Entwined

by Elisabeth Naughton

  He blew out a long breath. Tried again. This time palmed his groin. He could do this, dammit.

  Except…nothing happened.

  Frustrated, he mentally undressed Isadora in his mind as he stroked himself, hoping that would do the trick. He pictured her in a long flowing skirt and a sleeveless top. Her pale hair fell all the way to her hips. She skimmed her fingers over her throat, slid them lower, around the outside swell of her breasts, down her sleek rib cage, to finally land at the hem of her coral top. Her milky white hands crossed in front of her, tugged at the fabric, and he caught a flash of sleek skin, the soft indent of her belly button and her toned upper abs as she drew the top higher. He held his breath and waited, watched as inch by inch she revealed herself until she was pulling the garment up and off, and her high, firm, very naked breasts were all he could see.

  And oh, yeah. They were perfect. Pink. Tight. Just the right size for a guardian’s hands. For his mouth…

  She whispered something. His name? He wasn’t sure. Before he could figure out what she’d said, she was leaning forward, her hair coming down to hide her face as she slid her fingers into the waistband of that long, elegant skirt and pushed it down her curvy hips.

  His mouth ran dry. He waited. Couldn’t see anything but all that silky hair and the fabric of her skirt sliding low…lower. And then…all that was left was a mound of satin pooled on the floor at the base of two of the sexiest legs he’d ever seen and a river of auburn hair he wanted to part with his fingers and dive into.

  His dick tingled. He felt the blood flow south. He rubbed himself through his pants. Silently cheered because…Yes!…this was finally working.

  Only…when she eased back upright and all that glorious flesh came into view, he realized the gynaíka suddenly naked before him was no longer petite and perfect. She was tall and voluptuous, with silky red hair and eyes the color of amethyst. And she was smiling, just for him, like she had hundreds of times before. That one look brought his cock to instant alert, sent every last drop of blood to his groin. And he grew impossibly hard. Harder than he’d been in years. Just that fast.

  Callia turned away, giving him a clear view of her toned ass and legs, braced her bare knees on the seat of the couch, inched them wider until he could barely breathe. She shifted around to glance over her creamy shoulder with a sultry come-get-me look that grabbed hold of his chest like a vise and wouldn’t let go.

  And then she threw the death blow. The one that crumbled him from the inside out. She whispered, “Take me, Zander. Fast. Before someone gives you a reason to say no.”

  Ah, gods, he was lost. It wasn’t even worth fighting anymore. His seed boiled deep at the remembered feel of thrusting hard inside Callia and giving her exactly what they both wanted. And even before the first twinge shot up from his balls, he knew he was royally fucked.

  Only problem was, it wasn’t in any way, shape or form the way the king wanted.

  Chapter Five

  Isadora stepped from the shower and tugged a plush towel around her body. After the scene in her father’s chamber, she’d felt dirty. Had needed to wash off the stain the entire ordeal left behind. The way they’d all stared at her. The things Demetrius had said…

  She grabbed another towel and wrung the water from her hair to keep from focusing on his words again, then tossed it on the counter.

  In her bedroom she eyed the heavy full-length gown that Saphira, her handmaiden, had left hanging on the closet door. Her stomach pitched. She couldn’t stand to look at that dress. Hated covering her skin with it. Despised the weight and texture. Sickness welled in her stomach at the thought of doing one more thing someone else wanted her to do. Instead she ripped the towel from her body, tossed it onto the bed and took a deep breath.

  Pants. She wanted pants. But where would she get them? She lifted her thumb, gnawed on the tip of her nail. She could ask Casey. Her half-sister would jump at the chance to help her out on this one. Of course, if her father saw her dressed in anything other than a gown it might shock him into cardiac arrest.

  “Isadora?”

  Zander’s voice in the anteroom hit her a microsecond before the door to her chamber pushed open and he stepped inside. Where he stopped. Dead in his tracks. And didn’t move.

  And oh, shit. Heat rushed to her cheeks at what he—the first male ever—was seeing. She scrambled for the towel and wrapped it tight around her body, wishing she’d thought to grab her robe from the bathroom.

  Good gods, why was he here? And why in the name of all things holy was she freaking out like some spineless virgin?

  Because, technically, you are one, Isa.

  “I, uh…I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t realize you weren’t…decent.”

  Obviously. But now that he knew, why wasn’t he making any attempt to leave?

  “It’s…it’s all right,” she said, searching for composure. “I just didn’t expect you…anyone…to come barging in.”

  Where in the blazes was Saphira?

  He didn’t respond. And when she finally turned to face him, she found he was staring at her with a blank expression she couldn’t possibly read.

  Which, okay, shouldn’t surprise her. She knew she wasn’t a hot commodity. She was too pale, too thin, bony where she should be curvy. So it was no surprise he didn’t look overly pleased by what he’d seen. But this…this was just…awkward. She’d barely said ten words to him in all her life, and now they were standing here face-to-face, her nearly naked, with the weight of a marriage looming between them and the knowledge that in a matter of days they’d be having…sex.

  When he still didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at her with that stone-faced expression, she dug down deep and pulled up her courage. “Did…did you want something, Zander?”

