Fire's Mark (Lords of Krete Book 4)

by Rachael Slate

  What wasn’t uncertain was that without the sword, she’d stand no chance against a minotaur.

  Against him.

  Because as fierce as she was, she was also something else.

  His prisoner.

  The tapered leather strips on her arms bound her here, outside of the amber tomb, to witness the slow, agonizing deterioration of her sisters.

  Kill him, the whisper came from the stone.

  The harpies communicated with her, occasionally. Less so now than before. When they’d first been trapped, they’d blamed Enyo, and rightly so. Yet, after a few decades, they’d been willing to listen to her promises of freeing them.

  Vows she hadn’t been able to fulfill. Forgiveness she hadn’t earned.

  “I’m trying. I swear it.” She sniffled, fighting this helplessness.

  No. Kill the centaur.

  Icy perspiration trickled down her spine. “I can’t. I told you. She has him.” Enyo hadn’t intended for the centaur to be trapped by her and, by the gods, he was proving too stubborn and potent for the creature to kill, but there was nothing Enyo could do for him. No one challenged Arachne.

  Not even a harpy.

  It isn’t wise to free the sword until after he’s gone, another voice hissed.

  Enyo folded her arms. “I may be an excellent thief, but even I cannot steal from her. Certainly not a massive centaur. Besides, once he is freed, what will stop him from slaying all of us?”

  Gods knew, the centaurs loathed the harpies almost as much as they did the minotaurs. They weren’t wrong in their hatred, though perhaps misinformed. Had Asterion not coerced Enyo, their blood-bathed history would be quite different.

  None of that could be avoided. Fisting her hands, she rose. “Let me see what I can do.” She hadn’t dared more than an occasional peek ever since Arachne had captured the centaur. The depths of Mount Ida held dark forces far worse than any nightmare could conjure, and Arachne was but one of them.

  Padding silently, she crept through the carved tunnels toward Arachne’s quarters. The giant spider left the harpies well alone, if they did the same for her. They were, after all, both monsters.

  Enyo calmed her breaths as she approached the massive cavern. Arachne loved to toy with her meals, often starving them to death first, before she consumed them.

  The centaur had proven difficult to starve. Obstinate indeed. Ha.

  Cautious, she peeped around the corner, into the massive hollow, her keen gaze piercing into the blackness. For months, the male had dangled from the center of the chamber. Upside down and bound by Arachne’s unbreakable webbing.

  Today, no victim swung from the webs. Where was he? She swallowed hard, fighting an odd sensation of dismay. Dead. Arachne must have tired of him and consumed him.

  Shaking her head, she stole through the tunnels to the safety of her chambers.

  Her sisters would be pleased.

  The centaur was dead.

  * * *

  Demoleon grimaced at the agonizing pangs shooting through his stomach. His head had long ago abandoned hope of recovering from this blinding faintness, but the aches in his belly wouldn’t be calmed.

  Curse the siren.

  Once he got free of this place, he’d wring her slender neck.

  Argh, but though he knew not precisely how long he’d been trapped here, it had to have been many months. The only sign of time passing was the faint streak of light that arched across the cavern. Daylight. He’d tried—and failed—to keep track of its movements. His mind was weakened and he often lost consciousness.

  Still, when he mustered the strength, he craned his neck and observed the strength seeping from his body. The weakening of his muscles. How his form lost its mass.

  That was precisely the key to his freedom.

  Lame leg, ha. He snorted and tugged on his ankle. Praise Zeus. The tight webbing had loosened, enough that, with effort, he wrenched his ankle free.

  Whoa. Freeing his leg caused him to sway and hang awkwardly, his muscles atrophied from lack of use. No matter. He clamped his jaw and focused. With one leg free, the rest was a matter of will. He couldn’t transform into his dragon shape, but he might manage a few claws. Demoleon spread his dragon’s claws from his left foot and sawed them through the binding around his right foot, releasing his leg.

  The force of freeing his legs whipped him right-side up. Ughn. Pangs of misery pounded through his head, his shoulder joints locked tight as he hung now from his wrists.

