Entwined

by Elisabeth Naughton

  Zander pushed himself up to his hands and knees and took a deep breath. Okay, this time he was pretty sure he could do it without…

  Nope. There it went.

  His head spun like he was on the mother of all benders. Sonofabitch. What the hell did she do to him? She was a healer, for crap’s sake.

  The sound of heavy footfalls reached his ears, echoing down the long tunnel. For a second he held his breath and listened, then exhaled when he realized who it was.

  Titus.

  He’d know the sound of the Argonaut anywhere. They’d spent enough time together wandering backcountry and hunting daemons for Zander to pick Titus out based on his clod-stomper footsteps alone. Sure enough, the scents of pine and fresh blood wafted on the air, followed by Titus’s gravelly breath.

  “Callia? I’m back.”

  Zander eased back to rest on his heels but kept his head down. Man, when he saw her again…

  “Z,” Titus said as he came around the corner, surprise in his voice. “You’re up.”

  Zander focused on the rocks in his direct line of sight and worked on knocking back the motherfucking migraine.

  Titus chuckled. “I woulda thought by now you’d be almost back to normal. Brother, you don’t look so good.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Oh, yeah, I can see that.” Titus chuckled again, “By the way, you’re butt-ass naked.”

  Zander thought about flipping Titus the bird, but that would take too much energy.

  Titus’s feet shuffled on the rocks to Zander’s right. “Where’s Callia?”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “Away, I guess.”

  “Away? What the hell happened?”

  “Nothing.” Zander pushed to stand, irritation fueling him, then had a moment of Oh, shit when the room spun. He reached out a hand to steady himself on the rock wall. “It’s none of your damn business anyway.”

  “Tell me you at least sent her home.” When Zander didn’t answer, Titus added, “Zander. Tell me you fucking opened the portal and sent her back to Argolea.”

  “I might have,” he mumbled. “But she didn’t give me a chance.”

  “Fuck me,” Titus breathed. “You let her leave, in the middle of the night?” He pointed down the dark tunnel. “It’s twenty degrees out there. And snowing. Not to mention there are daemons roaming this area. You know she has to find holy ground to open the portal on her own. She’s not an Argonaut. She can’t open it from anywhere. And we’re on the top of a fucking mountain.”

  “Wait.” One hand braced on the rock wall, Zander lifted his head. “You and Demetrius didn’t take care of the rest of those daemons?”

  Titus ran a hand through his wavy dark hair, frustration radiating off him in waves. “By the time I found Demetrius, he was so bloody and banged up he could barely lift his parazonium. The two fuckers he was fighting didn’t look much better, and when they saw me, they bailed. I got Demetrius home, then came back for you and Callia. But sure as shit, those daemons didn’t get too far away.”

  Skata. A rush of adrenaline speared Zander’s chest and spread beneath his ribs. He scanned the cave floor, seeing it clearly for the first time since he’d awoken and found Cal-lia leaning over him. He spotted fresh clothes—ones Titus must have hauled back when he’d brought Callia to heal him—and stooped to pull on the pants. “She can’t have gotten far.”

  How long had she been gone? Ten minutes? Fifteen? Panic edged its way in. Shit, why had he let her leave?

  “What the hell did you say to her, Zander?” Titus quickly checked his blade and shoved it back in its scabbard.

  “Nothing. I…” He jerked on his shirt, dropped to the ground and shoved his feet into fresh boots as the conversation with Callia replayed through his mind. Every goddamn word of it.

  “Fuck,” Titus whispered. “You dumb shit.”

  Zander clenched his jaw and went back to lacing his boots. Rage pushed its way up his torso. Rage over Titus’s suddenly protective nature where Callia was concerned—who the hell did he think he was anyway?—and the way Callia had flat out lied to his face in this cave minutes ago. And about something so precious, so important too. But he fought it back, pushed it down, breathed deep so he could stay in control. Regardless of the things she’d done, he didn’t want her dead. And he needed Titus’s help right now if he was going to find her before she got herself into serious trouble.

  He rose to his feet, threw on his jacket and lifted his bloody weapons from the ground. “Let’s just go fucking find her, all right?”

