What would Demetrius have in common with a human brother?
And then she knew. His father hadn’t just hated Demetrius’s link to Medea. He’d despised Demetrius because he’d been duped by Atalanta in her quest for ultimate power. She’d wanted control of her immortality. She’d been tempted to find a way around Hades’s bargain. She’d thought conceiving her own Chosen—siblings that were the perfect balance of half god, half mortal—would do that. “You tried to get around the prophecy by creating your own Chosen.”
Atalanta turned to face her. “I tried. But I failed. And lucky for me I did, because we wouldn’t be together now.” The goddess turned abruptly toward the dark end of the room before Isadora could answer. “Ah, there you are, yios. I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
A shadow loomed in the darkness, but it wasn’t friendly. Malice spread from beyond the illuminated circle. Malice and a malevolent threat aimed directly at Isadora.
She swallowed hard. Took a step backward.
“Come into the light, yios.”
Isadora’s gaze shot to the shadows. The air stirred as Demetrius stepped from darkness into light. And one look told Isadora that if she’d held out any hope he was going to save her, she’d been a fool.
His eyes were hard, cold pools of obsidian. No spark, no light, no kindness anywhere in their fathomless depths. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t show even a hint of recognition. The darkness engulfed him fully, and though she knew it was useless she found herself wishing he’d turn into the stone-cold bastard he’d always been whenever she was around. Because this—this soulless being possessed by evil—was a thousand times worse than anything she could have imagined.
Isadora took another step back. Panic and fear settled deep in her throat. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs as she waited and watched and prayed…for what, she didn’t know.
“You please me.” Atalanta cupped his face and kissed each of his cheeks.
He didn’t recoil. Instead he muttered something in a language Isadora didn’t understand, which made Atalanta laugh. And then they both turned and stared at her.
Emptiness brewed in Demetrius’s eyes. It was as if someone else was looking out at her. As if they were strangers. As if they’d never shared a single thing on that island together.
The Horae marking on her leg tingled. Two words swirled in her mind.
Remember me.
Somewhere deep inside she knew it was her only chance. No matter what he’d planned, no matter how he’d schemed with Atalanta, there had been a connection between them. She was his soul mate, damn it.
“We’ll need a strong spell, yios. We need her alive for at least nine months. I don’t care if she’s unconscious all that time, but we need that child. Are your powers strong enough?”
“They’re strong enough.” His cold, soulless eyes didn’t leave Isadora, and the tingle in her leg grew stronger as he took a step her way. “It won’t be pleasant for her, but the child will not perish.”
Oh, gods…
Remember me. Remember me remember me remember me…
She backed up until her spine hit something solid, blocking her path. Her pulse raced like wildfire as he stopped in front of her. His body was the same, his scent so familiar it surrounded her, consumed her, reminded her of every moment alone on that island with him. He lifted his hands and closed his eyes. A chant rose up in the air as his lips moved and that black mist swirled around him, mixing with the Medean powers he drew from somewhere deep in his soul.
Fear pushed her forward. She grasped his hands, threaded her fingers in his, and held on tight. That tingle turned to a full-on vibration that shook her entire body.
Remember me.
Energy—a power she hadn’t known she could control—flowed from her hands into his, a host of memories flashing through her brain, traveling into her limbs and out again. Every cruel word he’d uttered to her in the castle in Tiyrns, the moment in her chamber when he’d accused her of abandoning Theron in the human realm, that wretched day he’d refused to bind himself to her in front of her father and all the Argonauts, the way he’d soothed her burns after rescuing her in Apophis’s castle, the nights he’d slept next to her to keep Hades away, when they’d made love, and afterward when he’d held her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
Emotions stirred in her chest. They rushed out her hands along with the memories, flowed into him. And when his chant cut off mid-sentence, when his eyes flew open and he stared down at her with a confused expression, as if he felt the transfer too but didn’t understand how, hope sprang in her soul.