  Ruminations of revenge cleared his vision of the pains in his body. Soon, this would all be over.

  He only prayed he wasn’t too late for his siblings.

  Jerking in a forceful tug, he wrenched his arms free and dropped several dozen feet onto a pile of bones that snapped into pieces beneath his weight.

  The torment in his body ebbed through him in waves. He rolled his muscles, trying to adjust them to the pumping of his blood. For long minutes, he sat on the ground, heaving air from his starved stomach, wincing in misery until, finally, his body recovered enough for him to stagger to his feet.

  His mouth was beyond dry, his throat scorched from lack of water. Stumbling, he prodded through the mound of bones toward a dim hole that widened and lengthened into a tunnel. Thank the gods, it was. Though, where would it take him?

  He sniffed, following the network of passageways toward a source of fresh-scented waters. Finally, he arrived at an underground cavern containing steaming pools of glorious liquid, and several basins of cool waters.

  Demoleon dunked his head inside one of the basins and drank ferociously. Gulping in the crisp water soothed his parched throat, the liquid spreading through his depleted body, but twisting his starved stomach.

  Hunching, he raised his face and grimaced at the pangs. He cocked his head to the side and a steaming pool beckoned him. His clothes were already torn rags, so he ripped them off and slipped inside, sighing at the luxurious bath. He scrubbed the grime and sweat from his body, wincing at the rumble in his stomach. Right. Water had only sated his thirst. He required food to restore his energy.

  Sniffing the air once more, he searched for scents of nourishment. He caught them, along with another fragrance that made more than his mouth water.

  Damn. Not her.

  Groaning at how he still desired the woman who’d discarded him to die, he staggered from the pool and followed the scents. The siren had food. By the gods, he would demand it from her. And then have his revenge.

  The tunnel ended in an expansive cavern, overflowing with treasure. Nay, not only gold and jewels, but clothing and various assortments of nourishment. Demoleon wended past a pile of candles, steering a path through the haphazard displays of every possession one could imagine. He plucked a pair of breeches and slung them over his shoulder, before snatching a freshly roasted leg of boar.

  Sweet gods, what was this place? Mayhap, he’d died and this was his personal Elysium?

  He shuttered his eyes and gnawed on the leg bone. Did it matter? Because in truth, this was heaven.

  * * *

  Enyo whipped open her eyes. She’d curled up in the corner of her cavern, in her favorite spot between two piles of jeweled daggers. A chill in her spine had woken her. Someone is here.

  A rather clodding person. Clinking coins and tumbling piles she’d artfully exhibited clanked onto the stone floor. He was touching her things. Argh.

  She crouched and peered around the pile of daggers at a familiar form. Her mouth dropped open. It couldn’t be.

  He was dead.

  Or how else had he escaped Arachne?

  Dear gods, he was also completely nude, and appearing unapologetically so, as he picked at her things, seizing whatever fancied him. He grunted and tossed aside a leg of roast boar, then plucked some fresh rolls and stuffed those into his greedy mouth.

  Ugh. She fisted her hands, debating her next move. Though his body had lost a significant amount of muscle from what she recalled, he was still massive compared to her. J
ust how weak was he? Well, the longer she allowed him to consume her food, the stronger he would become.

  Better to confront him now, or never?

  She bit her bottom lip, pinning the corner between her teeth. If the centaur hadn’t sought to kill her before, he definitely would now.

  Her sisters had insisted she shouldn’t retrieve the sword until after he was dead. She’d hoped Arachne would perform the task for her.

  Blasted spider.

  He’d already proven capable against the ants, and she didn’t dare awaken the even darker creatures below.

  Suddenly, the centaur stopped eating and instead sniffed the air. “I can smell you, Siren. Once I’m finished with this, I’ll finish with you, too.”

  The deep rasp of his voice cascaded down her spine and she shuddered. No point in hiding anymore, so she rose and crossed her arms. “This is my chamber and these are my things. You may have been clever enough to escape Arachne, but clearly you’ve never learned not to steal from a…” Oh, gods. What was wrong with her? She slammed her lips together, unable to even stammer another word.

