Not Maelea. Not even close. This female’s hair was a fire red tangle of curls that fell to her shoulders, her skin as white as alabaster, and those eyes…they were mesmerizing. Sharp, polished, gleaming emeralds he was sure couldn’t be real.
She rose quickly off the bed where she’d been sitting, shifted what looked like a book behind her back. She was dressed in jeans and a black sweater, and at eleven o’clock at night didn’t look the least bit tired. “Who are you? What are you doing in here?”
He scanned her thoughts, and only picked up a few filtered words: Whoa. Big. Careful. Confusion hit, because Misos couldn’t block his gift. Which meant she wasn’t Misos. Wasn’t strictly human either, if his senses were at all working.
“I could ask you the same question.” He moved into the room, let the door slap shut behind him. The muscles in her shoulders tightened in response, sending his wariness up another degree.
“I’m a friend of Maelea’s.”
He still couldn’t totally read her thoughts, but he knew that was a lie. The way she glanced around the room spoke volumes. As did the way she kept looking past him to the door as if contemplating her chances of escaping unscathed. “Then you’ve heard the news.”
She hesitated just long enough to tell him she hadn’t heard any such thing, then said, “Of course.”
Definitely lying. Who the hell was this female? And what did she want with Maelea?
She cleared her throat and moved forward. “I have to be going.”
She was still hiding something behind her back. Something she’d found in this room? Something that might help him figure out where Maelea had been heading? It was a long shot, but any shot was better than nothing at all.
The female stepped around him, reached for the door. Before she could get away, he grasped her wrist to stop her, then realized—belatedly—that he wasn’t wearing his gloves.
No emotions flowed from her into him. And though he still couldn’t read her thoughts exactly, the few he was picking up—Run. Go. Bad idea—barely even registered, because the room spun, leaving him light-headed and woozy as shit.
He braced a hand against the wall to keep from falling over. Warmth rushed over every inch of his skin, sent fire burning along his nerve endings. He looked down where he touched her, then up to her face. Saw no surprise, no awareness in her gemlike eyes. Only suspicion.
He blinked twice. Gave his head a swift shake. Knew he still had to be tripped out on those drugs Callia had given him earlier. But then why had he been able to hear his kins’ thoughts so clearly? And why had he felt Callia’s emotions when she’d touched him?
The female clenched her hand into a fist, tried to pull her arm free. “Let me go.”
He didn’t loosen his grasp. “What are you?”
Her face blanched. And in the resulting silence, he knew, oh, yeah. She was definitely hiding something. But of more importance was the fact that this was the first person in almost two hundred years whose touch didn’t send a tidal wave of transferred emotions zinging through his body.
“No one important,” she said.
“You’re not Misos.”
“Neither are you.”
She was definitely otherworldly, that much he could tell, but just what, exactly, he didn’t know. “What do you want with Maelea?”
She glanced at his hand, still wrapped tight around her wrist. “Are you going to release me?”
Not a chance. He was enjoying the sensation of her skin against his too much to let go just yet. Even with that light-headed wooziness making him feel as if his head might spin off at any second. “Answer the question.”
She heaved out a breath. “Maelea is an old friend. I’m just trying to find her.”
Another lie. Maelea was a loner. Though she’d warmed up since being at the colony, she didn’t have friends in the true sense of the word. And he’d remember if this woman had ever been with her.
“For what reason?”
“My reasons are my own. Now unhand me.” She jerked her arm back, and this time the motion was strong enough to snap her wrist from his grip.
The room stopped spinning. The fog seemed to clear from Titus’s mind. And cool air trickled over skin that moments ago had been flushed and heated. Wondering what the heck was going on, he took a step toward her, ready to reach for her again, when the door to the room burst open and Phineus barreled in.
“T,” Phin said, “there you are.” His head swiveled toward the female, and he did a double take. “Um…whoa. Am I interrupting?”
“No,” the female answered.