Remember me, remember me, remember me…
“Kardia…”
Yes!
He shook his head as if to clear the haze, then stared down at her with the same blank, malicious expression.
No. Remember me, dammit!
She gripped his hands tighter, focused harder.
“Yios?”
This time he didn’t take his eyes off her as his chant resumed. He squeezed her hands right back, until pain shot up her fingers and into her palms.
She was weak and no match for his strength. His chanting grew louder. She cried out as he squeezed tighter, pushing down so she was forced to the ground.
“Yios?”
Something moved in the shadows behind Demetrius, but Isadora was in so much pain she couldn’t focus. Demetrius let go of her hands and swung around to face Atalanta. His chanting grew stronger; then he thrust out his hands forward. The goddess’s eyes went wide with surprise, and seconds later her body flew backward past the circle of candles to slam into the ground somewhere in the darkness.
The shadow shifted, moved, streaked toward Isadora. “That’s our cue, Princess.”
Zander. Oh, gods, it was Zander.
He wrapped his arms up underneath hers and hauled her to her feet. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Yios!” Atalanta’s bellow from the darkness shook the entire room. The candles went out in one giant breath of air.
Demetrius answered by chanting again and disappearing into the darkness.
“Come on,” Zander said, more frantic this time, hauling Isadora with him toward the other side of the room. “We have to get to the surface. I’m too weak to open a portal down here.”
She found her footing, held onto his arms with fingers that still burned, and tried to move with him. A dark doorway loomed ahead. They took five steps before a series of roars from that direction halted their progress.
“Skata.”
Atalanta screeched. An arc of electricity lit up the darkness. Demetrius’s chanting cut off abruptly and a crash resounded.
The roars—closer this time—brought Isadora’s attention back around. Terror raced down her spine.
Zander pushed her behind him and grasped his parazonium. “Get back!”
Isadora didn’t have a weapon. She couldn’t even see a foot in front of her face. The roars grew to explosive levels. She felt Zander’s adrenaline thrumming in the air in front of her. At her back, Atalanta screeched again and another arc of electricity illuminated the room.
She turned to look back, and in the split second of light saw Demetrius sail through the air and crash into the wall fifteen yards away. She cried out for him, but the roars, the pounding in her ears, drowned out all sound. Her heart lurched in her chest. Instinctively she moved toward him.
She slammed into a massive body, fell back on her butt. Horrified, she looked up and froze when the eyes peering down at her began to glow, casting an eerie green light over the entire area.
Oh shit…
“It seems I’m always rescuing your ass, Princess. Is this three now?”
Orpheus? No way. Orpheus was here?
“Holy shit, O,” Zander exclaimed from mere feet to her left. “We’re about to be overrun.”
“Then might I suggest alternate travel plans?” Orpheus winked down at Isadora. “I’ll add it to your bill.”
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He brought his pinky fingers together and opened the portal with a snap and sizzle. The room burst with light. Zander turned and grasped her arm, dragging her to him, but in the chaos she saw the Argonaut markings down Orpheus’s forearms—the markings that hadn’t been there mere days before.
A battle cry erupted just beyond the door.
Zander pushed her forward. “Go, go, go already!”
Isadora took a step toward the open portal. Behind her, another arc of energy lit up the room, followed by another crash of body into stone, and again she watched as Demetrius sailed through the air as if he were a rag doll.
“Demetrius,” she whispered, moving toward him and away from the portal.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Orpheus asked.
“We can’t leave him.”
“I think he’s getting what he deserves.”
“She’s going to kill him.”
“Who the hell cares? Get through the portal, Princess!”
The black door shook with a mighty force. Followed by roars that rocked the room.
“No.” She wasn’t abandoning him. Not here. Not with Atalanta. She turned to Zander. “We can’t just leave him here.”
“You will rue the day you were born!” Atalanta bellowed in the darkness. A groan sounded somewhere across the room.
