done? Was this his new form of torture? Pleasure, then silence, then…son of a bitch…worry?
He didn’t like worrying. It was the one thing he hadn’t missed since he’d been here. All his life was filled with worry—for his people, for the colony, for his soul mate—and even though he’d been tortured in horrendous ways since being dragged to this hellhole, at least during it he’d had a respite from that useless emotion.
His mind drifted to Isadora, and his pacing slowed. An echo of…something…passed through his chest. A tug toward her, as always, but also a feeling that something was off. As she was his soul mate, he could always tell when she was in danger or sick or hurt, and though this feeling wasn’t warning him of one of those possibilities, it was telling him something wasn’t right.
The door to his cell creaked before he could speculate further, and he turned, looking toward the light spilling into the room. Tensing, he braced his bare feet against the stone floor, expecting a satyr or even Zagreus himself to barge into the room. But the figure who stepped through the door wasn’t large or hulking or beast. It was slim, curvaceous, and female, and before he even saw her face, he knew it was Cynna. Knew because that sweet jasmine scent of hers preceded her into the room, mixing with her sultry heat to wash over every inch of his skin, reminding him of what she’d done last night with her tantalizing hands.
The door closed with a soft clink. He couldn’t see her anymore, but in that split second she’d stood in the light, he’d noticed her long hair was once again pulled back from her face. But unlike last night, she wasn’t barefoot and dressed in loose, flowing, comfortable clothing. Tonight she was decked out in slim-fitting black pants, ankle boots, and a lightweight jacket.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” she whispered.
She didn’t light the torch, but her boot steps drew close, the sound intermixing with the buzz in his head like an ominous warning. Her fingers grazed his hands, then closed over his wrist. Metal clicked against metal, signaling…she was freeing his cuffs.
It took only a split second to realize this was the chance he’d been waiting for.
The cuffs opened and clanked against the floor. Her fingers lifted from his skin, then she turned for the door. But before she could get a step away, he captured her forearm, whipped her back to face him, and closed his hand around her throat.
She gasped, and even though the room was dark, he watched the whites of her eyes grow wide in her face.
“What kind of games are you playing with me?” He backed her against the stone wall and held her immobile.
Her free hand darted up and clawed against his wrist, but she didn’t try to push him away. “I’m…trying to…help you.”
“Why now?”
“Because…”
When her words died out, he realized he was crushing her windpipe. He loosened his grip, just enough so she could draw in a breath and answer.
“Because,” she said stronger, “I’m your only chance. If Zagreus can’t break you, he’s going to be forced to hand you over to Hades. He’s running out of time, and he’s getting anxious. And if Hades gets a hold of you, he’s going to take you to the Underworld, where you’ll never be free.”
Nick definitely didn’t want that. Sure, Orpheus had ventured in and out of the Underworld, but he’d done so with a map and a Siren and surprise on his side. If Nick was sent to the Underworld, Hades and even his fucking father, Krónos, would know, and he’d never escape.
The scars on Nick’s back tingled again, telling him nothing was as it seemed. He tightened his hand around her throat. “Why should I trust you?”
Her eyes widened again, and he knew he was hurting her, but he’d been beaten, cut, broken, stretched, and teased under this female’s direction. He wasn’t stupid enough to think one simple moment of pleasure had changed her heart.
“You…shouldn’t, but…” She dropped her hand to her side, releasing her hold on his wrist, giving him the power to do whatever he pleased, then met his gaze head-on. “Not all prisons have bars.”
His eyes searched her dark ones, looking for deceit, looking for anything that would tell him she was playing the part of Zagreus’s puppet. But he didn’t see it. The only thing he saw was determination. The kind that comes from knowing you have nothing left to lose.
He let go of her throat and stepped back. She swallowed once, then massaged her neck. “The guards are switching shifts soon. If we’re going, we have to go now.”
She moved away and reached for something from the floor. A zipper rasped in the darkness, then fabric brushed his hands. “These were the best I could find. Taken from another prisoner. Dress quickly.”
Jeans, a T-shirt, and boots. Nick didn’t care who they’d come from, he was just thankful he wouldn’t have to escape in nothing but these paper-thin cotton pants. He dressed rapidly, shoving his feet into the boots and breathing a sigh of relief that they fit. When he finished, he moved to the door, where Cynna was peeking through the small window, looking out into the hallway.
Her body heat seeped into his skin, and that sweet scent filled his head. Every other time she’d come to him, she’d exuded confidence, but tonight he felt the worry radiating from her body, felt the fear, and he knew then that the female who’d stood by unreadable and expressionless through every moment of his torture was not the real her. This was. This one was the true Cynna.