“Yes,” Titus said, not ready to let her go just yet.
Phin looked back at Titus. “Sorry, man. Theron needs you. The queen and her sisters used their woo-woo magic and caught a glimpse of Gryphon and Maelea. And they’re not in the tunnels anymore.”
The first inkling of hope ricocheted through Titus’s chest. “Where?”
“Not sure yet.” Phin glanced at the redhead again, who was listening intently—too intently—then back at Titus. “But, Titus, man…there are daemons after them. And hellhounds.”
The redhead drew in a sharp breath.
Oh yeah, she was definitely otherworldly, and very clearly more than a simple Misos.
Phineus turned to leave, and the redhead started out the door, but Titus gripped her by the upper arm, careful this time to make sure he closed his hand around her shirt and not bare skin. Heat pulsed through his palm again, but no emotions, no pain, nothing like what he was used to.
“What are you—?”
“You’re coming with me,” he said, dragging her after Phineus down the hall. “Something tells me you’ve got a stake in what we find out about Maelea. And you might just be of use to us.”
***
Maelea’s arm ached from holding it out. She’d finally given up and leaned forward to brace both hands on the dashboard and rest her head against them so she could get some rest. The fact that Gryphon had seen those hellhounds and pressed down on the accelerator was good, but it didn’t ease her anxiety any.
The truck jolted, and she startled from the light sleep she’d managed to slip into. Groggy, she glanced out at the dark forest around her, then across the bench seat to Gryphon, his jaw tight, his eyes intense, his face both familiar and too damn sexy at the same time.
“What time is it?” she asked.
Gryphon glanced at the dashboard, which didn’t have a clock. “I don’t know. Late. We’ve gone a little over a hundred miles.”
She wanted to ask in which direction but thought better of it. She didn’t really want to know what he had planned. She just wanted to get away.
“I’m tired,” she said, thinking of a way to make him stop. “I can’t sleep like this.”
“I’m not uncuffing you.”
Bastard.
She bit her tongue so as not to antagonize him. “I’m starving as well. And I need to pee. Can’t we stop somewhere? You have to be hungry and exhausted too.”
His jaw clenched again. He didn’t look at her. As his hands flexed around the wheel, she knew he was debating.
“You have enough money for a motel, don’t you? I’m dying for a shower. And at least a couple hours of sleep. I’ve been awake for nearly thirty-six. If I don’t get some sleep soon, I’m going to turn into a zombie, and then I’ll seriously slow you down.”
“Fine,” he said as the truck slowed. They were coming into some sort of small town. Lights shone in from outside. “We’ll rest for a few hours, but don’t get any ideas. This doesn’t change anything. You’re not going anywhere but where I want you to go.”
That’s what you think.
Maelea bit her lip as they rolled through the town, which consisted of one stoplight, a bank, a grocery store, a fast-food joint, and a truck
stop. On the far end, Gryphon parked the truck in front of an eight-unit, one-story motel set back from the other businesses, with a flashing vacancy light in the office window.
Definitely a far cry from the mansion she’d lived in on Lake Washington, but she didn’t need fancy. She just needed him distracted. “I’ll wait here while you check in.”
“Not even.” He unlocked her from the dashboard then snapped the free cuff on his own wrist. Anger burning in her gut, she bit her tongue so as not to antagonize him and slid across the seat to climb out the driver’s side door.
Cool air rushed over her face as she stepped from the truck. Her muscles ached from sitting so long. Before she could catch her breath, Gryphon hooked their joined wrists around her back, tugging her body tight to his side so he could lean down and whisper, “If you say or do anything that upsets me, you won’t be the only one I hurt.”
Her stomach tightened. He was talking about the clerk in the office. Maelea nodded once, ignoring the heat radiating from his body and the blood and gore still fresh on his clothes. How did he plan to get by the clerk looking like that? The man would undoubtedly notice Gryphon had been through a massacre.
