Entwined

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Isadora didn’t bother to argue. She turned silently for the door, her slippers making not even a whisper of sound across the stone floor. Callia sighed in defeat as she watched the princess leave. She had no choice but to follow.

  “Acacia.” The king’s attention swung to his other daughter. “Find that husband of yours. Have him call back his guardians from whatever patrols they’re on. I don’t want to hear excuses. I want them here. All of them. Is that clear?”

  Arms crossed over her chest, Casey frowned and stepped close to his bed. Dressed in a sleeveless white blouse and crisp black slacks, she didn’t cower in front of the king like Isadora. And she had no qualms about putting him in his place. “Oh, I’ll find Theron and tell him exactly what you’re up to, don’t you worry about that.” She tipped her head when she reached his bedside. “This is going to backfire on you. You know that, don’t you?”

  The king only harrumphed and looked ahead.

  “It will,” Casey reiterated as she leaned down and kissed his wrinkled cheek. “Mark my words, Dad. Isadora is not going to sit back and let you run her life for her.”

  “Yes, she will,” he mumbled. “Because she’s not you.”

  Casey straightened, and though it was clear she was fired up over what was being done to her sister, Callia could see the compassion the half-breed had for her long-lost father. A compassion Callia wished she felt for her own father.

  “You’re right,” Casey said. “She’s not. She’s stronger than I am. Stronger than all of us. And one day soon, you’re going to realize that for yourself. Everyone will.”

  The king didn’t answer. Not when Casey turned and disappeared through the door. Not when Callia grabbed her bag and followed. But as she reached the threshold, Callia was almost sure she heard the old ándras mumble, “I hope you’re right. And for all our sakes, I hope this motivates her to finally prove me wrong.”

  Chapter Two

  Zander was bloody and bruised. He took a punch to the kidneys that nearly sent him to his knees, but he didn’t fall. If anything, it steeled his resolve. He whipped toward the daemon at his back and plunged his parazonium deep into the unholy’s chest. “Eat that, you piece of shit.”

  A roar erupted from the beast. It fell back, a loud sucking sound echoing as the blade exited its body. But before Zander could swing the blade out and to the side to decapitate the monster and send its soul to Hades for good, another jumped on his back and sank its fangs deep into his shoulder.

  He hollered as blinding pain shot to his skull. Somehow he managed to twist and throw the beast off. He saw only red as he kicked, punched, swung his dagger right and left. Blood spurted, hit him in the eyes to run down his face. His back ached, his lungs burned. His shoulder was on fire where the beast had ripped through his jacket, tore open flesh and shredded muscle. But he didn’t stop, didn’t call out for help. This was exactly what he wanted. Adrenaline zipped through his veins, blending with years of pent-up rage as his arm arced out again and he took down another daemon. “Come on!” he yelled. “Is that all you’ve got!”

  The two he’d sent to the ground seconds before charged again from different angles. His blade was a blur as he fought them back. From the corner of his eye he saw the others were gearing up for the next round. He was holding his own, but he wasn’t going to win this. Not six against one.

  “Zander! We have to leave. Now!” Titus jumped into the fracas then, his sword whipping through air and flesh, decimating right and left. Zander heard shouts and screams, grunts and the crack of fist against bone. Dammit, he had mere seconds before Titus changed the tide. And he hadn’t taken enough damage yet.

  The rage built deep in his chest—as it always did. And that’s when it hit him. Just as he sent two of the uglies to the ground. The solution. Smack in the center of the forehead.

  Stop fighting.

  Titus could hold his own. They weren’t protecting any half-breeds on this mountain. There was no one to get to safety. If things got hot, Titus could open the portal and flash back to Argolea and save his own ass. So why was Zander fighting this when he could possibly finish it once and for all?

  Before he could change his mind, he dropped his weapon. Stood up straight. And stared at the three daemons around him. They looked as dazed and bloody from the fight as he felt, but they weren’t nearly done. They each had the strength of ten men pumping through their veins. And from the menace rolling off them in waves, were getting ready for the final kill.

