Just as the first time they were together in this room, a kaleidoscope of images, all centered on her, cycled through his mind. Only these were clearer. The sounds growing louder. Playing like scenes from a movie. Until the great climax. And the moment the curtain was parted and the wizard finally revealed.
He jerked out of bed, a reflex of muscle and mind and complete and utter shock, and hit the floor with a thud that echoed through his bones. But the physical pain was fleeting. The emotional pain, the lingering torment, the years of torture, consumed him from the inside out. And betrayal, like a hot, sharp knife, sliced through what he thought had been a heart.
Skyla peered over the side of the bed, her hair rumpled, her eyes sleepy, her lips still swollen from his mouth. “Are you okay? What happened?”
Orpheus breathed through his nostrils to remain calm. But inside a firestorm had erupted and the blaze was consuming him in a flurry of flames for which there was no relief.
“Orpheus?”
“You knew they were coming. You left me there to die.”
“What?”
The past, a past he hadn’t remembered until just now, zipped across his mind. And the why and how and that connection he’d been feeling finally made sense. “We argued and you left. And they came in minutes later. The Sirens. Your Sirens. The ones you sent.”
She eased up to sitting, tugged the sheet around her. A wary look passed over her features. Features that were still as beautiful as he remembered. Even now, over two thousand years later.
Two thousand years. Holy fuck.
“You’ve obviously had some kind of dream. Why don’t you come back to bed and—”
“That wasn’t a dream.” He pushed to his feet, images now on fast-forward in his head, and scrubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead, only it did nothing to erase the pain. And the torment. And the horror. “I knew there was some connection between us. I knew you were lying to me from the start.”
“Orpheus? Okay, just wait—”
The bitter bite of betrayal shoved out all the shock and awe from before. “Why don’t you call me by my other name? The name my father gave me? The name my grandfather and your boss condemned.”
She tightened the sheet around her breasts. In the dim light from the fading fire he saw understanding. And fear. For the first time since he’d met the Siren he saw true fear on her flawless face.
“Say my name, Skyla.”
She swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Say it.”
She glanced across the room toward the fire so she didn’t have to meet his gaze.
And in that moment, his restraint snapped.
The red rage of betrayal colored everything in his path. He was on the bed before she saw him move, his hand wrapped around her neck, his knee wedged against her side as he pushed her down to the mattress. “Say my name!”
She gasped, let go of the sheet, and grappled for his fingers. But though she was strong and could easily give him a good knock-down, drag-out fight, she didn’t try to tear his hand away, didn’t retaliate in any way. Tears flooded her eyes. Tears that only inflamed his anger because he knew they were nothing more than another form of seduction. Seduction she’d been trained to use to get what she wanted.
“Say my name or I will crush your windpipe,” he growled. “I swear it.”
Tears spilled over her sooty dark lashes. “You weren’t supposed to remem—”
His grip tightened. “Say it!”
“Cynurus,” she choked out beneath his hand. “Your name was Cynurus. Your father named you after the mystical valley Cynuria between Argolis and Laconia, where it’s said the Muses liked to play.”
He let go and stepped back. And as he did he saw the past as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.
He was Perseus’s son. Grandson to the King of the Gods. The son who was nothing but a major disappointment to his father. The grandson who’d been pegged as disloyal right from the start. And she was the Siren who’d been sent to kill him, not just once, but twice.
He’d fallen for her both times. Like a love-struck fool. All because somewhere deep inside he’d wanted to believe he deserved something more. That he was meant for things greater than himself. Just like the original heroes.
Stupidity slammed into him. Treachery followed quickly on its heels. And sickness tore through his stomach to weaken his knees.
The “more,” he’d gotten. It just hadn’t been the “more” he’d wanted. Death at the hands of Zeus’s assassins had gifted him two thousand years of “more” trapped in the Underworld. In a never-ending cycle of pain and agony and torture. Where he’d been forgotten. All because of her.
He turned away, because the rage inside was so strong it was either that or kill her. He swiped his pants from the floor where he’d dropped them hours ago. The Orb clanged against the hardwood and lay at his feet, the marking of the Titans staring up at him, the earth element gleaming where he’d slid it into its compartment only hours ago.
“Orpheus…”
Heat radiated from the Orb. Drifted up from his feet, infused him with the strength he lacked now that his daemon was gone. Reminded him what was constant in this world.
Not trust. There was none.
Not honesty. Honesty was a farce.
And definitely not love. Love was the greatest ruse of all. Designed to trap and enslave and ultimately destroy.
He lifted the Orb from the floor, slid the chain around his neck, and felt the power of the Orb surround him.
“Orpheus,” she said in a frantic voice. “Wait. Let me explain.”
He tugged on his dirty jeans, found his boots, shoved his feet inside. Picked up his shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head as he moved for the door.
She grasped his arm before he could turn the handle. “Wait. Please.”
Her touch stirred what her voice couldn’t. He whipped toward her, knocking her arm away. “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever think of touching me again.”
“Orpheus.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. Tears she was obviously working hard to conjure. She took a step back, gripped the sheet around her breasts with both hands, playing the part of the heartsick female remarkably well. But then she’d had years to perfect that role, hadn’t she? Thousands of years.
“Just…just listen, okay? I didn’t know at first. And by the time I did, I couldn’t tell you. They said you wouldn’t remember and I didn’t want to…Everything…everything from then and now is so muddled. I was trying to figure out the truth about what happened back then and whether you deserved—”
His vision blurred and the red rage of retribution forced his feet forward. She closed her mouth with a snap, took a step back, her eyes wide, white halos all around her amethyst irises. Eyes he now knew he had looked into hundreds of times before. A lifetime ago, just as he’d thought.
He slammed his palm against the wall right by her head, a deafening crack that echoed through the entire room.
“Two thousand years, Siren,” he said from between clenched teeth. “In hell. All because of you. Do not speak to me about what is deserved. Because right now I’m a hair’s breadth from deciding you deserve to be ripped apart limb by limb and thrown to the fishes in the lake below us.”
He took a step away from her, hating that even now, when he knew it had all been an act on her part, he still wanted her. Still craved her. Was still entranced by her just as he’d always been.
“And take a message to your fucking king while you’re at it,” he added, drawing on the Orb’s strength so he wouldn’t reach for her, wouldn’t touch her, wouldn’t ever give in again. “Tell him his grandson’s back from the dead. And this time, his fucking days are numbered.”