Callia placed her hand on the back of her chair. “I realize that, but Nick isn’t a normal Argonaut, now is he? We already know he’s Krónos’s son. And if Atalanta was his mother, she was a goddess herself. Even if, somehow, Krónos made her mortal when he impregnated her, then that makes Nick a true demigod. And we’ve never had a true demigod Argonaut in the ranks, have we?”
Demetrius looked over her toward Zander and lifted his brows in question. Zander shook his head.
“No, I guess not,” Zander said. “Not recently, at least. The original seven were true demigods, but that was generations ago. I still don’t see how that would change anything, though.”
“I’m not sure yet, myself,” she answered, looking back at her book. “I’m just—”
“I think I found something.” Maelea’s voice sounded from somewhere in the stacks.
Callia and Zander turned her direction. Demetrius looked past them where Gryphon’s mate was walking from between shelves, her jet-black hair falling past her shoulders, a faded leather book open in her hands.
She laid the open book on the table in front of Callia and pointed to a passage. “There. I knew I remembered something similar.”
Callia scanned the page, and since he couldn’t see the words, Demetrius watched her features. Her eyes furiously read the words, then her face paled. And that knot in his stomach clenched even tighter.
He pushed away from the table, worry and dread skittering along his already frayed nerve endings. “What does it say?”
Callia laid her hand on the worn book and looked up at Maelea. “You remember this happening?”
As Zeus and Persephone’s daughter, Maelea was over three thousand years old and had seen or been privy to almost every important moment in ancient Greek history. “I remember hearing about each one, yes.”
“Callia,” Demetrius demanded, stepping closer. “What does it say?”
Callia sighed and looked back at him. “Aiakos, Minos, and Rhadamanthys were three mortals who were given the choice between death or becoming Judges of the Dead in the Underworld.”
“Okay.” Demetrius stared at her. “What do three dead mortals have to do with Isadora?”
“All three were of Zeus’s line,” Maelea said. “And all three were bound in life to a mate. When they became gods of the Underworld, the mate they each left behind slowly withered away until eventually death claimed them.”
Demetrius looked from face to face. “I’m still not following. I’m not dead.”
“No,” Callia said, shaking her head. “You’re not following. Death isn’t the connection. Power is. As their powers grew, their mates’ strengths dwindled until there was nothing left.”
Demetrius stared at the female. And her words didn’t immediately click. He was perfectly healthy. Nothing about him had changed. And since Isadora was his soul mate, that meant nothing should be impacting her. Because…
Oh skata… The blood rushed from his cheeks, and the entire room felt like it tilted right out from under his feet.
Callia turned in her seat to look up at Zander once more. “We have to find Nick. Hades said he needed Zagreus to harness the powers Krónos gave Nick. If that’s about to happen and Nick’s powers are growing, that could explain why Isadora is sick.”
Zander was already stepping toward the door. “What will you do if we find him?”
Callia pushed out of her chair. “I don’t know. But maybe having him here will give me a chance to figure something out.”
Demetrius felt like his brain was thick pea soup. His mate’s health was failing because of his brother?
His heart pounded hard in his chest, and his skin grew damp and tingly. From the first moment, her life had been cursed. By him. By Nick. The Fates couldn’t be this cruel to them. They couldn’t keep threatening to take away the one thing that mattered most in his life.
In a haze, Demetrius pushed away from the table, intent on following Zander, but Titus’s big body filling the doorway to the library drew him to a stop.
“There you guys are.” Titus’s voice was breathy, as if he’d been running. Wisps of his long wavy hair fell over his temple. “We’ve been looking all over for you. There’s movement at the colony.”
“What kind of movement?” Maelea asked, stepping out from behind the table.
“Not sure,” Titus said. “But someone’s fired up the generators, and there are at least two people moving around inside.”
Zander glanced toward Demetrius. “Where would Nick go if he somehow escaped from Zagreus’s lair?”
“To the colony.”
“That’s exactly what Theron thought,” Titus said. “We’re leaving in five.”
Zander kissed Callia’s cheek. And with a new sense of purpose rushing through him, Demetrius headed out into the corridor. But at his back, he heard Zander say, “See? I told you everything would work out.”
“It hasn’t yet,” Callia whispered.
“Have faith, thea. It will.”
Faith… Demetrius had never been able to summon up much of that, but for his mate, he’d find a way. No matter what he had to do, he’d find a way to save Isadora’s life.
He was so silent, Cynna was sure Nick could hear her heart pounding against her ribs in the cell. And since she couldn’t see him in the darkness, she had no way to judge what he was thinking.
He doesn’t believe you. Now that his temper’s eased and his desire’s been slaked, he doesn’t want to be near you. Why would you possibly think he’d want your help anyway?
Doubts rushed in. Every doubt she’d ever had where he was concerned. But she pushed them away, just like she did every doubt that had ever threatened to drag her down. Reaching for his hand and finding it in the dark, she wrapped her fingers around his and pulled him toward the open cell door. “Come on.”
He didn’t tug back on her hand. Didn’t fight her. Didn’t say anything, for that matter. She led him out into the tunnel, walking carefully on the uneven rocks with her bare feet as she headed toward the dim orange light, the corridor growing brighter with every step.
