He shrugged. “I don’t care. But you go hacking her up and she’s bound to dislike you. And we all know a happy hostage is a useful hostage.”
Atalanta’s eyes held his. He knew she was debating just whose side he was on. She wasn’t stupid. And there was no love lost or loyalty between them. The blackness rumbled again but he worked like hell to tamp it down.
Slowly, she lowered the blade. Isadora let out a relieved breath. Atalanta set the dagger on the table at Isadora’s side, but she didn’t release the princess’s wrist. With her eyes still locked on Demetrius, she drew the index finger of her free hand across Isadora’s wrist, gathering a droplet of blood, and brought it to her mouth.
Isadora’s horrified gaze darted from Atalanta to Demetrius and back again.
A feral smile crossed the goddess’s face. “The witches succeeded in one part of our bargain.”
Bargain? The witches had been working with Atalanta? Demetrius’s mind spun with the ramifications of that, but he pushed it aside, focusing instead on figuring a way out of this hellhole.
Atalanta let go of Isadora’s arm and passed a hand over the princess’s face. “We’re done with you for now, Princess.”
Before Demetrius could react, Isadora’s eyes flickered and her body slumped to the table.
Demetrius tensed all over again, but instinct told him Atalanta wouldn’t seriously harm the princess. Not yet anyway. She needed her too much.
“Now,” Atalanta said, looking back at him. “The princess’s presence is not a surprise. But yours is. A pleasant one. I am very happy I won’t have to track you down as I’d planned.”
As she’d planned. Demetrius had no clue what the hell was happening, but the pinch in his chest said to be careful.
Atalanta stepped forward and ran her ice-cold finger down his cheek. “You see, yios, I’ve put up with your defiance long enough. And now it’s time to prove your worth. The Horae will never willingly cooperate, so I ordered Apophis’s witches to cast a fertility spell over our fair princess. And you, my son, will be the one to ensure I reap the rewards.”
Demetrius’s chest tightened. He thought back to the way those witches had Isadora strung up when he and Orpheus had charged the room. To the way the warlock had been eyeing her. To the see-through negligee she was still wearing.
Atalanta tipped her head and stepped closer, until the sickeningly sweet scent of her was all he could smell. “I thought I would have to persuade you, to draw you to my side first. But now I see that won’t be a problem. Hera has finally done something right.”
The blood drained from his face as her plan finally registered. She was going to use him to get the link to the Horae she needed.
“Oh, don’t look so upset, yios.” She patted his cheek. “You’re going to enjoy this.” Her humor faded and she looked down at Isadora, completely out on the table beside them. “The only question is where? Where to send you? I’d originally thought I’d simply keep both of you locked up here until the darkness consumed you, but now I think you’ll be better off alone. It will definitely be faster this way. We’ll have to bind your powers so you can’t open the portal, of course, but you both need time. And a place where you’ll have no choice but to keep her close…”
Sickness drifted up from Demetrius’s gut, sickness and a foreboding that rang in his chest and echoed in his head.
“Of course,” Atalanta said, her excited voice cutting through his thoughts as she whipped back to him. “Of course, yios. There’s only one place that will work. One place where you wouldn’t let this pretty thing out of your sight. I have no doubt you’ll keep her alive, though it may become a challenge. But at least all those ingrained heroics of yours will finally be of use to me.”
He tensed as she reached out and ran her cold, vile hand over his jaw again. “You, my son, are finally going to live up to your destiny. You are going to give me the ultimate gift. An heir. A legitimate heir, with links to both the Horae and the throne of Argolea. And thanks to Hera, you’ll do so whether you want to or not.”
Hera. Atalanta was talking about the soul mate curse. Hera’s spiteful gift to Heracles and all the Argonauts—one soul mate. Only it wasn’t the blessing it should be. It was the cruelest curse imaginable. The one female in the world who was the worst possible match for that Argonaut.
He was Atalanta’s son. The spawn of true evil and the enemy to those of his world. He’d suspected Isadora was his curse, had spent two hundred years avoiding her so Atalanta could never use him for her own gain. And now, thanks to one wrong decision, everything he’d done up until this point to protect Isadora, to protect their world, was for shit.
“Sleep now, yios, you’ll need your rest.” Atalanta passed her hand in front of his face. His vision dimmed from the outside in, even though he fought it.
As the image of Isadora asleep on the table faded and the world drifted to black, he knew there was no escaping what was to come. His only hope was that somehow—in some way—he’d find the strength he needed to resist the only female he’d ever truly wanted.
Chapter 6
Demetrius shielded the glare of the sun with his hand and looked out across the barren beach. Water lapped gently at the golden sand and a light wind rustled the trees at his back. Sweat slid down his spine as he took in the miles of sand, the cliffs to his left and right that turned to sheltered forests beyond, and the water…so much damn water.
Atalanta had dumped them on an island. Of this he was sure. Where, he didn’t know. The trees, the temperature, the sand though…it was all vaguely familiar. Like a postcard straight out of the Mediterranean. A tingle low in his belly told him there was only one island in the area she would send them to where he’d be forced to keep Isadora close, but he refused to believe his suspicions. For all of Atalanta’s scheming, the bitch needed Isadora to live. She wouldn’t be so careless as to leave them alone in hell.
He looked down where Isadora was still out cold on the sand. He’d awakened next to her minutes before and, after checking to make sure she was still breathing, had spent the last five minutes taking stock of their surroundings. Knowing there was no imminent threat, he decided he needed to get Isadora out of the sun; to check her leg, which he feared had been broken in that daemon fight; and to figure out what the hell they were going to do next.
He crouched, lifted her into his arms. Her head lolled like a rag doll’s, but her breaths were steady and deep. He ignored the silky smooth feel of her skin against his, focused on the way his boots sank into the deep sand, making it hard to move. After carefully laying Isadora in the shade of a palm tree, he dropped down and unlaced his boots, then tossed them behind him.
Sweat beaded his forehead. His toes sank into warm sand as he found a downed branch, checked its strength. Bringing it back to where Isadora lay, he snapped the ends until it was roughly the length of her shin. Then he sank onto his knees next to her and took a deep breath.
Years of disuse left his powers rusty. He didn’t even know if he could conjure a healing spell, let alone if it would work, but he had to do something. Wiping his sweaty hands on his thighs, he glanced once at Isadora’s face and hoped like hell she didn’t wake up in the middle of this.
His eyes slid closed. He held his hands out in front of him, chanting words he’d shunned long ago. As power gathered in his fingers, heat and light radiated outward. Slowly, he lowered his hands to her broken leg.
She jumped but didn’t wake. He ran through the chant over and over, smoothing his hand over the broken bone, knitting it back together with a magick he’d long denied. Minutes later, tired and spent from the effort, he sank back onto his heels and wiped the sweat from his brow.