But instead of the Siren stealing away the sword, it flung back toward the boulder, embedding itself once again in the rock.
He gaped and glanced at the female. Shock crossed her features too, wide eyes and rounded lips. She looked him up and down, something like terror seizing her panicked features, before she raced from the chamber.
He stared at the blade. Then at the path she’d taken. He couldn’t retrieve the sword on his own. That much had been proven to him. But somehow, they’d been able to extract it together. Damned if he didn’t haul her back here to remove the blade. Hell, he’d shackle himself to her and the sword and drag them both back to his brothers if need be.
He’d do whatever it took to secure this most precious weapon.
Demoleon pounded his hooves through the winding tunnels, twisting this way and that through an almost blinding blackness, until suddenly, vine-like tendrils seized his limbs, winding across his ankles and wrists. He performed the morphos into his human shape but, even as man, he couldn’t break this hold. The coils closed, tighter and tighter. Then the ropy manacles hefted him upside down, fifty feet into the air.
Mercilessly trapping him.
For all eternity.
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Air's Mark (Lords of Krete Book 3) Page 10