They rounded a corner, and she spotted the open doorway and the splintered door lying on the ground. Just before she reached it, Nick pulled back on her hand, stopping her. “Wait.”
His face was cast in shadows as he let go of her hand, grasped the hem of his T-shirt, and tugged it off, then dropped it over her head so the soft cotton fell against her bare skin.
Until that moment, she hadn’t even realized she was still naked. She’d been too focused on him. “Oh. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me, Cynna. Not after that. Your back is all scratched from the rocks. You have bruises over—”
“I’m fine.” She knew she had bruises. But they were the good kind of bruises, not that bad. And she, more than anyone, knew the difference.
He scowled and looked away, and she realized then that this was about more than what had just happened between them. He was good and truly wrecked. She could see it in his flat eyes and the way they wouldn’t meet hers, could hear it in his gravelly voice. The hours, the days, the months were catching up with him, and suddenly she knew exactly what he needed.
“Come on.” She gripped his hand again and picked her way around the broken door at her feet, then moved into the anteroom that opened to the colony.
He didn’t pull back from her again, didn’t fight her, didn’t do anything but sigh and let her lead him. And as she pulled him up the stairs and the devastation around them grew visible, she felt his pulse pick up against hers. Felt his muscles tense in her hand. And knew he was blaming himself all over again.
She couldn’t let him focus on that. Not if he was going to hold it together. They made it to the main level, and he groaned at her back. Tightening her fingers around his, she pulled him toward the charred staircase. “Don’t look around. Just stay with me.”
They moved up another level. By the time they reached the empty hallway she’d found earlier, his head was down,
his free hand was covering his eyes, and he was massaging his temples. Stress and regret and misery radiated off him. So much she knew she had to do something fast to take his mind off it all.
She pushed the door to the salon open, pulled him inside, closed it at his back, and led him to one of the many swivel chairs lining both sides of the room. Letting go of his hand, she turned, pressed her palms against his bare chest, and pushed him down. “Sit.”
“Cynna.” His voice was tight, his head still tipped down so she couldn’t see his face. “You need to leave. Get the hell away from here. Hades and Zagreus know where this place is.”
A shiver of panic snaked through her ribs, but she shook it away. Even if Zagreus knew where the colony was located, he didn’t know she and Nick were here. And by the time he figured it out, they’d be long gone.
Grabbing a comb and scissors from the table, she moved around behind him and tugged the comb through his hair. “We’ll leave later.”
His head lifted, and he shot her a what the fuck are you doing? look in the mirror.
She ignored it and continued combing. “Trust me. This will make you feel better.” She pointed toward her own head, then leaned forward and used the scissors to gently cut the hair at his nape. “Just getting rid of that blonde mess did wonders for me.”
His gaze bored into her through the mirror. She knew she’d just confused the hell out of him, but she didn’t care. She combed, snipped, ran her fingers through the back of his hair, cutting it short. For a moment, she considered using the clippers and shaving his head like he’d had it styled the first time she’d seen him, but then thought better of it. He had great hair. Thick. Soft. She didn’t want to cut it all off. Warmth slid through her belly and slinked between her legs when she remembered wrapping her fingers in all this silky goodness while he’d had her pinned to that wall and was thrusting inside her.
Oh man. That had been so very wrong. But it had felt incredibly right. And at the moment, all she could possibly think about was doing it all over again.
Sexual energy hummed through her body, amping her awareness of him as she worked her way around to his front, shaping the sides of his hair, running her fingers through the top and dropping cut strands on the floor. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his eyes watched her every movement. And though she couldn’t quite be sure because she’d yet to look directly at him, from the corner of her vision he didn’t seem as bewildered anymore. Yes, there was still confusion there, but she also saw heat in his amber gaze. And…whoa. Seriously?…awe.
She faltered. No one was awed by her. Horrified. Disgusted. Afraid, sure. But awed? Never.
She cleared her throat. Tried to think of something—anything—to say. “What happened to Ari?”
“He left.”
She waited for more, but he didn’t go on. And one glance at the mirror told her he was still staring at her with those intense eyes, following her every movement.
She swallowed back the sudden nerves, set the comb and scissors on the work counter behind her, then ran her fingers all through his hair, testing the length. Satisfied with the result, she stepped to the side so he could see his reflection. “What do you think?”
He stared at the image in the mirror, and she looked at what he was seeing. A bare-chested, sexy-as-all-get-out man who’d been through hell and survived, sitting on the small swivel seat, making it look tiny in comparison. But after several heartbeats, she discovered he wasn’t looking at himself. He was staring at her. And as her eyes met his in the mirror, and she caught the look of awe again in his, her pulse jumped, and heat spread all through her limbs, knocking that sexual energy up a blistering notch.
“I like it.” His voice was still gravelly, but this time it was laced with just enough arousal to make her inner thighs ache.
She dragged her gaze from his and cleared her throat. Running her fingers through his hair once more, she worked for nonchalant when she said, “It should feel lighter. No more wisps falling in your eyes. It’s—”
“Not mine. Yours. I like the brown. It’s real. It brightens your face. It’s stunning.”