“The guard just went by.” She reached for the door handle. “Now’s our chance.”
He caught her arm before she could move. “What happens to you if we’re caught?”
“Zagreus will kill me.”
“Then why are you helping me?”
Slowly, her eyes turned up to his. She was a full head shorter than him, dark where he was light, soft where he was hard, and though he knew he was wasting time, he needed to know this answer more than he needed air to breathe.
“Because neither one of us should ever have been here,” she whispered. “And because if I don’t do the right thing now, I’m afraid I never will.”
His heart pounded hard against his ribs. He searched her eyes, looking for the lie. All he saw was truth.
He tightened his hand around her arm. “If this is some kind of trap—”
“Then you can kill me yourself. Assuming the guards don’t do it first. They hate me more than you.”
Her words ricocheted in his head. He wanted to ask what she meant by that, but he
didn’t have time. She was already reaching for the door, pulling gently from his grip.
“There’s a back exit from the prison that runs up to the surface. I have a master key that opens all the doors, but we have to get to the exit first without being caught.”
“Weapons would be good,” he muttered as she pulled the door open slowly so it didn’t creak too much.
“I know where we can find some. Stay close.”
She looked both ways. Finding it clear, she crept out into the corridor. Nick’s gaze shot around as he followed. But as they moved through the dark stone hallway, he realized the doors around them opened to other cells. And the sounds coming from those cells—the moans, the cries for help, the agony—they all ignited the dark energy inside, sending it skipping through his belly and chest with both excitement and disgust.
He fought the darkness and followed Cynna around a corner. She led him through a tunnel to the right, then stopped in front of a door he’d never seen. After sliding the key in the lock, she turned, then pushed the door open with her shoulder.
Weapons lined the back wall. They were in some kind of armory. She didn’t illuminate a torch on the wall, but there was enough light coming from the corridor to see the racks of knives and swords and weapons with jagged teeth intended to tear through flesh. Cynna crossed to a row of knives, chose two, and strapped them to her thighs. Then she moved to a case holding a selection of daggers, hooked a harness over her shoulders that crisscrossed her back, and slid two arm-length daggers into the holders.
“Hurry,” she whispered. “The guards will be making the rounds again soon.”
Nick moved toward the cabinet, wishing for a damn gun. Bullets weren’t generally effective against Hades’s daemons, but they were with satyrs. Finding no firearms, he chose a parazonium—an ancient Greek sword similar to one he’d left at the colony. He lifted the weapon in his right hand, tested the weight, and swung it back and forth. Satisfied, he reached for knives similar to the ones Cynna had chosen, but with curved handles and jagged blades, grabbed a couple of throwing stars, which he tucked into his pockets, then reached for a mace—a club-like weapon with a long wood handle and multiple sharp teeth protruding from the metallic ball at the end.
Cynna eyed the weapons he’d picked, but didn’t say anything and turned back for the door. She hesitated just before opening it. “The stairs aren’t far. But we may run into satyrs. They’ll sound the alarm if they see us.”
Which meant they couldn’t be seen. Or reported.
Cynna pulled the door open and slinked back into the corridor. Torchlight reflected off the weapons at her back. Nick stayed close, but her scent—that sweet jasmine aroma—was distracting. As was the heat radiating from her skin and her own adrenaline he felt pulsing in the air.
Something had happened. Something between the time she’d pleasured him and now. Something that had propelled her to take this risk when she hadn’t before. Nick wanted to ask just what that was, but knew this wasn’t the time. The minute they got free, though, he was determined she’d come clean. He wasn’t letting her off the hook for any of it.
They rounded three different corners. The rock tunnels seemed to go on forever. Water dripped down the walls and pooled in puddles along the floor. Torchlight grew sparse the farther they went, but the moans around them didn’t stop. And every cry of agony, every sound of tormented pain, rippled in Nick’s limbs and radiated across his chest.
Cynna drew to a stop in front of another door and reached for the key from her pocket. Her hand shook as she slipped it into the lock and turned. The lock gave with a click, then she wrapped her fingers around the handle and pulled. Metal creaked through the dark corridor as the door swung outward toward them.
A set of stone stairs disappeared up into darkness. Cynna took a step past the door. “This way. Almost there.”
A scream ripped through the cavern before Nick could move inside, and that energy—the dark energy he fought day in and day out—leapt with both exhilaration and repulsion.
He captured Cynna at the arm. “Wait.”
She turned to look at him, her face shadowed, her dark eyes narrowed as they leveled on his. “What?”
Nick glanced back down the empty corridor to his left. The scream was now a muffled sob. A sound he recognized. One he’d made more times than he could count in this hellhole.
He looked back at Cynna. “We can’t leave them.”