  Zander took off at a jog down the darkened corridor, not caring about the supplies they’d left behind. Ahead, moonlight illuminated the opening of the cave and the snowflakes falling in a sea of white from the sky. At least two inches of fresh powder had accumulated recently, and there were tracks in the snow. Boot marks that had to be Titus’s from where he’d stepped through the portal right outside the cave, and smaller ones. Ones that were already filling in.

  “There,” Zander said, pointing to what had to be Callia’s footprints leading away from the tunnel.

  “She was running.” Titus squatted on his haunches, examining the tracks.

  Zander frowned. Yeah, well, no shit, Sherlock. She’d wanted away from his ass as fast as possible, hadn’t she? He rubbed a hand over his temple, the lingering effects of the energy she’d so easily inflicted on him still hovering behind his skull.

  Titus pushed up on his thighs and stood. “She’s not that far ahead of us. We should be able to catch her if we hustle.”

  Her footprints were easy to follow until the snowfall increased and the forest turned into a sheet of white. They tracked her for a least a mile through the trees before the snow covered her prints. Zander stopped and turned a slow circle as big, white, chunky flakes fell all around him and clung to his hair, eyelashes and the stubble on his jaw. Dammit, where was Demetrius when they fucking needed him? “There’s nothing out here.”

  Titus scanned the eerily dark forest. His mustache and soul patch were white with ice crystals. He squinted and pointed through the trees. “There. A light.”

  Zander held up a hand to block the snow from slapping him in the eyes. “What is that? A fire?”

  “A house of some kind. There’s nowhere else to hide out here, and contrary to what you think, she’s not stupid. She wouldn’t stay out in the open, no matter how pissed at you she is.”

  Zander ignored the jab and picked up his pace. He made it another fifty yards in the trees before pain exploded behind his eyes and radiated through his skull all over again. Only this time it was a hundred times worse than what Cal-lia had thrown his way.

  “Mother…fucker.” He grabbed for a tree trunk, swayed but caught himself before he went down.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you now?” Titus asked, stepping up beside him.

  Zander pressed his fingers against his temples, leaned his shoulder against the Douglas fir at his side. “I don’t know.” Another sharp pain gouged out the area behind his eyes. “Son of a fucking bitch.”

  “Is it your back?”

  “No.” He cringed as the pain knifed him again. “It’s my fucking…head.”

  “When did you hit your damn head?”

  “I didn’t.” He leaned forward, tried to give gravity a chance to ease the throb. “What the hell did she give me?”

  “Nothing that would have fucked up your head. Holy crap, Zander. Eight hundred years with barely a scratch, and in the span of two days you’re about to keel over. Old age has finally hit you, moron.”

  That couldn’t be it. This was something else, but Zander didn’t know what.

  “Come on, old geezer,” Titus said, tugging at Zander’s sleeve with his gloved hand. “We gotta find Callia. Then we’ll have her take a look at your pathetic head.”

  “She’ll probably bash it in,” Zander mumbled. But he let Titus pull him along and tried not to think of what might happen when they fo
und her, only focused on finding her before it was too late.

  Fear drowned out the scream in Callia’s throat as her body sailed through the air. She smacked into the far wall of the cabin and slumped to the ground. Pain ricocheted off her forehead where she’d hit the hard wood, a stabbing sensation behind her eyes. In a daze she tried to get up, but her head spun, and stars fired off in her line of sight.

  “You make this too easy, Princess,” the daemon growled behind her. “Get up.”

  She shook her head, rolled to her back and pushed up on shaking hands. Then wished she’d kept her back turned. The monster coming toward her was straight out of a nightmare. Seven feet of quivering muscles. His catlike face didn’t mesh with the sharp pointy ears, the goat horns sticking out of his head or his human body. But his fangs were a clear reminder he was anything but docile. She’d run into a daemon once before—in Greece—but that one hadn’t been nearly as large as this one. And he definitely hadn’t been as menacing.

