Way to go, dumbass.
“I…I didn’t think anyone was going to find me.”
He definitely didn’t need to hear the quiver in her voice. And he sure as hell didn’t want to think about what that twisted warlock had done to her in the hours she’d been in his castle. Demetrius had already played every scenario around in his head a dozen times, then promised himself that when he got off this freakin’ island he’d go back and kick some warlock ass just to settle the score.
“How did you find me?”
Her soft words cut through his thoughts, and a little voice in the back of his head cautioned Ignore her. But instead of listening, he heard himself say, “Your handmaiden.”
“Saphira.” Her eyes slid closed. “She came to me in my chamber. I was…upset.” Her cheeks turned the softest shade of pink before she added, “She gave me tea, only it wasn’t tea. It was something else. And then…then I was out.”
“Nice handmaiden.” If the witch weren’t already dead, he’d add her to his takedown list. “Too bad the king didn’t call off your binding ceremony to Zander earlier.”
And whoa, why the hell did he even care? And since when had he turned into Mr. Noble? He gave his head a swift shake and glanced toward the thick forest to the west in an attempt to clear his gray matter.
“My father did what?”
The shock in her voice nixed his thoughts and brought his head around before he could stop it. “You didn’t know?”
“No. He…” Her surprised chocolate eyes skipped over the ground. “He decided to let Callia and Zander be together?”
Demetrius shrugged, though inside that darkness brewed deeper. If the king hadn’t reneged on the original arranged binding between Theron and Isadora weeks ago, neither of them would be here now. “Don’t know. Wasn’t there. Really don’t care.” He pointed toward the west. “I think our best bet is through those trees.”
“Wait. What was…?” She swallowed. “That thing looked like a Fury.”
Thank the flippin’ gods she’d changed the subject. He gathered the last of what was left of his weapons. “Furies have snakes in their hair. Like Apophis’s witches.” And trust me, Princess, they’re a thousand times worse. “That was a harpy.”
He moved to pick her up, but she blocked him with her forearm. “What happened to my leg? The last thing I remember is stepping through the portal from Apophis’s castle into a field full of daemons. How did we get here? And”—her eyes widened—“what happened to Gryphon? He came through with us.”
Demetrius fought to keep his shoulders relaxed as he straightened. Here came the questions. He should have picked up his damn pace. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“I mean, Your Highness,” he snapped, at the end of his patience with her and this place and all of it, “I don’t know what happened to Gryphon. When I opened the portal to get us the hell out of there, something crisscrossed and we wound up here.”
“Crisscrossed? That’s your best explanation?”
“That’s the only one I’ve got.” And the only one you’re gonna get.
“So where is Gryphon?”
“I don’t know.”
She stared at him, and then slowly her eyes narrowed to thin slits. A demeaning look he was used to seeing on her pale face. “What you really mean is you don’t care.”
His head snapped back as if she’d hit him. She obviously couldn’t consider the possibility he was as worried about Gryphon as she was. But then why would she? She thought he was a son of a bitch, which wasn’t far off the mark. And considering what had been running through his head a few minutes ago, if he wanted to find a way to get her off this island before Atalanta’s little scheme clicked into gear, it was better all around if she went on thinking he was nothing more than a righteous prick.
But it still cut. Just as it always did when she refused to look him in the eye or turned the other way when she saw him in the castle. Even if that was the only way it could be.
“Yeah,” he muttered as he rested his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “You’re right, Princess. I don’t fucking care.”
Her mouth snapped shut. She crossed her arms over her middle and looked down at her legs. If she was at all still hurting or upset, she didn’t show it. The tight line of her shoulders was a clear sign she was well and truly pissed. Which was exactly what he wanted, wasn’t it?
“Where the hell are we?” she asked without looking up.
Oh yeah, her adrenaline swing was in full gear. She’d morphed from scared shitless to ticked in the span of a few seconds, thanks to him.
Well, good. He handled pissed a whole lot better than freaked-out and vulnerable any day of the week.
He shifted his legs wider, crossed his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you tell me? Since you’re the expert on everything. Where the hell do you think we are?”
“Harpies and rabid boars—”
“Calydonian boars. There’s a big difference”
“Whatever. They don’t really exist.”
“Tell that to the two dead monsters down on that beach.”
Her eyes met his. Eyes, he noticed, that weren’t quite as enraged as he’d originally thought. Lurking behind the tough-girl shield was true fear.
Which, skata, he did not need to see.
“The Argonauts extinguished the lines,” she protested. “Thousands of years ago, that was the first thing Zeus commanded them to do. To sweep the world, gather the monsters wreaking havoc on humans, and destroy them. It’s in all the history books. They did that. They—”
“Your history books were obviously wrong. If you ever left that palace you call a bedroom suite, you’d know that.” Refusing to be moved by her shocked expression, he added, “Look around you. The Argonauts didn’t kill anything. They gathered and they dumped. Right here in the middle of the Ionian Sea. And lucky us, we followed.”
“Ionian Sea?” Shock flicked over her features. “Pandora isn’t a real island. It can’t be. It—”
“Looks pretty damn real to me.” He glanced up, noted the sun had now completely dropped behind the water and that dusk was creeping in fast. They were about out of time. The fresh kills down below were like blinking beacons to the nasties. They needed to get the hell out of here before the really ugly shit woke up and went hunting.
Far off in the forest below, a bloodthirsty howl echoed. Isadora’s head snapped in that direction and her eyes grew even wider until a halo of white surrounded her golden brown irises.
“Sounds pretty fucking real too. Let’s save the bickering for later, shall we? We need to make tracks.”
“Wait,” she said when he bent toward her. “Open the portal and take us home.”
He clenched his jaw. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because whatever crisscrossed to get us here screwed with my ability to open the portal.”
She pressed a hand against his chest when he lifted her into his arms. A hand that was warm and soft and ignited a tingle in his skin he liked and hated all at the same time. “Demetrius…”