“A change of plans, but perhaps for the better.”
She raked her scarlet eyes over him, twisted satisfaction and darkness filling them.
“It is such a shame I cannot be there to see your downfall.”
She leaned in close and hissed in his ear.
“But I will be here to welcome you with open arms when you return to my Underworld.”
Daimon stared at her, too stunned to say anything as he realised she was with the enemy. He needed to warn his brothers, but he didn’t think he was going to get the chance. He wrestled against the restraints anyway, desperately trying to break them. If he could break the leather straps, he could step back to Tokyo. His pulse pounded faster as the brown leather refused to give.
As Nemesis smiled down at him.
Two Messengers appeared behind her, the black-haired males materialising out of the shadows, their mismatched—one green and one blue—eyes fixed straight ahead of them. Their black tunics bore silver detailing around the cuffs and fastenings.
They served his family.
Or they had served it.
Shock rolled through him as that revelation hit him and he bit out a curse. The enemy had even managed to turn these two males, and the gods only knew how many others, against his father.
Never in all his years had he imagined a Messenger would betray his family.
Nemesis’s hand drifted from Daimon’s face. “I will await your return, my beautiful slave. You will service me for eternity.”
She tilted her head slightly to her left.
“Take him.”
Chapter 32
Daimon blacked out at some point. When he came around, he was in some kind of loft apartment. Arched windows had been painted black, but as far as he could tell, it was daylight outside.
He twisted on the dusty wooden floorboards, his muscles protesting as he manoeuvred onto his side and realised his arms were bound behind his back. His vision wobbled, blurring and going dark around the edges before it cleared again. He shook his head, trying to shift the heaviness from it.
He felt as if he had drunk a barrel of ambrosia.
The room distorted again as he tried to take stock of his surroundings and figure out where he was being held. The exposed brick walls had been painted white at some point, but the paint was peeling now, and black mould crept across the ceiling from the top corner of the wall nearest the bank of windows.
No furniture either.
It looked as if no one had lived here in a very long time.
Daimon rolled onto his front, pressed his left cheek into the floorboards and pushed his backside up. He wriggled his knees forwards and gritted his teeth as he forced himself into an upright position.
Someone shoved him in the back.
He hit the floorboards face-first and growled at the person.
They weren’t powerful.
Not daemon either.
He shuffled around so he could peer over his shoulder at them.
The Messengers.
He glared at the one closest to him, the one who had shoved him, staring right into his mismatched eyes. “My father know you’re a traitor?”
The male’s eyes brightened dangerously, one glowing emerald as the other shone like a sapphire.
Daimon spat at his feet.
Got a boot in the face as a reward.
He grunted as he was flipped onto his back, his arms twisting painfully beneath him.
The male looked ready to level another blow at him.
Stiffened.
“Now, I do believe we said not to harm him.” The soft female voice echoed in the cavernous room.
Daimon’s gaze sought the owner of it.
Found her near a metal door a few metres south of his feet.
Her blonde tresses had been twisted into a plait that arced over the front of her hair, and her blue eyes were bright as she gazed at him, her rosy lips curling into the semblance of a smile.
If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought it was Marinda.
But he did know better.
He glared at the furie, letting her know exactly what he thought of her. Another traitor. The female didn’t react, just kept walking towards him, her eyes never leaving him. Behind her, the second furie entered the room, sighing.
“We will not be able to do anything until nightfall. Evening at the earliest.” She didn’t sound happy about that.
Daimon was.
It gave him time.
His brothers would be concerned about him by now. Cass definitely would be. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out, but he guessed it was a few hours judging by how well the lacerations on his back had healed.
His sorceress didn’t seem to be able to let him out of her sight for more than a couple of hours, something he had lamented once but was thankful for now. Providing she hadn’t changed that quirk of hers since she had staked a claim on his heart, she would be looking for him. He was sure of it.
“I thought New York in autumn was meant to be dreary.” The first Erinyes smoothed her blonde hair, tracing each ribbon of the braid with both hands. “She will not be pleased about the delay.”
“A delay is necessary,” the second responded as she moved around the room, giving the Messenger who had remained at a distance a slow once-over. She pressed close to him and tiptoed, whispering into his ear, “Can you really not feel things?”
She feathered her fingers down the buttons of his tunic and the way the male reacted when she palmed the front of his trousers said that he definitely could feel things. His mismatched eyes widened and darkened, and edged towards her.
“Such a shame you don’t serve me.” She gently patted the male’s groin.
His pupils devoured the green and blue of his irises.
“Melody,” the first furie snapped. “Focus.”
“Just trying to find a way to pass the time, Meadow.”
Marinda. Melody. Meadow. Three Erinyes. Goddesses of the Underworld that formed a power circle that could be devastating if they put their mind to it and worked together.
Thankfully, Marinda was on his side, weakening the other two Erinyes.
Melody sighed and dragged herself away from the male, coming to stand beside the woman who could have passed as her twin. They were even dressed the same, clad in black corsets and leathers that reminded him of Cass.