  Adrenaline spiking, she scooted backward, but hit the wall. She glanced right and left, desperately searching for a way out. The cabin was small, nothing but a main room and a doorway that led to what looked like a tiny kitchen. A table blocked her path.

  She wished beyond wishing she could blend into the wall or flash herself somewhere else like she could in Argolea. A piece of broken porcelain from a bowl he’d thrown at her earlier caught her eye. She picked it up and heaved it toward the daemon.

  “I see you want to play.” He deflected the shard and stepped over—oh, gods—what looked like a pile of bloodied, decapitated bodies. Her stomach roiled. She scrambled to her feet and darted toward a wooden table, putting it between her and the monster.

  The daemon chuckled. “Imagine my surprise, running into you here, of all places.” A menacing smile slid across his gnarled face, his sharp teeth glinting in the low light from a lamp above. “I have to be the luckiest archdaemon ever.”

  Terror made it hard for her to latch on to coherent thoughts. But two got through. One, for some reason this beast thought she was Isadora. And two, from her schooling she knew the archdaemon supposedly had powers none of the other daemons did, though just what those were, she couldn’t remember.

  She was dead if she stayed put. In hopes the cabin had a back door, she turned and ran through the kitchen. She made it two steps before he grabbed her from behind. Claws raked across the top of her chest and lower abdomen, and she screamed in pain as he dragged her back into the main room.

  “A fighter, I see.” The daemon threw her onto the table. Her back and skull hit the old wood with a deafening thwack, though the pain was nothing compared to the fire burning in her torso. The massive hand holding her down was like ten tons weighing on her chest. “Do you know, Princess, what the biggest perk is to being the archdaemon?”

  She struggled, tried to roll off the table, but couldn’t move more than a few inches. Blood soaked through her shirt, and the burn intensified.

  “No?” he answered for her. “Then I’ll tell you.” He leaned over, so close the vile stench of his breath triggered her gag reflex. She tried to turn her head but his other hand caught her face. She looked up into glowing green, soulless eyes. “I’m not impotent like those other fuckers.”

  Terror turned to bone-melting horror. She struggled harder. His foul laughter echoed all around her as she fought against his rock-solid hold.

  “Ah, Princess,” he growled. “This is going to be fun.”

  “What have you found, Thanatos?”

  Callia froze at the sound of the sharp female voice. The daemon loosened his grasp enough to allow her to look to the side. A woman dressed in red stood on the far side of the cabin as if she’d appeared from thin air. Her robe draped over one elegant shoulder, the waist cinched in tight. The long, flowing fabric pooled on the ground at her feet. Her skin was like alabaster, her hair a long fall of black silk, and though she was easily as tall as the daemon, she was a thousand times more graceful. But her eyes…her eyes were just as dead and soulless as his.

  Atalanta.

  Though pain still seared across her abdomen, Callia sucked in a breath and held it. Evil—true evil—swirled in the room as Atalanta moved forward.

  The daemon let go of Callia and straightened at the side of the table. He bowed his head. “My queen. I—I did not expect you.”

  “Of course you didn’t,” Atalanta said. “Which is why I’m here.” She moved closer. “Why have you not killed this Argolean?”

  The daemon’s glowing eyes darted Callia’s way and back again. “She…My queen, she is of royal blood.”

  Atalanta’s dark eyes narrowed as she moved closer. A spark of recognition crossed her flawless face as she studied Callia. “Why, Thanatos,” she said in a somewhat shocked voice, “she is.” Her gaze slid down the length of Callia’s body and back up again, and she drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes in the process.

  Callia didn’t move. She wasn’t sure what was happening, but she sensed there was some kind of power struggle going on between these two. The daemon was all but vibrating at her side, and as her eyes darted his way, she saw the way his clawed hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, a very clear indication he wasn’t happy with Atalanta’s interruption.

  Panic clawed its way up Callia’s throat. Her gaze darted back to Atalanta, who still had her eyes closed and seemed to be focusing on…something.

  This was not good at all. Callia’s muscles went rigid. Her situation had not improved.

  Atalanta’s eyes popped open, and she focused in on the daemon. “You’ve done well, Thanatos.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. His hands unclenched.