Her fingers froze in his hair. No one had ever called her stunning. Not Zagreus. Not even her parents.
She stood still next to him, his warmth radiating around her until her skin prickled, his gaze watching her carefully in the mirror until her pulse was a roar in her ears. And in a rush, she realized what she was doing for him here wasn’t about making up for any wrong she’d committed. It wasn’t even about pulling him back from his father’s hold like she’d told herself in the tunnels. It was done purely to give him a piece of normalcy in a sea of unending misery. To show him that all wasn’t lost. To comfort him in a way no one had before.
She could count only two people in her life she’d ever wanted to comfort like that. Her mother and father. The only two people she’d ever truly cared for.
Her hands trembled, and she quickly released his hair and stepped back. A lump formed in her throat, one that made it hard to swallow. Swiping her hands along the edge of the oversize T-shirt he’d given her, she turned quickly for the back of the salon and forced her tongue to work. “There’s a shower through here. You’ve got hair all over you. Go get cleaned up while I find you a towel.”
Leather creaked as he pushed his big body out of the swivel chair. She found a closet and pulled the door open, busily searching for that towel, telling herself the entire time that she was walking a dangerous line.
Falling for Nick? Krónos’s son? No. That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t even sane. She’d helped him because it was the right thing to do. Cut his hair because he hadn’t had it cut once in the months he’d been trapped in Zagreus’s lair. And she’d fucked him because…well, he was hot. She was still a female with needs. And sex was a natural, physical reaction to the adrenaline rush they’d both been through. She hadn’t done that because she felt anything for him. Because, dammit, she wasn’t falling for him. No way in hell.
“Cynna.”
She drew up sharply at the sound of his voice directly at her back and smacked her head against the shelf above. Pain spiraled across her scalp, and she reached up, rubbing the suddenly sore spot. “Skata.”
His large hand closed over hers, and before she realized what he was doing, he turned her around and pulled her into all his warm, muscular perfection.
Heat infused her skin, and the natural scent of him—earthy scents of sandalwood and pine—filled her senses. As did the musky remnants of the sex they’d shared only minutes ago.
His hand opened, splayed against her lower spine, then fisted the soft cotton of his shirt against her back. “Thank you,” he mumbled into her hair as he held her immobile against him. “I didn’t realize how much I needed that.” Then softer, “Thank you.”
That lump in her throat grew even larger, and though she tried to fight it, her eyes slid closed, and she drew his scent deep into her soul, every inch of him, as much as she could get, until she felt giddy and lightheaded from just his simple touch.
Oh gods. She was falling for him, dammit. For someone she had no right to even look twice at. For someone who shouldn’t want to be anywhere near her. Their being anything other than enemies made absolutely no sense. And she had zero hope for any kind of future with him beyond tonight. None. The smartest play for her was to leave—no, to run, as he’d told her to do before—right this very second.
He lifted his palm from her scalp, slid his fingers down her bare arm, leaving tingles in his wake, then grasped her hand. “Come shower with me.”
Yes. Oh gods. Her entire body tightened with the need to feel him deep inside again. Yes…
No!
Her pulse raced in her ears. Conflicting thoughts swirled in what was left of her gray matter. If she went with him, and he showed her even a fraction of the kindness he was showering on her now, she’d be totally lost. Give in. Step right off that cliff and not care where she landed. And if that happened, that wall she’d erected t
o hold herself together since her parents’ death would ignite like kindling consumed by flame.
It had taken her a long time to come out of that depression-induced spiral. If she let herself fall all the way for Nick, she knew she’d end up right back in that murky abyss. And considering the last time she’d been there she’d made a deal with the Prince of Darkness, there was no telling what awful thing she’d do when this fucked-up relationship imploded.
She swallowed hard and pressed her hand against his chest. “Go start the water. I’ll grab towels.”
“Okay.” He released his grip on her shirt. Stepped back. And shot her a wicked-hot look laced with…oh skata…more of that fucking awe that was chipping away at her very last bit of resolve. “Don’t be long.”
He walked away, his bootsteps pounding against the tile floor in time with the pulse throbbing in her arteries. And as she watched the muscles in his back ripple beneath his scarred skin as he left, she knew he was every bit the warrior she’d pegged him to be from the start. Every time she thought about the constant struggle he was waging inside, every time she remembered the misery on his face in that courtyard, she wanted to go to him, to comfort him, to be for him what no one else had ever been. But she couldn’t. Not if she had any hope of surviving herself. And right now, self-preservation needed to be foremost in her mind. Because if it wasn’t…
If it wasn’t, she knew exactly where she’d end up.
As soon as he turned the corner, she dropped the towel in her hand and sprinted for the door.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nick tipped his head back and rinsed the shampoo and soap from his body as the hot water cascaded down his skin and soothed his sore and tired muscles. Steam rose around him, warming every inch of his skin, but he didn’t need it to ease that ever-present chill inside. Cynna had done that when she’d so gently cut his hair. When she’d sunk into him moments before and let him hold her. When she’d kissed him in that cell in the tunnels, then rocked his world right out from under his feet.
TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) Page 17