  Nice one, Isa. He’s male. He’s an Argonaut. He just barged into your bedroom like he owns the place. And you’re practically naked. What the hell do you think he wants?

  Or did before he saw you…

  She tugged the towel closer. Curled her bare toes into the thick carpet. Waited.

  Finally, after what felt like an hour, he opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then closed it just as quickly. His head lowered, and he rubbed a hand across his brow. “I’m not quite sure what I’m doing here,” he muttered. Then louder, “No. I do know.” He looked up. “You’re father’s forcing this marriage on you. You don’t want it, do you?”

  “I…” Isadora didn’t know what to say. If she agreed with him, he’d know how she truly felt, and their binding would start off with animosity between them. But if she wasn’t honest, they’d never be on equal footing. And though her father didn’t yet realize it, she didn’t intend to let any ándras, this one included, bully her again. “No,” she said firmly, straightening her spine. “I do not.”

  “I didn’t think so.” He dropped his hand, locked his gaze with hers. He was truly handsome, bronze and buff and blond, but she didn’t feel even an ounce of attraction toward him. Never had. “I’m glad you told me. But as archaic as I know it is, in this situation, your father has the final say.”

  Yeah, she knew that too. And she didn’t like it. Her jaw clenched.

  “However,” Zander said, glancing down at his hands, “I don’t like the way this was forced. So…” He paused, seemed to gather his words. “What Demetrius said, back in the king’s chambers.” His gray eyes lifted to hers again. “That was wrong of him. And I for one apologize if he upset you. There are facets of Demetrius even the rest of us don’t understand.”

  Isadora didn’t answer, but her blood pressure shot up at the mere mention of Demetrius’s name. For the first time in weeks—since returning from Hades, where she’d sacrificed her soul and a great deal more to save Casey—she felt something other than numb. Bitter hatred burned in her veins. The kind she thought she’d been saving only for Hades himself for what he’d put her through in the hours she’d been in his realm. But no, this burst of emotion was cente
red directly on Demetrius.

  “I’m sure you would not choose Demetrius if you could,” Zander went on. “But if there’s another Argonaut…one of the others, whom you’d rather have fill this place…I’d like you to tell me now.”

  Isadora’s eyes narrowed. “You do not want to marry me either.”

  “No,” Zander said quickly. “It’s not that. I do. I mean…I wouldn’t have volunteered if I didn’t. I…” He shifted his feet, rested his hands on his hips and blew out a breath. “I just think you should have a choice in this matter. A female should always be able to choose who she wants to be with.”

  This was not a conversation Isadora had ever expected to be having. Not with him. Not with anyone. He was offering her a choice. Him or one of the others. Unlike her father, he wasn’t going to force her to marry him. And though she had a feeling binding himself to her was not his first choice either, for whatever reason, he’d committed to this. And yet…he was leaving the final decision up to her.

  She thought about him. What little she knew of him. Years ago he’d had the reputation of being a player, but lately that had waned, for reasons she didn’t quite understand. It was rumored his tastes ran more toward human women, and he hadn’t been seen with any Argolean gynaíka, at least not that she knew of. And she was usually kept up to speed on what the Argonauts were up to, at least personally, because Saphira and her horde of friends liked to gossip. But he was always polite. He didn’t seem to care much about the Council or their rumblings, and he was a fierce guardian. One who, rumor had it, couldn’t be killed.

  Those were good traits to pass to a child.

  She thought about the other Argonauts. Cerek, with his friendly smile and stormy eyes that hinted of secrets she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Titus, who she’d never seen look anything but stoic and whose knowing glances put her on edge whenever he came near the castle. Gryphon’s piercing light eyes that screamed of conquests near and far—and several inside this very castle. And Phineus, Mr. Adventure, rebel without a cause, the one rumored to breathe fire.

  She definitely didn’t want to wake up charred in her own bed. Or know the gynaíka who served her at the castle had also served her spouse in private. Or have her own secrets pulled from her mind without permission. And she definitely didn’t want to be privy to the darkness her spouse held that could threaten to drag her deeper into an abyss she already wasn’t sure how to crawl out of.

  She looked back at Zander. And knew he was the best of the worst. At least, for her sake, she hoped he was. “I choose…you.”

  For a heartbeat, he didn’t say anything. And then, he motioned with his hand. “Come to me.”

  She pulled the towel tighter around her breasts. Slowly, she crossed the floor, her bare feet silent as she stepped from carpet to solid wood. When she was a foot from him she stopped and had to tip her head back to look up. He was taller than she’d realized. And bigger. Everywhere. In fact, from her vantage point he seemed…downright huge.

  He closed the distance between them. Heat from his body encircled her where she stood. She smelled sandalwood and something citrusy. And though her pulse kicked up at his nearness, there was no excitement rushing through her veins. Not even a flicker of arousal.

  He tipped her chin up with his finger. Warmth flowed from his hand into her cold skin. “I will never intentionally hurt you, Isadora. If you are honest with me, I will be honest with you in return. Do you understand?”

  She nodded once.

  “Trust is all that I ask of you. Nod so I know you believe me.”