Her pulse sped up as they walked across the dark parking lot, the only sound their boots clicking on the pavement. Maybe that was her way out. If she could get the clerk to notice the blood and gore on Gryphon’s clothing, he could alert someone. Call for help. She could escape in the chaos.
The door to the office was locked, but a sign over a call button next to the night window read Press After Hours. Gryphon pushed the button, moved close to the window. Through the glass, Maelea watched as a door at the back of the office opened, and a teenager, probably no more than fifteen, ambled out.
Her spirits dropped. The teen barely even glanced their way. Through the grate in the window he said, “You need a room?”
“One,” Gryphon answered.
The kid slid a form and pen across the counter through the opening in the window. “Fill that out. You got a car?”
Gryphon pointed behind him with the pen, then scribbled info on the form with his free hand. As he wrote, Maelea watched the kid, hoping, praying he’d notice what the hell was happening on the other side of the glass.
Almost as if he’d heard her prayer, the teen looked up. Curious eyes gave way to horror.
Yes, yes! Call the police. Call anyone!
“How much?” Gryphon asked as he set the pen down and slid it and the paper back through the narrow opening in the window.
The kid didn’t answer. His face went ashen.
Hope burst in Maelea’s chest.
“I…uh…” The kid reached for the paper, started to move back.
Gryphon’s free hand sprang through the gap in the window and gripped the teen’s arm at the wrist.
The teen tensed, tried to pull back. “Hey! Let me…”
His voice trailed off as he locked eyes with Gryphon, then slowly, the fight rushed out of his body, and he eased a step closer to the window.
No. No! Maelea’s muscles tensed. She tried to pull away but Gryphon held her too tight.
“That’s right,” Gryphon said in a gentle voice. “Nothing here out of the ordinary. Just a couple passing through, needing a room for the night, right?”
“Yeah,” the kid repeated in a monotone voice. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
Maelea’s gaze shot to the teen’s wrist, where Gryphon’s finger was running a slow circle over the boy’s pulse point. Élencho. He was using a mind-numbing technique on the boy. What little hope she’d had for help faded with every muscle the boy relaxed.
“Now,” Gryphon said calmly. “How much for the room?”
“Thirty…eight dollars.”
“We also need some food. Little lady here can’t wait to get me alone, but she’s hungry. Think you can run to the fast-food joint down the road and get us something to eat?”
“S-sure.”
Slowly, Gryphon released the kid’s wrist, pulled money from his pocket, and slid it across the counter. The kid pocketed the cash, then reached for a key hanging from a hook to his right, moving as if in a trance. He slid the key across to Gryphon. “Number eight. Last door. Will take me about a half hour to get the food.”
“That’s fine,” Gryphon said, looking down at Maelea. “Gives us time to get…comfortable. Right, honey?”
Sickness rolled through Maelea’s stomach. This kid was her only hope, and Gryphon had easily turned his brain to butter. She didn’t answer, but her stomach turned when Gryphon leaned down and kissed her cheek.
I need you.
She hadn’t lived nearly three thousand years to have her life come down to this. If she was to prove her worth to the gods and earn her way to Olympus, she had to get away from him. She had to beat him at his own game and come out the winner in the end.
She didn’t fight him when he grasped the key and turned her toward the motel room. She was already thinking three steps ahead as their boots echoed across the sidewalk.
He leaned close and whispered, “You did well. As long as you cooperate, nothing bad will happen.”
She didn’t answer. His warm breath rushing across her chilled skin set off a rush of tremors deep in her body. Ones she didn’t like and were at complete odds with the sickness brewing in her stomach.
He stopped at the truck, yanked open the door, and grasped the clothes they’d taken from that army surplus store. Then he ushered her toward the last door at the end of the motel and handed her the key.