But unlike Cass, both of them looked wary of getting too close to him.
Because of his power?
He focused it, keeping his gaze on their faces so they kept looking at him and not at the floor. Ice spread outwards from beneath him.
Meadow was swift to notice and back away, catching Melody’s arm and pulling her with her.
The ice formed more rapidly to keep pace with them.
And then it stopped.
He frowned at the wooden floor and cursed. A crudely drawn chalk circle surrounded him, glyphs flowing around the outside of it.
A ward.
Both Erinyes’ eyes changed, turning violet edged with black as they glared at him.
“Nemesis wants him kept alive.” The Messenger who Melody had groped stepped forwards, his eyes fixed on the female, hunger still shining in them.
Melody’s right eyebrow slowly arched as she looked him over and pursed her lips, a sultry pout in his direction that had his eyes darkening further.
Meadow huffed and glared at Daimon. “We won’t kill him. Just need to take a little blood.”
Blood.
The Erinyes could siphon powers from blood, and had proven in Tokyo that it didn’t need to be inside the host for that to happen. If they got their hands on his blood, they would be able to command the gate. One of the gates was bound to him in blood too, and would easily do their bidding.
He bit out a ripe curse, aiming this one at Keras.
His oldest brother should have let him seal the New York gate when he had offered to do it.
Now the enemy planned to use his blood to open it and when it
was fully formed and linked this world to the Underworld, they would lock it open with the wards they knew. It could take hours, days to discover which wards they had used through a process of elimination so he could close it again. In that time, the Underworld and this realm would begin to merge. If he couldn’t get it closed again, the merging of the worlds could damage the gate to the point where it would remain open no matter what he and his brothers tried to do, and the two worlds would slowly collide, causing catastrophic damage to both sides of the gate.
Forming a new realm.
The mission he had been sent here to fulfil would end in failure.
His home and his family would be destroyed. The enemy wouldn’t settle for degrading his father by taking his throne from him. They would kill him and his mother. His brothers would most likely be hunted and slaughtered too.
And all their women.
And Cass.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
He narrowed his eyes on the two furies, a battle sparking to life inside him as he thought about what he needed to do.
He couldn’t let them get their hands on his blood.
Ice numbed his fingers as he considered what he was on the verge of doing.
It would hurt his family, hitting his parents and Esher the hardest, might even be too much for his brother in his current condition.
And Cass would be furious with him.
But he couldn’t let them get their hands on her, and he couldn’t let the gate fall. Hurting everyone he loved was better than sentencing them to death.
He pulled down a slow breath, fighting to steady his nerves, to muster the courage he needed—courage that kept slipping through his fingers.
Daimon tilted his chin up.
He had to do it.
He would do it.
He stared into Meadow’s eyes.
Let every drop of the hatred he felt towards her and his enemy shine in his eyes, every drop of the rage he felt because they had forced his hand, but hid all the guilt and the pain, the remorse that threatened to devour him and shatter his strength.
He was doing this.
He was going to die here.
Daimon focused on his hands, on his power, but rather than attacking, he turned it inward. His blood was quick to slow in his veins, the cold he always felt growing more intense as his head grew foggy, thoughts blurring together as tiredness rolled through his already weakened body.
Panic sparked, throwing his mind and his heart into turmoil, and he clenched his hands into tight fists as he fought it, kept pushing onwards as his instincts roared at him to stop.
That he would die if he kept going.
That survival instinct battered him, had his ice waning even as he tried to keep it building inside him, spreading through him.
He gritted his teeth and pushed through it, desperately shutting out the voice that screamed in his mind. His feet numbed as ice formed over them, slowly spreading up his calves.
Darkness encroached at the corners of his mind and he gasped for air as the cold invaded his lungs, and his heart slowed.
He was drowning.
Drowning in his own ice.
Momentary blackness washed over him and he tipped forwards, jerked backwards when it released him and shook his head.
“Stop him,” Meadow barked as she lunged for him, her violet eyes wild.
He couldn’t let them do that.
Ice formed jagged spikes around him, shooting up to the ceiling. The two furies battered it, fracturing and even breaking holes in it in places, but his power was running at full tilt now, was swift to repair any area that took damage. The walls surrounding him slowly turned pale blue as they thickened, inching towards him. They touched his knees first, met with the ice that had formed over them already.
He struggled to breathe, what little air he could get into his burning lungs fogging in front of his face as he expelled it. His teeth clattered, loud in his prison as ice rolled up his stomach and arms, reached his shoulders.
Sapping the last of the heat from his body as it closed over his chest.
His thoughts slowed, his vision dimming.
Ice formed on his cheeks in the path of his tears as he thought of Cass.
He wished he had taken a moment to speak with her before he had gone to Nemesis.
Wished he had told her that he loved her.
Had seen her face one last time.
Said goodbye to her.