  “This time,” Atalanta added. She nodded down at Callia. “She’s not just royal. She’s the boy’s mother.”

  The daemon’s jaw dropped open. He looked down at Callia, then back at Atalanta. “The—”

  “Bring her. If the boy doesn’t cooperate, she might become useful after all.” Atalanta turned for the door.

  The daemon hesitated, seemed to debate his options, but then he grabbed Callia’s arm and pulled her up.

  Fire erupted in Callia’s abdomen all over again, and she cried out as the daemon jostled her into a sitting position. Blood spurted from the gash across her chest and torso.

  Atalanta whipped back around and for the first time focused in on the bloody wounds. Her gaze darted toward the daemon. “You weren’t going to kill her.”

  “I…” The daemon shifted his grip so he was behind Cal-lia. “She fought back.”

  Atalanta’s eyes burned to sharp points of light. “You were going to use her as a bargaining chip.” She advanced. “Were you planning to create your own heir?”

  The daemon let go of Callia’s arm and took a step back. He held up his hands in front of him. “No, my queen. Of course not. I was going to bring her to you.”

  Alarm rang through Callia’s mind.

  “Liar!” Atalanta’s hand shot out. Callia ducked down on the table and covered her head. A beam of energy blasted from Atalanta’s palm and hit the daemon square in the chest. His body sailed back and crashed into the pantry on the back end of the small closet-sized kitchen. The shelves splintered and collapsed. Pots and pans, jars and cans rained down around him. He groaned and tried to get up but couldn’t.

  “I am the only ruler in this world. Not even the gods can touch me.” Atalanta skirted the table and shot another blast at the daemon.

  He moaned and writhed. “My…queen.”

  She stood over him, menace washing her face white. “I am the only queen you will ever know. My mercy saved you, Thanatos. And your quest for power just condemned you.”

  She blasted him again, and Callia covered her ears and curled into herself to block the nightmarish screams from her mind. Burning flesh scarred the air. It wasn’t until smoke drifted out of the kitchen that she realized that with Atalanta distracted, this was her one shot to get away.

  Callia dropped her hands.
Pain radiated across her torso. Sweat slid down her temple. Before she got a foot on the floor, Atalanta was in front of her.

  Atalanta reached out a hand. Callia tensed, half expecting another pulse of energy to split her in two, but there was nowhere to go.

  Atalanta’s hand hovered directly over Callia’s wounded stomach and chest. And as Callia had done to her own patients too many times to count, she felt the wounds closing from the inside out. Sharp sparks of pain pulsed all around the gashes, and she hissed in an agonizing breath. The pain condensed until it was drawn out like a needle pulling thread, leaving behind only a mild sting. Bewildered, she stared down at her stomach as the twinges prickled her skin, and the slashes in her flesh sealed themselves right before her eyes.

  Slowly, she looked up. Atalanta’s eyes were closed as Callia’s often were when she provided a healing treatment. And though it was completely insane, a strange sort of communion passed between them. Healer to healer. Female to female. Mother to…

  Suddenly the demigod’s face contorted and she jerked her hand back. Her coal black eyes flew open and zeroed in on Callia’s. “I see what you and the others have planned, Eirene.”

  “What?” Instinct told Callia whatever the demigod had seen was not good. “I…”

  Atalanta took three frantic steps back, reached for something at her chest. Her face darkened as she grappled against the fabric of her robe. She froze. Fury raced across her features, colored her pale skin red. “Maximus!”

  Her bellow shook the small cabin.

  Atalanta jerked toward Callia again. “Killing you solves two problems. You and your guardian will pay for Maxi-mus’s treason.” The demigod held out the hand that had burned the daemon into dust and started toward Callia. Only this time there was no healing in her expression. There was pure, unadulterated murder.

  Oh, shit.

  Callia braced herself. Wished like hell she’d stayed in that cave with Zander after all. And then she screamed.

  The light grew stronger. As they came to a break in the trees, Zander realized Titus was right. The glow was coming from the windows of some kind of cabin. He squinted to see clearer. Would Callia be desperate enough to turn to humans for help?