Her pulse raced as she unlocked the door. The smell of bleach assailed her nostrils as they stepped inside. A filthy green shag carpet covered the floor. A narrow hallway opened to a bathroom on the right. Ahead, a double bed sat flanked by two nightstands holding wood lamps with stained yellow shades. Across the room, an old, beat-up armoire housed a TV, and next to the sliding glass door on the far side, a mismatched table and chairs was pushed up against the wall.
Gryphon dumped the clothes on the floor near the armoire and jerked on the cuffs linking them together before she caught her bearings. “Come here.”
Her anxiety shot up as he pulled her into the bathroom and flipped on the light. Carpet gave way to dirty linoleum. She blinked twice under the fluorescent beam. A bathtub reflected in the mirror that ran along the wall above a counter and single sink. Gryphon closed the door at her back. From his pocket he produced a key and unhooked the cuff from his arm, freeing his hand and breaking the bond between them.
The cuffs clanked against her wrist where one was still locked tight. Freedom burst inside her as Gryphon slid the key back into his pocket, then peeled off his shirt, tossing it on the toilet lid behind him. But that freedom turned to unease as he unsnapped his jeans and pushed the denim down his legs.
Maelea stepped back until she hit the wall. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“We both need a shower.”
Her eyes grew wide. “I’m not showering with you.”
He kicked off his pants, leaving him clothed in nothing but gray boxer briefs—briefs he filled out really, really well—then reached for her. “You smell like a pond. It’s either with me or not at all.”
She swatted at his hand when he gripped the bottom of her shirt. “I’ll stay dirty.”
“You’re not staying out here alone while I shower.” He easily grabbed her hand. “Stop fighting me or I’ll handcuff you again.”
Her pulse picked up speed. And she wasn’t sure, but she thought she felt his finger moving against the pulse point of her wrist. “Élencho doesn’t work on me, you bastard.”
A ghost of a smile made him look devastatingly handsome. She didn’t doubt that this was a male who knew how to get what he wanted from a female. “I didn’t think it would, but it was worth a shot.”
He moved a fra
ction of an inch closer. Just enough so his body brushed hers. That darkness inside jolted with excitement. “I have no intentions toward you except keeping you within my sight. If you cooperate, we’ll be in and out of this shower before our food arrives.”
Liar. He’d made it clear over and over that he needed her for something. She wasn’t stupid when it came to men, especially this one. Not after the way he’d kissed her in that cave.
Or had she kissed him? The entire moment was jumbled in her mind. But she remembered the heat. The slide of his tongue against hers. How wet and tantalizing he’d been. How tempting.
Her cheeks heated with the remembered lust and embarrassment. “I don’t believe you.”
His smile faded, and something dark crept into his light blue eyes. Something that made her catch her breath. A haunted look that spoke of pain and…torment. “I only want a shower. I won’t force you into anything else. I won’t do to you what was done to me.”
Maelea’s pulse raced beneath her breast as she stared into his eyes. He was talking about the Underworld. What had happened to him there? All sorts of scenarios raced through her mind, but she couldn’t imagine him the focus of any single one. Not the strong, commanding warrior who’d escaped the colony, battled both kobaloi and daemons, and won.
But it was the Underworld. Hell. The land of the depraved. Not Disneyland, for crap’s sake. Hades could have done any number of things to him there, and even he wouldn’t have been able to stop them from happening.
Don’t trust him.
“I promise,” he whispered, his gaze still locked with hers. “I won’t hurt you.”
That darkness inside bubbled with exhilaration, and the fight slid out of her muscles even though she willed it to stay. As if he sensed her wavering resistance, he grabbed his pants from the floor, fished the key from the pocket, reached for her wrist, and unlocked the cuff. The metal clanged against the floor. And in the echo that followed, he tugged her shirt up and over her head before she could stop him, leaving her standing in nothing but her pants and thin bra.
Her nipples tightened under his heated gaze. She crossed her arms over her stomach so he couldn’t see her inner forearms. This was a bad idea. This was not something she should be letting him do. Why wasn’t she fighting him?
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