“Zander!” Isadora cried.
Zander looked to Orpheus. “She’s right. We can’t leave him.”
“What the—?”
“I couldn’t have gotten to her without him. He tried to save her, not kill her. It’s the truth, O. I don’t know what happened with Gryphon, but he didn’t hand her over to Atalanta. Dammit, she’s his soul mate.”
“Motherfucker,” Orpheus muttered. “Talk about screwing up a wet dream. Would you two get through the damn portal already?”
“But—”
“I’ll get him,” Orpheus said loudly, cutting off Isadora’s words.
“Do you promise?”
The glow of his green eyes held hers. But even through the illumination, she saw the truth lurking in their depths. He thought he was such a badass, yet how many times now had he come through for her when she needed him? “Yeah, I’ll get him. Now go!”
The door crashed in. Another series of roars resounded, these louder and closer and a thousand times more frightening. Zander grasped her arm. “Come on!”
From the darkness Atalanta screamed, “Hora!”
“Please,” Isadora pleaded as Zander tugged her toward the portal. “Please bring him back.”
“You so fucking owe me for this,” Orpheus muttered.
She didn’t get a chance to respond. Zander pulled her through the portal with one last yank. And then all sound dispersed as she went flying.
Chapter 24
Isadora stood in the massive walk-in closet of her suite in the castle of Tiyrns with a towel wrapped around her body, staring at the clothes hanging from the rack.
Not a single pair of pants. No blouses. None of the modern items Casey had helped her gather weeks ago when she’d decided she wasn’t going to play the part of the cloistered princess any longer. All she saw were miles of crinoline, satin, chiffon, and silk. Dresses she’d thought she was done with forever.
Water droplets fell from her wet hair to drip onto her bare shoulders. Her stomach rolled all over again. She hitched the towel tighter as one expensive fabric bled into another.
She barely remembered the past two days. Callia had told her she’d blacked out when Zander brought her back. She’d slept straight through, her body so sick and worn out that it had needed the time to heal. But even after nearly twenty-four hours asleep, a platter full of food that hadn’t stayed down, and a fresh shower, Isadora didn’t feel healed. Or free. If anything, looking at the clothes in this closet, she felt more confined than she ever had before. Even on Pandora.
She grabbed the first dress her fingers touched, dropped the towel, and wriggled into the claustrophobic gown. She didn’t notice the color or style or anything about the garment. The only things she wanted were answers. And after everything she’d been through, she deserved them.
She zipped the back of the dress, finger-combed her short hair, then reached for the closest pair of shoes before turning out of the closet. And stopped when she came face-to-face with both of her sisters.
“I’d say she’s feeling better,” Callia said in that healer voice that set Isadora’s nerves on edge.
“Much,” Casey agreed with a smile that looked forced.
They were both dressed in slacks, Casey with a red fitted sweater and Callia with a blue button-down blouse. Both were close to the same height, with the same violet eyes and the same confident expressions. And both were studying her as if she were their latest laboratory experiment.
Isadora dropped the shoes and slid her feet into them. “Where is he?”
When neither sister answered, she looked up. Callia and Casey exchanged somber glances.
“What?” Isadora asked. “He is back, isn’t he? You told me Orpheus brought him back. I need to talk to him.”
“He’s not…” Callia started, then closed her mouth. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” When neither answered again, panic settled in. “Is he…?” Oh, gods. “Is he hurt?”
“He’s not hurt,” Callia said quickly, taking Isadora’s left hand. “He’s fine. Orpheus found him in the dark and flashed him outside the bunker walls. He was a little banged up from the fight with Atalanta, but these guys—they heal quickly with their superhero Argonaut genes, you know.” The healer tried to smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He’s lucky Orpheus was there, though. Anyone else…they wouldn’t have been able to get away.”