  She did.

  “Good.” His gaze ran over her face. “Now, kiss me and show me you are as committed to this binding as I am.”

  She didn’t move. But neither did she fight him. Not even when he lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

  The sensation was…soft. His lips were supple, yet firm, and when he skimmed them over hers again, she felt herself respond. Felt her mouth move beneath, not in approval but in…acquiescence.

  It was over quickly. He eased back and stared down at her. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. There was no heat burning in his eyes. No flash of desire. He didn’t appear to be holding back his passion, and, she supposed, that was a good thing. Because that kiss hadn’t done anything for her except check off a box in the life column of things she’d never done.

  “I’ll return in six days for the binding ceremony.” He left the room quietly, the door clicking softly at his back.

  Alone, Isadora walked to the vanity and sank onto the plush-covered stool to stare at her reflection. That numb feeling had washed back over her sometime during her conversation with Zander. In a matter of days she’d be his syzygos. His wife. And that kiss? It was only a hint of what he would do to her when they were husband and wife.

  No excitement, apprehension, not even worry ran through her at that thought. She let the towel fall to her waist. Slid her fingers through her long blonde hair from root to tip. The thick mass hung to the middle of her back. As heir to the throne, and female, she was held to the traditions many Ar-goleans had given up long ago, much to the disapproval of the Council. Her hair was to remain long, she was to wear only full-length gowns that covered her limbs in their entirety and she was to be untouched. In every sense of the word.

  Was that still true?

  She dropped her hair. Pushed away memories from her time in the Underworld that tried to creep in. Tried to settle the unrest that grew deep in her soul with each passing day. She would be two hundred years old in a few months. Two hundred years and never been kissed. Until now.

  With hands steadier than she expected, she pulled open the drawer of the vanity and fished around until she found scissors. They glimmered in the early evening light as she thought about who she had been before and who she was now.

  Her father expected her to bind herself to Zander and produce an heir. To cement the monarchy so the Council could not overthrow her reign once he was gone. And she would do exactly what he commanded, because her life, now, was sacrificed. But that’s where it ended. There would be no follow-up “spare.” No matter how nice or agreeable or handsome Zander was, she would not take him into her bed again once her pregnancy was confirmed. And oh, she would rule. Much to the dismay of the Argonauts, and the Council, and most of all, her father.

  She had five hundred years before she passed from this life into the next. And once she did, her soul no longer belonged to her, but to Hades. It was way past time she stopped living for everyone else and finally started living for herself.

  She opened the blades of the scissors and captured a clump of hair near her temple. Then, without hesitation, she sliced.

  Zander paused on the other side of Isadora’s closed bedroom door, took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his brow. He wasn’t sweating. If anything, his skin was cold and clammy, much like Isadora’s had been.

  Not important. He headed out of the anteroom toward the grand marble staircase. Walking in on a very naked Isadora had not been what he’d expected. Or planned. Or, skata, wanted. But now that he had, he couldn’t get the memory of her out of his mind. Bare as the day she was born. As perfectly formed as any Argolean male hoped. The female that would very soon be his for the taking. And why the hell that didn’t excite him, he didn’t know.

  Before he could stop himself, his thoughts were skipping back, comparing Isadora’s body to the heady fantasy of Cal-lia he’d conjured up in that damn study. Only one got his blood going. Only one shot his body temperature into the out-of-this-world range. Only one made him hard with just a thought.

  Shit. He stopped with one hand on the banister. Forced out a breath, drew another one in.

  Isadora is not the one.

  His heart rate kicked up, but he worked to keep it steady. Told himself, okay, so his body wasn’t reacting the way his mind wanted, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still make this work. There were Argolean aphrodisiacs he could take that would help with his libido.
And if those failed, he could always cross into the human realm, knock over a pharmacy and lift some Levitra or Viagra or Cialis. He’d used human drugs before. He knew they’d work in his system. He could use them again for the sake of his marriage and their people.

  You never had to use them with your soul mate, dipshit.

  “Whatever,” he muttered, picking up his pace again. “It’s just biology, dumbass.”

  “Talking to yourself again, old man?”

  Zander pulled up short at the base of the stairs on the second floor, one hand on the newel post, as he peered into the shadows.

  Near the far wall, Titus stepped out from behind a column he’d obviously been leaning against, waiting. “I always suspected you were a little senile.”

  “Hey,” Zander said. Because, yeah, this was awkward too. “What’s up?”

  Titus crossed his arms over his broad chest. Stood with his legs shoulder width apart. The stance was defensive, but not aggressive, and Zander was glad. He wasn’t in the mood to get his ass handed to him anymore today.

  “Theron told me to wait for you. He got a message from Nick. Daemons hit a village somewhere near the North American colony. Seems there was a mix of half-breeds and humans living there. Nick’s asked for help locating survivors. Theron already sent the others out. He wants you ready to roll.”

  Excitement pricked Zander’s skin. Theron was letting him fight? He’d expected to be sidelined from now until the time Isadora produced an heir. But maybe since they weren’t officially bound yet, Theron was giving him one last job. “Yeah. Sure. I just need to grab some weaponry. Then we can go.”