  Yes. That’s what he wanted.

  Zander held his hands out to the side and closed his eyes. Sweat ran down his forehead to mix with the blood and other things on his face he didn’t want to think about. He cleared his mind and thought about…nothing. Just sweet, empty nothingness. Which was all he really wanted anymore.

  “You goddamned prick!”

  A body hit him hard. Took him to the ground. His head cracked against rock. But when he peeled his eyelids open and looked up, he realized it wasn’t a daemon on top of him. It was Titus.

  Fire flashed in the other Argonaut’s eyes. The daemons growled behind him.

  “You asshole. Get off me!” Zander struggled beneath him as a familiar, uncontrollable urge rolled and boiled inside him. What the…?

  “Saving you, you son of a bitch!”

  Before Zander could comprehend that Titus had just read his mind again, the Argonaut brought his arms together between them. Titus’s elbows dug into Zander’s ribs, but who the hell cared? The only thing that mattered was the fact Titus was going to fuck this up.

  “No!”

  Titus’s hands came together, and the markings that ran from his forearms down around his fingers glowed from the inside out. A flash erupted as the portal opened. And then all Zander felt was air as they both spiraled through space.

  He landed on his back against cold, unforgiving stone. Knew without even opening his eyes that he was at the Gatehouse, the portal into Argolea. But it was the bone-jarring right hook to his jaw that had stars firing off behind his eyes.

  “You motherfucking son of a bitch!” Titus hit him again. This time hard enough to rattle brain against skull.

  “Titus! Enough!”

  Titus was yanked off Zander’s bruised and beaten body with a grunt. Dimly, Zander heard voices. Theron. Demetrius. A lot more swearing—mostly from Titus. Feet shuffling. Heavy breathing. And Gryphon chuckling in his ear. “Way to go, Z. What’d you do to light him up, anyway?”

  Ah, hell. Just his friggin’ luck, all the Argonauts were in the Gatehouse.

  Strong arms wrapped around his biceps. Pain shot through his left arm as Gryphon eased him to sitting, but he shook it off. When he opened his eyes and looked across the massive room with its soaring ceiling, he saw Demetrius holding Titus back in a death grip and Theron up in the Argonaut’s face trying to talk him back from a blowup.

  The portal glowed and popped behind them. Titus glared around Theron’s massive shoulders toward Zander. Jerked against Demetrius’s hold.

  Zander shook off Gryphon’s help and pushed to his feet. Rage boiled just beneath the surface of his control. Fuck it. Fuck Titus. Fuck this damned war and his never-ending life. Fuck all the Argonauts, for that matter, and their constant interference.

  “You nearly got me eaten because of your goddamned death wish!” Titus roared.

  “Stop being such a pussy,” Zander tossed back. He felt like his shoulder might be broken. A rib or two. He’d lost quite a bit of blood, but he could already feel his body trying to heal, dammit. “You can save your own sorry ass anytime you want with that light show you just pulled.”

  “That’s it.” Fury flashed in Titus’s eyes just before he yanked free of Demetrius’s hold. “Your ass is mine, you sick fuck.”

  Zander’s adrenaline pulsed with the prospect of another fight. And that rage he worked so hard to keep a lid on boiled up to the top. He threw his arms out wide. “Bring it on, asshole.”

  Titus moved like a flash of lightning, and
he was nearly on top of Zander before Theron got hold of him from behind. “I said enough!”

  The leader of the Argonauts threw Titus across the room as if he weighed nothing. Titus’s body hit a column on the far side, cracking stone and plaster with a deafening thwack. Titus slid down the column to land in a heap on the ground.

  “Pussy,” Zander mumbled. “Is that the best you can do?”

  “You.” Theron turned on Zander. “I should let him pound you into the ground after the stunt you pulled.”

  Oh, yeah. Big-mouthed Titus had already spilled the beans. Zander narrowed his eyes. “So let him.”