Isadora knew that. She owed Orpheus. In the hours since her rescue she’d learned that Theron and the others had defeated the daemons and that the ones who hadn’t been killed had scattered, just as she’d learned Atalanta was now gone as well. Where, no one seemed to know, but whatever Orpheus and Demetrius had done to the goddess down there in that bunker had given the Argonauts the chance they needed to win the battle.
Her gaze strayed to Casey and she noticed her sister still looked worried. Something was wrong. If Demetrius wasn’t hurt…
“What aren’t you both telling me?”
Casey took Isadora’s other hand. “Honey, I really think you should lie back down. You’re not back to one hundred percent yet and I don’t want—”
Isadora was so sick of everyone coddling her. It had to stop. Now.
She wrenched her hands free and took a step back. “No, you tell me what’s going on right now. Where is he? Did he leave?”
Casey looked to Callia again, and the pitying expression on her face only sent Isadora’s blood pressure higher. “He didn’t leave, Isa.”
“Then where is he?”
“He’s…”
“He’s in Erebus,” Callia finished when it was clear Casey didn’t want to go on.
Isadora looked from one sister to the next. “Erebus? The prison? But why?” She flexed her fingers, desperate for something to do. They still ached from where Demetrius had hurt her in Atalanta’s chamber, but she knew now he’d done that to trick the goddess so she wouldn’t suspect he’d turn on her. No matter what he’d done up until that point, no matter what his motives had been before, he’d saved her. “I don’t—”
“Between Gryphon’s testimony that Demetrius betrayed the Argonauts and what Theron found in his flat,” Casey said, “the Council’s charged him with treason.”
“Wait.” Isadora held up a hand. “Gryphon’s gone.”
“He was here. The guys found him after the daemons took you from the field. He told the others what happened outside the colony.”
Her mind flashed back to that moment when she’d stepped through the portal from Thrace Castle and realized they were surrounded by daemons. Demetrius had been shocked. She knew in her heart he hadn’t planned that any more than she had. “Gryphon w
as hurt. He wasn’t thinking clearly. I was there. Demetrius tried to save us. I don’t know what you’re talking about with regard to his flat, but—”
“He’s been planning your abduction for months, Isadora.” At Callia’s bombshell, Isadora swung her attention to her other sister. “He had pictures of you all over his flat. A telescope that looked over the rooftops into your suite. Drawings of you, maps of the castle. Isadora”—her voice softened—“he’s Atalanta’s son. You yourself told us he wasn’t what we all thought.”
Confusion welled in Isadora’s chest. “I know what I told you, but…my gods, we’re all related to someone we don’t want to be related to. Do I need to remind you both about the hideous things our own father has done?”
Casey sighed. “It’s more than that, Isa. His lineage and the evidence combined with his attitude are damning.”
“What do you mean, ‘his attitude’?”
“He’s not talking,” Callia answered. “When the king questioned him, when the Council questioned him. He won’t explain where you two were, how you ended up with Atalanta, or what happened while you were gone.”
Isadora glanced at her skirt. “Why wouldn’t he just tell them the truth? Why would he…?”
Color swirled before her eyes, and she saw herself standing in her closet, staring at a sea of gowns, each one more stifling than the last. She wasn’t that princess anymore. She wasn’t meek and timid and easily pushed around any longer. If the last week had taught her anything, it was that she was strong and confident and that she mattered. The gowns were nothing more than a facade.
You can’t save me.
Why not?
Because some things aren’t worth the effort.
Her chest grew tight. And in a rush she understood why Demetrius had been so cruel to her. For so many years he’d been trying to protect her from himself—because of who and what he thought he was. But he wasn’t like Atalanta. Yes, something dark lurked inside him, but it didn’t rule him. Even when he’d been surrounded by temptation of the most evil kind, he hadn’t given in to it to the point of no return. And now, to keep the Council and the king and the Argonauts from knowing what had truly happened between them on that island, he was reverting back to his old ways. Protecting her with the same I-don’t-give-a-shit-about-anyone pretense he’d always used.
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