  The centaur froze, then whipped his darkly intense gaze toward her. “A what?”

  “A siren.” She shrugged.

  He scratched his jaw, angling his head as he scanned her chamber. “I didn’t realize sirens were collectors.”

  She gulped. The deep pitch of his tone suggested he reassessed her species. “Well, this one is. Leave.”

  “Nay, I think not. You’re going to help me retrieve the sword. If you’re cooperative, I may permit you to live.”

  “I’m never helping you.” She sighed in relief that he’d changed the topic and stamped her foot. “So you can rot in Tartarus.”

  “Oh, but, lass,” he cast those molten, possessive pools toward her, “thanks to you, I already have.”

  * * *

  This female would be the end of him. Sweet Zeus, she hadn’t yet learned to wear clothes. After several long months without reprieve for the urges of his body, she appeared damn near irresistible.

  Demoleon cleared his throat and seized an apple instead, polishing it against the leather breeches slung over his shoulder. Dressing might not be a bad idea, especially if her fragrance continued to arouse his body. He bit the apple between his teeth and shrugged on the breeches. Then he grabbed the apple, tearing off a large chunk, and chewed thoughtfully. What if she wasn’t a siren? She’d reacted strangely to his comments. What else could she be?

  There were only so many birdlike female species. She didn’t resemble a Wind Borne at all. With her sensual nature, a siren had seemed obvious, especially because the only other option was the horrific, hideous race of harpies.

  He snorted and thrashed his head. Nay, she wasn’t one of those. If she were, he’d slay her this instant. He’d been too sheltered during the minotaur attack to take note of the other species aiding them, but afterward, he’d heard tales about harpies. According to the stories, the harpies had set fires to centaur homes from above while the minotaurs had ravaged their villages. Those savages had broken his leg beyond healing and slaughtered his family. He’d barely escaped to safety on Mount Ida. The image of a winged creature framed against the blazing horizon fluttered in his mind. Nay, it wasn’t possible. Harpies were repulsive monsters. This beauteous female was lovely beyond his wildest imaginings.

  She was simply frightened of him. Of his retribution.

  As she ought to be.

  He fisted and unclenched his hand. Nay, he refused to cause her harm. Not after glimpsing her again. There was something unquestionably entrancing about her. He would employ her to free the sword, and after, he’d release her.

  Although, that notion oddly tugged at his chest. He didn’t wish to part from the treacherous beauty, not until he learned why.

  Did she live here alone? Well, aside from the ant beasts and the spider monster. Such a strange residence for a creature like her. What if he brought her to his home, showed her how comforting it was to live amongst family?

  Where did these bizarre yearnings stem from? The siren wasn’t anything more than a mesmerizing female created to entrap men like she had him.

  Grumbling beneath his breath, he finished sating his stomach. His other urges, well, he stamped them deep down inside, where they belonged. Then he shifted toward the female. She’d taken refuge on a raised ledge several dozen feet above him.

  “Tell me why you also desire the sword, and we can share it.” A lie, true, for once in his possession, he couldn’t release such a weapon of power. Not when it meant the success of their War.

  “Ha. Wouldn’t you like to know.” She scowled at him from her perch. The feisty lass.

  “Are you going to make me come up there after you?” He cracked his fists and rolled his shoulders, preparing to transform into a dragon.

  “Just try it.” She leaned forward, opening her mouth as if to shriek.

  Damn, he’d forgotten about her cry. Doubtful if he’d reach her before her scream shattered his ears.

  Demoleon growled low in his throat. Fine. There was more than one way to free a sword.

  Chapter 3

  After the centaur had huffed and exited her chamber, Enyo hoped he’d never return. Or that if he did, he’d still be alone.

  Five days had passed since he’d departed. Today, the ground had rumbled and two males crawled through the tunnel he’d created, into the sword chamber.

  Enyo flew to her favorite perch and spied them. Did he know something she didn’t? Did the sword require two people to free it?

  Hell, but if they took the sword from her… She clenched her fists. No, she wouldn’t let them escape this chamber. Alive.