  Theron got right up in Zander’s face, nice and personal. And though Zander didn’t mind unleashing his fury on Titus, his rage had dimmed enough in the last few seconds to remind him egging Theron on right now was a bad idea. A descendent of Heracles, the greatest hero ever, Theron was strong enough to rip Zander from limb to limb and make him feel pain like he’d never experienced. Except once.

  “You’d better pull it together right now.” Theron’s voice was so low, his face so close, Zander barely heard him. And Zander knew that was the point. “Find something to live for or leave the Argonauts for good. Because I won’t have you risking one of my guardians again. Are we clear?”

  Zander’s chest went cold. Leave the Argonauts? That was not an option. “Yeah, we’re clear.”

  Theron’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, the portal popped and sizzled again. Cerek and Phineus came through, snowflakes still stuck to their shoulders and hair, and glanced around with what-the-hell-happened-here? looks on their faces.

  “We’d better be,” Theron said. “I’m not kidding this time, Zander. Loyalties only run so deep. I will remove you if I have to.”

  Removal from the Argonauts was not a simple process. It involved the king and the Council and an assload of red tape Zander didn’t even want to think about. And doing so was the equivalent of slicing a guardian’s throat, taking away not only his job, but his identity.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it. Reality hit Zander as he stood there staring at their leader. If he was kicked out of the Argonauts, he’d be banned from crossing the portal and going into the human world. And if that happened, he’d lose the one thing that gave him any pleasure in his godforsaken life.

  “You won’t have to.”

  Theron sent him one more steely look before turning toward the rest of his Argonauts. “The king has called a meeting.” He looked toward Titus, now standing and dusting rubble from his body. “You have fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and over to the castle.” He glared at Zander. “And that time line is nonnegotiable.” Then he stormed out of the Gatehouse, all 280 pounds of pissed-off Argonaut.

  Tense silence filled the air. Finally Demetrius, never one to care about any of the others, stalked out, followed by Cerek, Gryphon and Phineus, until Zander was once again alone with Titus.

  And shit. Now that his rage had ebbed and his adrenaline was flagging, Zander knew he needed to break the ice, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Apologizing had never been his strong suit. Even when he’d been a total ass.

  Titus crossed the floor, his heavy boots clomping on the stones beneath his feet as he headed for the door without a word.

  “Wait up, T.”

  “Save it, Zander. I’m not in the mood for your shit right now. I’ve got my own hell to deal with. We all do. But then you never think about that, do you? You only think about yourself.”

  Alone, Zander blew out a long breath. The Executive Guards, protectors of the portal, had turned their backs and were doing their best to ignore him. No surprise there. Word would undoubtedly spread to the Council about this little brouhaha, but he didn’t really give a rat’s ass. When it came down to it, the king had the final say in what happened to the Argonauts, not the Council. It had always been that way. Would always be that way.

  Still not ready to join the others, Zander stalled in the Gatehouse, a massive marble structure patterned after the Temple of Hermes in Arcadia, Greece, with soaring columns flanking every side. The stagnant portal sat in the center of the room, a looming doorway from one world to the next, edged all in solid stone. His eyes drifted to the words inscribed into the rock, to the ones he’d read a thousand times but had never really seen.

  Herein lies the boundary of worlds. Protected on this side, bound only by sacred land on the other. Those who cross do so at their own risk. But be forewarned: passage herein invites the bringer of nightmares, the watcher of madness, the light and dark in constant flux. And always, waiting…the thief at the gate taking stock for the deathless gods.

  It always came back to that, didn’t it? To the fucking gods and their immortality. To what Zander had and didn’t want. He never worried about crossing the portal because he knew he’d always come back. But others didn’t. Others like Titus. Every time his kinsmen crossed, they put their lives on the line. And they did so for their race without question.

  A heavy weight pressed on his chest. Okay, maybe Theron had a point. Maybe he needed to get a grip and stop being such a downer. So he was old. Who the hell cared? So his life was shit. Nothing new there, right? It didn’t look like death was an option, and bailing from the Argonauts was the last thing he wanted, which meant he needed to find something to live for fast—before Theron made good on his threat and threw him out on his ass, once and for all.

