Zander stopped midstep on the frozen path. A searing ache lit off in his chest, drawing his focus and shutting down his other senses. Theron and Cerek’s conversation with Nick drifted out of earshot. His vision dimmed until he no longer saw Phineus and Titus in the trees to his right and left scouting the area around them. The frigid air drifted to the back of his mind until all he felt was a condensing panic that told him they were headed in the wrong direction.
Nick had landed the helicopter in a field four miles back and they’d been hoofing it since to avoid alerting any daemons in the area they were coming, but somehow he suddenly knew any daemons lingering here were the least of their worries.
“What’s wrong, Zander?”
Theron had stopped and was now studying him with that intense expression their leader was known for. Nick and Cerek were doing the same.
“I—” His chest squeezed tight, cutting off his words. This sensation was different from the rage he was accustomed to. It was deeper, more personal, and this time, insistent. Telling him…telling him something. But he couldn’t figure out what. He turned a slow circle, looked through the trees but saw none of the forest around him. “Something’s not right.”
“How do you know?” Nick asked with a get-real expression.
“Because I feel it,” he tossed back, still looking out at the trees. “They’re not here. They’re—”
Pain shot up his arm and into his neck, as if someone had hooked him with a half nelson and twisted hard. And in his head he heard Callia’s voice. Calling him.
That rush of insistence morphed to urgency. “Callia’s hurt,” he whispered. Then louder, “There’s trouble at the colony.”
Zander brought his hands together. When his pinky fingers touched, the markings on his forearms and hands glowed a brilliant white just before the portal opened with a pop and sizzle.
“Aw, fuck,” someone muttered. “He’s opening the portal. The daemons know for sure we’re here now.”
Theron took a step toward him. “Zander, wait—”
He didn’t. Because only one thing mattered now: Callia needed him.
Isadora jolted from sleep. Her eyes flew open. She pushed up on her hands just as a roar shook the living room of the lodge.
Beside her on the couch, bleary-eyed and sleepy, Casey did the same. “What…what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” Isadora rushed to the window and peeled back the curtains. The sight that met her eyes tore a gasp from her chest.
“What?” Casey said, hurrying over. When she reached the window and saw the daemons below, raiding the colony, her hand flew over her mouth. “Oh, God.”
“We have to get out of here.” Adrenaline pulsing, Isadora whipped around and scanned the room for a weapon. Where the hell was Gryphon?
Her eyes landed on the sofa she and Casey had fallen asleep on, moved to the coffee table where the orb, now nothing but a cold piece of metal, still lay, then to the other couch, where Callia should be. “Sonofabitch, she’s gone.”
“Where would she have gone?” Panic filled Casey’s voice.
“I don’t know. I—”
The door to the living room crashed open. On instinct, Isadora pushed Casey behind her. Gryphon and—holy hell—Demetrius, in all his evil charm, charged into the room. When had Demetrius gotten here? Had Gryphon called him?
“Princess,” Gryphon announced in an I-mean-business tone, “we have to get you back to Argolea. Right now.”
This time Isadora wasn’t about to argue. She wanted out of here too. Except…“Callia’s missing. We can’t go without her.”
Gryphon and Demetrius exchanged glances, and just as Gryphon opened his mouth to answer, loud footsteps pounded down the corridor toward them.
“Get back!” Demetrius yelled, whipping around and drawing his blade.
Isadora’s heart lurched to her throat. She backed Casey against the wall and held on to her sister as her pulse beat like wildfire beneath her skin. A body flashed in front of the door, and two glowing green eyes appeared just as Demetrius shifted to attack. Around Demetrius’s massive shoulders, Isadora caught sight of the rest of the body in the shadows.
She shoved away from Casey and dashed between the Argonauts to put herself between Demetrius and the door. “No!”
“Hades. Princess, move!”
“No, Demetrius. Don’t! It’s Orpheus.”
Orpheus chuckled at her back. “And here I thought you didn’t care, Isa.”
She ignored Orpheus and looked to Gryphon, who held his own blade with a what-the-fuck-is-this? expression on his face.
“How the hell did you—?”
“Uncle Lucian’s here,” Orpheus said, cutting off his brother’s words. “He came to me for help. It seems Loukas has been playing for the wrong team.”
Oh, gods. Callia…
Demetrius motioned to Casey. “We’re getting you both back to Argolea right now.”
Casey rushed forward. “Theron—”
“Is fine.” Demetrius grabbed Casey’s jacket from the couch and thrust it toward her.
“But Callia—” Casey protested as he pushed her toward the door.
Outside, roars and screams echoed up to where they stood on the second floor of the lodge, cutting off her argument. “The Misos,” Casey whispered.
“We’ll come back for the healer and the others after we get you home,” Gryphon said quickly.
Orpheus moved to let the others pass. As Demetrius pushed Isadora out the door, she belatedly remembered the orb.
“Wait.” She whipped back around and tried to push by Demetrius. But he was like a solid steel wall blocking her path. “The disk!”
“I’ll get it,” Orpheus announced.
Orpheus? Oh, holy hell, no. She didn’t trust Orpheus with the Orb of Krónos for even a microsecond. Exigency pushed her against the flow of bodies. “Demetrius, get out of my way!”
“You really are a royal pain in my ass,” Demetrius sneered. “I said we’re leaving now, Princess, and I meant it.” His arms wrapped around her legs, and then all Isadora felt was air as she was tossed over his shoulder.
“Demetrius! Let me go! I command it.”
His only answer was a low, menacing rumble that vibrated through his chest and into her body, warning her the daemons weren’t the only evil she needed to worry about right now.
No.
Callia stared wide-eyed as Atalanta fixed her gaze on their location in the trees. The demigod’s coal black eyes were as soulless as Callia remembered, but she was bigger than Callia had thought. Easily seven feet and more powerful than any being on this planet.
Atalanta tugged on the rope at her side, the one that ran to Max’s hands, then pulled hard. The motion jerked Max off balance, and he stumbled but caught himself at the last second.
Fear was replaced with motherly instinct. Callia drew in a breath and let go of the pain shooting up her arm and into her neck where Loukas held her tight. Her eyes locked on Max.
“Come on, Callie,” Loukas breathed over her ear. “It’s time for our little meeting.”
Loukas’s tight grasp made moving over the snow-covered ground awkward. Soldiers from the colony had spilled out to ward off the attack, and Loukas maneuvered her past the fight and forward, up an embankment toward the knoll of a ridge she could just barely see.
Atalanta and Max were already waiting for them when they reached the crest. Callia’s gaze shot straight to her son. Max’s silver eyes were wide, his blond hair disheveled. Dirt marred his skin and clothing, and his hands were bound in front of him, but there were no cuts across his skin, nothing that indicated he’d been hurt. And staring at him there like that, the knife in Callia’s heart twisted even deeper, because he looked just like a younger version of Zander the first day she’d run into him in the castle, nearly eleven years before.