A lump formed in Orpheus’s throat and his eyes shot to his brother’s face. No, that couldn’t be.
But even as he thought the words, he knew they were a lie. He’d taken a shot of Apophis’s energy during that fight too. The blast had knocked him off his feet, sent him spinning into the wall. But he’d been able to shake it off and get back up. Gryphon hadn’t.
There was only one difference between them. As brothers, they shared the same father, the same lineage, the same link to the ancient hero Perseus, the same blood that made them both bigger, stronger, tougher than most. And yet Orpheus had walked away from Apophis’s attack without a single scratch.
Because he was part daemon. Because what was vile in them lived in him. Because he had no soul to destroy.
The tightness in his chest that had been holding him together snapped like a rubber band. And a green glow illuminated the room as his eyes shifted from gray to the calling card of the daemons.
“Have you told Theron yet?” Zander asked in a gruff voice.
“No. I…I don’t know what to tell him.”
Silence fell, and then Zander said, “Come here, thea.” Cloth rasped again. “We’ll figure something out. There’s still time.”
Not much, Orpheus realized. Not much at all.
A heavy weight pressed down around him. He was responsible for this. He’d taken Isa to the witches. Even though he wasn’t directly responsible for her abduction, he’d been the one to tempt that witch with exactly what she wanted. And then he’d taken it one step further and led Gryphon to his death by thinking he could play hero for a few hours and rescue the princess himself. In the end all he’d done was fuck things up worse than he ever had before.
Out of nowhere he thought of the Orb of Krónos. Even with the four chambers empty of the classic elements—earth, wind, fire, and water—the Orb held a power like nothing else. It had kept Max safe when he’d escaped Atalanta and her daemons. Maybe it could put a stop to whatever was killing Gryphon.
He rushed out the door and down the stairs, a renewed sense of urgency pushing him. There were servants coming and going who could alert Callia if Gryphon’s conditioned changed before he got back. He didn’t care that retrieving the Orb from its hiding place would put his carefully constructed plans into chaos. Didn’t care that he was about to give up everything he’d ever wanted. All that mattered was Gryphon.
Which was fucking ironic, wasn’t it? He’d never given a shit about anyone else in his whole life. He hadn’t thought a soulless being could develop a conscience.
As he hit the foyer of the castle and stopped on the gleaming marble floor, he closed his eyes and imagined his shop on Corinth Avenue. And ignored the voice in the back of his head warning that an Argonaut without a soul was a very dangerous thing.
Chapter 8
I liked you a lot better when you were unconscious.
The fear gripping Isadora morphed into resentment with each step Demetrius took through the trees. Yeah, well, she liked him a lot better when she was unconscious too.
Rather than drumming up snippy comebacks that would get her nowhere, she thought back to what had happened when she’d been with the witches. She had flashes of chanting. Of a dagger. Of someone dipping her into a pool. The discombobulated images didn’t make sense, but she was sure they’d done something to her in that cold, dank castle. Something that explained the roller coaster reactions she was having to Demetrius today. Attracted to him? Tingly? Achy with need? Those were not logical or appropriate physical responses for her to have to any Argonaut, especially to the most callous of the bunch. And especially not now when her life was in danger and she was stuck here with him for what looked like an indefinite amount of time.
Howling echoed in the trees to both her right and left. She tensed but didn’t grab on to Demetrius. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction, not again. And freaking out wouldn’t get her off this island any faster.
The thick cypress trees opened up to a rocky ledge that fell away nearly two hundred yards to a canyon below. Isadora’s eyes scanned the dark mountains on the far side, the river that wound through the small valley, the splashes of color against a deep green canvas. Then her gaze swung to the ruins on the hillside to her right.
The fading light made it hard to see, but Demetrius spotted the crumbling stone structure at the same time and shifted in that direction without a word. Rocks and grasses covered the steep hillside. Acacia and wild fig trees littered the landscape leading up to the edifice. The scents of sage and thyme, rosemary and oregano greeted her senses as they drew close.
At first Isadora thought the ruins were some sort of temple, but as it came more fully into sight she realized it was a garrison. What little she knew of Pandora filtered through her mind. No one lived on Pandora. No one could survive the monsters.
Wind whistled past her ears, sent a shiver down her spine. The quickly fading light cast shadows over the stones and battered steps. More cypress trees, palms, and eucalyptus shared the top of the hillside with the ruins, flanking the man-made with the natural.
Demetrius eased her down to sit on the broken steps and handed her a short spear. “Take this while I go have a look around.”
She accepted the weapon without a word. The tip was still sharp but she doubted she’d be able to do any damage with it, especially considering she couldn’t walk. Something was better than nothing, though.
Massive columns ran along the front of the structure. Demetrius disappeared inside. Somewhere across the valley a howl erupted, drifting on the air like an ominous warning.
Another shiver ran down her spine, this one not from the temperature but from everything lurking out there in the shadows. How in the name of all the gods had Demetrius opened the portal here? Not for the first time since she’d awakened did she have the feeling he wasn’t telling her the entire truth.
Long minutes passed during which Isadora tried to piece together the fractured memories swirling in her mind. Growing more aggravated by the minute, she tapped her fingers together while she waited, the only sounds now the whistle of the wind through the trees. Just when she was sure Demetrius had ditched her, he appeared from around the far side of the building and stalked across the rocky ground toward her.
Her heart tripped at the sight of him, a reaction that made her draw in a startled breath. As he moved, her eyes shifted to his bare chest, to the slight dusting of dark hair there, to the muscles and sinew flexing beneath his tanned skin. The wounds on his belly had already scabbed over. His black Argonaut fighting pants were bloody and ripped at the knee and he’d lost his shoes at some point, his bare feet making him look more like a mortal man and less like the warrior she knew he was. But it was his face that kept drawing her back. His hard dark eyes, his jaw covered in two days’ worth of stubble, his mouth set in a grim line.
It wasn’t excitement over seeing him that stirred something inside her. It was relief at knowing she wasn’t alone. It had to be.
Her gaze focused on his full lips as he moved closer and out of nowhere she heard his husky voice in her head. Only it wasn’t the condescending, angry voice he usually used with her. This one was deep and gravelly and filled with emotion.
Wake up, kardia. Open your eyes so I know you’re there. Please open your eyes.
Kardia. My heart. Why would he ever call her that? Her pulse stuttered, caught, and picked up speed.
He stopped at the base of the steps and raked a hand through his disheveled hair as he glanced around the ruins. “The place looks empty. It’s got to be an old outpost. Pre-Archaic period, I’m guessing. Most of the roof’s gone but the walls are sound, and there are a few rooms off the main hall with enough shelter for the night.”