Confusion clouded her eyes, then cleared as she realized what he was saying. Her gaze darted to her right, past the door. “We can’t get them all out. There are too many.”
“We can give some a chance. The same chance you’re giving me.”
Indecision swam in her familiar eyes as she looked back at him. She’d told him she was freeing him because it was the right thing to do. He needed to believe she’d meant that. Needed to know there was something good left inside her, even after all the bad shit he’d seen her do. Needed to know she wasn’t Zagreus’s puppet after all.
“The guards will hear,” she whispered. “There’s no way we can keep them all quiet.”
“I can’t leave without trying.”
Her eyes held his, and a thousand different emotions swam in her deep brown irises. Too many to name. But he recognized fear, and compassion, and, mostly, self-preservation.
Several tense seconds passed. Neither of them spoke. Neither looked away. Finally, her eyes closed, and she muttered, “Skata.”
She pulled her arm from his grip and stepped around him. “Several will die because of this. That’s not my fault.”
He wouldn’t hold her accountable for that. But relief rippled through him just the same. Relief that he’d pegged her right, from the start. He turned and followed. “If they stay here, they’re already dead, and you know it.”
She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect her to. But something in his chest warmed with her decision.
She stopped in front of the first cell door they came to and pulled the key from her pocket once more. “This is the stupidest idea ever. You want to free prisoners who will probably try to kill us on their way out.”
“I’ll make sure they don’t.”
She scoffed and pulled the door open. A creak sounded through the empty corridor. “Good luck with that.”
She stepped into the dark room. The cell was like his, made of rocks with no illumination. A figure sat along the back wall in the shadows. Cynna pulled a cylindrical metal object from her pocket and shoved it in Nick’s hand, then stepped forward. “I don’t want to die today. Not now, when I’m finally doing something good.”
Nick flicked on the flashlight in his hand and shined it over the back wall. Cynna was already kneeling next to the prisoner, a man wearing only thin cotton pants as Nick had been, with hair down to his shoulders and a long beard. He was thin, bony in places he should have been strong, and though it was hard to see in the dim light, he looked to be advancing toward old age.
“Wh-what do you want with me now?” the man asked.
He wasn’t strong enough to overpower Cynna. Not even close. But that didn’t ease Nick’s anxiety any. He tightened his hand around the mace, just in case. “Relax, old man. We’re freeing you.”
The cuffs opened from the man’s wrists and clattered against the ground. Cynna pushed to her feet. “Go out the corridor to the right. Steps run up to the surface. Follow them all the way. Don’t look back.”
She turned and swept past Nick without a look.
“Wh-why are you helping me?” the old man asked, slowly pushing to his feet.
Nick didn’t know who the hell the man was or what he’d done to be imprisoned here, but now was not the time to ask. “Because we can.”
Nick followed Cynna back down the dark hallway, holding the flashlight up each time they entered a cell while she moved toward the prisoner. They freed six males and eight females, all different ages and races. Most were frail and dirty and dazed, and few gave them any trouble. The majority didn
’t even recognize them. But one female did. One recognized Nick instantly, her eyes growing wide when he stepped into her cell. And the minute he flashed his light over her, Nick knew her as well.
The dark-haired nymph. The one who’d brought him to the brink of sexual frustration only days ago. Except now she looked nothing like she had then. Her hair was stringy and matted, dirt covered her skin, dried blood was smeared across her arms and calves, and her face was bruised and swollen along one whole side.
Someone had beaten the hell out of her after she’d left him. Someone he was sure was a satyr.
Anger ripped through Nick. A dark, rolling, menacing anger.
“Go out the corridor to the right,” Cynna said, freeing the nymph’s cuffs. “There’s a—”
“Thank you.” The moment the nymph was free, she bolted from the floor and threw her arms around Nick’s waist, holding on tight. “Thank you,” she repeated. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t leave me here.”
Nick held his arms out wide, unsure what to do. He looked toward Cynna for help. Pushing to her feet, Cynna scowled the nymph’s way and perched a hand on her hip.
“Okay, you’re free.” Nick reached around and pried the nymph’s hands from his back. She was surprisingly strong for being so small and injured. “Listen, before the guards arrive.”
The nymph tipped her head back and looked up, her eyes wide and filled with gratitude. “I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just keep me with you.”
“Enough with the begging already.” Cynna grasped the nymph by the back of the dress and pried her away from Nick.
The nymph glanced toward Cynna, then back at Nick. Confusion clouded her eyes. She obviously recognized Cynna too. Before she could get the question out, Cynna said, “We’ve got more prisoners to free. Go now, before we change our minds.”
The nymph cast Nick one last longing look, then rushed past him out into the hall.
TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) Page 9