  The new male twisted about the room, whistling low, the note halting in his throat as he caught sight of her. Stormy eyes assessed her. “Who in Hades is that, Demoleon?”

  “No one. Paid no heed to her, Theron.” He didn’t even glance in her direction. “Come, let’s free the sword. You’ve the strongest grip I’ve ever witnessed.”

  Demoleon? That was his name? Hmm a strong name for a strong male. Not that she cared. Still, his form had filled out once more, into massive ripples of muscle.

  This other male was his friend, heh? By the gods, she prayed he had no other companions. None who would search for them, once she killed them both.

  Enyo glared at the pair as they gripped the hilt of the sword together and gave a wrenching tug.

  Nothing happened.

  She smirked. “Amazing. Your plan was so clever, Demoleon,” she taunted.

  Theron frowned at her, before grinning at Demoleon. “Is she always this much of a pest?”

  “Usually? More so.” He scoffed, and then the two of them snickered.

  Filthy males. Flapping her wings, she flew to her chamber. The sword was safe from his hands. For now.

  * * *

  A week later, he returned. Once again, not alone. This time, a blue-and-black-haired female accompanied him. Together, they tugged at the sword.

  It didn’t budge.

  Enyo watched them from her perch. Dismay and frustration consumed Demoleon’s features.

  “Sweet Zeus,” he growled. “I swear, Cyane, it did come free.” He tossed his head and she rested a gentle hand on his arm.

  “I believe you, brother.”

  A sibling? Enyo bared her fangs.

  “This is some enchantment, indeed,” Cyane hummed, glancing up at Enyo. “What about asking her nicely?”

  “Nicely or not, I’ll never help a centaur,” Enyo hissed.

  “How about a nymph?” The spritely female beamed at her.

  “Ugh. Even worse.” Bile churned in her stomach at the recollection of what the minotaurs had done to the nymphs. She hadn’t been aware they still lived. Centaurs and nymphs had always been allies, and doubtless, the centaurs would avenge the nymphs, too.

  Which meant, Enyo wasn’t safe from either of them. Nor would she dare to trust them.

  Besides, nymphs repr
esented everything harpies weren’t. Nymphs were seductive, feminine creatures unable to harm any living being. Harpies were monstrous beasts crafted solely for the annihilation of their enemies.

  Long ago, the minotaurs had decided those enemies for them. The harpies hadn’t had a choice in the matter. Not that any explanation would save her if the centaur learned who—and what—she was.

  Demoleon and his sister departed, leaving Enyo alone to guard the sword once more.

  Good riddance. She snorted. Since she couldn’t retrieve the sword, she was determined no one else would, either.

  Mayhap the centaur would stay away longer this time.

  Like, forever.

  Sighing, she swooped down to the boulder and grazed her fingertips along the sword’s hilt. What a beautiful weapon. After she slayed Asterion, she’d keep the sword in her personal collection. Which reminded her… Her stores of food were depleted from when the male had consumed a great amount of them. She rubbed her hands together. Time to hunt.

  Enyo followed the secret corridors within Mount Ida to the outside world, flexed her wings, and eased into the crisp, gentle breeze.

  Harpies were thieves—damned good ones—by nature, so she listened for the nearest quarry. A band of humans had made camp in the forest. Their blazing fire wafted thick clouds of smoke upward in a blatant disregard for privacy. Ugh. She grimaced. Humans were the cause of all her sorrow. If not for the human King Minos’s greed, the minotaurs never would have ransacked Krete.

  This wouldn’t be adequate recompense, but it would help ease her burden. She opened her mouth and released an incapacitating shriek, then dove into the midst of the camp and landed. Around her, half a dozen humans lay immobile upon the ground, unconscious. Humming, she dug through their bags and retrieved a decent store of food for herself—plus a charming jeweled dagger.

  Thudding hoof beats pounded the ground in the distance and approached as fast as lightning, the earth rumbling beneath her.

  “What in Hades are you doing?” a familiar growl iced her spine.

  She whipped around and faced Demoleon, one second too late to spread her wings.