  Problem was, he couldn’t see a damn thing worth living for at this point.

  Callia glanced around the king’s royal study. Bookshelves lined every wall. The gilded ceiling was at least three stories high. Behind the antique desk, which was empty but for a lamp on the front right corner, a bay of windows looked down to rolling green hills and a lake shimmering far off in the distance.

  The room smelled of tobacco and leather, was cozy and warm with a great stone fireplace and a trio of couches ripe for sinking into. Callia knew, because she’d once sunk into one after hours when the castle was asleep. And she hadn’t done it alone. If that little memory wasn’t enough to drop her mood a notch, nothing was.

  “Is there anything else you need?” Isadora’s soft voice made Callia turn. The princess stood in the doorway with a strange look on her face, almost as if afraid to cross the floor inlaid with the royal seal.

  It’s just routine. You’ve done this a thousand times. Doesn’t matter that this time it’s with an Argonaut. “No, this should be fine.”

  “Very well, then. We should get back.” But Isadora didn’t make a move to leave, and there was a flat, almost emotionless look in her eyes that said going back was the last thing she wanted to do too.

  Torn between what was none of her business and the regret she knew she’d experience later if she kept quiet, Callia heard herself say, “Tell him no, Isadora.”

  Isadora’s brown eyes slowly lifted, and Callia sucked in a breath at what she saw. No, they weren’t flat. They looked dead. As if she’d given up all hope.

  “It won’t do any good.”

  “It will,” Callia protested, unsure why she felt the need to help the princess so strongly. “Stand up for yourself. Prove him wrong. Prove them all wrong.”

  Isadora’s eyes didn’t even flicker. And Callia had a sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach. What had happened to the princess? This was more than simply being beaten down by her father.

  “Stay out of things that do not concern you.”

  She turned before Callia could even respond, and Callia sighed as she watched the princess go. Maybe Isadora was right. This wasn’t her concern. Sure, she felt bad for the gynaíka, but really…it was foolish to worry about someone else when Callia had bigger problems.

  Resigned, she left her bag in the study and followed Isadora back to the king’s chambers, thankful, at least for now, that the buzzing in her brain was gone. They made it as far as the grand staircase before voices drifting up from below stopped Callia’s feet.

  Male voices. Mixed with heavy footsteps that sounded like a herd of
elephants had stormed the castle.

  The Argonauts. All of them, just as the king had ordered. Callia’s stomach jumped into her throat and perspiration popped out all over her skin even though she’d mentally prepared for this moment from the second she’d heard the king’s command.

  Theron led the group and bowed his head quickly when he saw the two of them standing at the top of the fourth floor. “Isadora. Callia.” His dark eyes homed in on Callia. “How is the king today?”

  “Holding steady.” She tried to focus on his features, but the Argonaut was huge—six feet five inches of solid muscle, broad shoulders and legs like tree trunks. Alone he was intimidating, but followed by five more Argonauts, each equally big and imposing as he was? He was like the beginning of a tidal wave about to sweep her under.

  “That’s good,” Theron said. “I take it he’s ready for us, then?”

  She would have answered, she really would have. But her eyes were searching of their own accord, skipping right over Demetrius and the other Argonauts until they finally landed on Zander. Alone at the end of the group, turning at the base of the stairs and heading her way.

  Okay, mentally preparing herself and actually being in the same room with him again were two very different things. She sucked in a shocked breath, even though—dammit—she tried not to. But it wasn’t just him that elicited the reaction—at least she told herself that much—it was what had been done to him.

  His face was black and blue from temple to jaw on one whole side. A myriad of cuts and scrapes marred his tanned skin. While his short blond hair was wet and slicked back as if he’d just splashed water on his face, and the white shirt he wore was clean and crisp, neither hid the pain etched into his features or the way his left arm hung at an odd angle.

  He’d obviously been in the human world, fighting daemons, which was what he’d been bred to do. But a small part of her quickened with fear just as it did every time she thought of something bad happening to him.