Sorrow washed through him as he realised he would never see his beautiful koldun’ya again, the last thing he felt as the ice enclosed him.
He had finally found someone he truly loved.
And this time, he was the one leaving her.
Chapter 33
Cass stroked Mister Milos, petting the white and ginger cat as she held him in her arms. He purred, the rumbling sound a comfort to her frayed nerves. She tried to focus on him to shut out that unsettling sensation burning inside her heart, but it lingered, tormenting her.
Daimon had been gone too long.
She kept running her right hand over Milos’s fur as her bare feet carried her through the Tokyo mansion, towards the voices she could hear in the main living area of the house.
Mari looked over the back of the cream couch, twisting away from Calistos to smile at Cass as she entered the room at the TV area end of it.
“Have you seen Daimon?” Cass paused at the back of the couch.
Calistos set the console controller down on his lap, looked at her and shook his head. When she looked at Valen who lounged on the other couch, twirling a ribbon of his violet hair around his finger with one hand and hammering at the controller he gripped with the other, the god of lightning gave a half-hearted shrug.
“Sometimes penitence is a bitch.” Valen glanced at her, looking past Eva where the beautiful Italian assassin sat beside him, acting as his pillow as she cleaned a gun, their black fatigues making them blend together. “Maybe he’s chilling out in Hong Kong. Doesn’t want you seeing how fucked up he is and going on a bender.”
That wasn’t a comfort.
She glared at him.
Eva nudged him with her right arm and muttered, “Stronzo.”
“What?” He shifted left, so his head landed in her lap, and pulled an innocent and hurt face. “I was being helpful.”
“You were being a dick,” Cal put in, earning a glare from his brother.
Cass’s petting grew more frantic. Milos didn’t care. He just purred harder, lapping up the attention. For once, he wasn’t even bothered that Calistos was near him.
Her cat had strange tastes. He adored Valen and Esher, and hissed near-constantly at the rest of the brothers.
Of course, he loved every single one of the women.
The little lothario.
Someone stalked into the room to her right, striding from the corridor beside the kitchen.
Esher.
He ran an unsteady hand over his wild black hair, preening it over and over again as he hurried from the bathhouse. Or perhaps the cage. She studied him. Judging by the conflicting feelings his blue eyes held, it had been the cage. Esher had been firmly on edge since coming around, and had almost gone over it when the daemon had died.
After Daimon had left, Esher and Keras had argued.
Rain still poured down outside, creating a melody as it struck the roof of the mansion, a storm that didn’t look as if it was going to clear up any time soon.
Ares had tried to keep the peace between the brothers, but Esher was furious about what Keras had done, and Keras was unrepentant.
So the argument continued.
Keras strode in behind Esher, hot on his heels.
“We’re done,” Esher snarled, throwing a black look over his shoulder.
Keras looked as if he wanted to say differently, but Aiko ran around him, cutting him off, her pigtails and short black ruffled skirt bouncing with each rushed stride. She caught up with Esher and looped both of her arms around his right one.
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br /> The feral god slowed and looked down at her, gradually coming to a halt as his face crumpled. He gathered her into his arms and buried his face in her neck, his inky hair blending with hers as he clutched her to him. Aiko wrapped her arms around him and held him, stroked his back through his dark grey shirt and whispered words to him in Japanese.
“He didn’t need this shit,” Ares muttered as he brought up the rear. “I told you not to do anything.”
Keras shot him down with a glare, one that had darkness glittering in his green eyes.
Ares looked as if he was chewing a wasp as he stomped past him, heading for the couches.
“Have you seen Daimon?” She wasn’t sure who she aimed that question at as she stroked Milos harder, her nerves getting the better of her again.
Esher lifted his head and looked at her. “He’s not back?”
She shook her head.
“It’s been hours,” Ares muttered with a glance at the drenched garden.
“More like a day,” Esher said and straightened, a look crossing his face that had Keras placing a hand on his shoulder.
“You’re in no condition to step to Hong Kong.” Keras’s grip on his shoulder tightened briefly before loosening again when Marek pushed onto his feet on the other side of the low dining table.
“I’ll go.” The burly brunet glanced down at the pretty caramel-haired woman who paused at the keyboard of a laptop. “Back in a minute. Keep searching.”
Caterina nodded and went back to her work as Marek disappeared in a swirl of black smoke.
Cass’s gaze drifted to the garden beyond the walkway, focusing on Milos’s purring rather than the tense silence that descended as everyone waited.
She scratched Milos behind his ears, rubbed them and tickled his chin.
What was taking Marek so long? Was Daimon seriously hurt and needed his help?
She was on the verge of forming the spell to transport her to Hong Kong when Marek finally reappeared in the middle of the room.
“He’s not there.” Marek’s earthy brown eyes held a lot of concern as he looked at her and only her, his expression so grave that she froze.
Her breath hitched and heart lodged in her throat. “What do you mean he isn’t there?”
Daimon: Guardians of Hades Series Book 6 Page 29