“What now?” Theron asked.
“I caught a glimpse of Gryphon’s thoughts—well, um, his thoughts—before he poofed out of here. And it wasn’t good.”
“What do you mean ‘his’?” Theron asked, stepping forward.
“‘His,’ as in the warlock,” Titus answered. “Apophis. Spawn of Hecate. Underling of the devil. Whatever the shit you want to call him. This guy’s got some serious control issues. He made a deal with Atalanta to get the hell out of Thrace Castle, but he’s been planning to double-cross her all along. And that little energy blast Gryphon took? It did exactly what Callia said it would, it killed off his soul. Only Gryphon’s soul didn’t go to the Isles of the Blessed like it should have. It went straight to the Underworld, leaving behind his body and mind for the warlock to do whatever the hell he wants with it.”
Orpheus’s eyes shot to Titus, standing in the doorway.
“Fucking A,” Phineus muttered.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Titus said, his gaze skipping from Phineus to Orpheus and then finally to Theron. “From reading Gryph’s—his—mind, it’s clear Apophis knows Atalanta has the princess. And now that he’s got the Orb of Krónos—”
“Oh, dear gods,” Callia whispered. “He’s going to go after Isadora on his own.”
“Skata,” Theron said, running a hand over his hair.
“You can say that again,” Titus muttered. “Sometimes I’d really rather not know this shit.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Hell is coming, boys. And it’s coming fast.”
Demetrius skidded to a stop just outside the arched doorway that led into the room where he’d left Isadora sleeping. Heart pounding, he dropped the bundle of blankets he’d brought with him and reached for the parazonium at his back, then inched over to glance around the corner.
Across the moonlit space Isadora leaned against the corner of the room. Her eyes were tightly shut, her head flailed from side to side as if she were in pain, but the thwacking he’d heard from the hallway was nothing more than the splint on her lower leg hitting the wall as she moved. There was no one else in the room with her. No Harpies or boars or a hundred other threats he’d imagined on his sprint up here.
He let go of his weapon, stooped to pick up a blanket, and crossed the floor quietly so as not to wake her. It wasn’t comfort, he told himself as he dropped to his knees next to her and laid the blanket over her trembling body. It was…survival. If she broke her leg again, she’d be another few days of dead weight. And he needed her healed so they could get their asses off this damn island. An Argonaut could open a portal into their realm wherever he chose, but since Atalanta had bound his ability, that left everything up to Isadora. Regular Argoleans needed holy ground to open a portal. And that meant he needed her in walking shape so they could scout out that holy ground sooner rather than later.
“Stop fidgeting.”
She kicked out with her good leg, tossed her head his way. “No. Don’t…”
Definitely having a nightmare. Probably about Apophis and his gnarled minions. She flinched before his hand caught the edge of the blanket. “Don’t touch me. Don’t…”
He didn’t want to, but he also didn’t want to waste more of his energy on healing spells when he knew he’d possibly need that energy for other, more important spells tomorrow. Gritting his teeth, he leaned over her, hooked his arm around her blanket-covered thigh to pin her bad leg in place so she couldn’t swing out and whack it against the stone wall. “Dammit, Isadora. I said hold still.”
What his voice didn’t impact, his touch did. Her body went still beneath his, and just as he was taking a breath of relief, she shifted into him, rolled her weight onto his, and pushed him back so he was pinned against the wall.
His head hit the stones with a crack and he cringed as pain lit off behind his eyes. But the throb only briefly registered because in the split second he was caught off guard, she slid her leg up along his thigh and shifted her torso over his so her face fit in the hollow between his shoulder and throat. And then the only thing he felt was heat.
He tensed. Braced his hands against the cold stone floor and had a moment of What the bloody hell do I do now?
She drew in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, her entire body relaxing into his with the movement. Her hand landed against his bare chest, her bad leg draped over his, trapping him in place. But it was the blood humming in her veins and the beating of her heart right against his that really did him in.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. His heart kicked up to the beat of a marching band. He thought through his options, but every single one involved waking her up and he definitely didn’t want to do that. He chanced a look down at her face tucked into his shoulder and caught his breath.
Smooth porcelain skin stretched tight over exceptional bone structure. Light brown eyelashes feathering delicate cheekbones, and a mole next to her sweet, tender mouth.
His heart tattooed a blinding rhythm against his ribs as he stared at her. The thousands of reasons he’d avoided her over the years hit full force. He needed to push her off him, to get up and run far, far away before he did something he’d regret later. He needed—
“Softer than Hades,” she mumbled.
Was she awake?
“Not bony,” she mumbled. “And warm. Hades…so cold.”
A shudder ran through her and she burrowed closer. No, the Isadora he knew would most definitely not huddle this close to him. He shifted his shoulder against the wall at his back.
“Stay,” she murmured, tensing. “Don’t wanna go back to him. Hate going back to him.”
His chest tightened when he realized she’d been dreaming about Hades, not Apophis. Casey’s revelation that Isadora had traded her soul to Hades to save Casey’s life ran back through his mind. And with it a whole host of images of what could have been and probably was done to her when she’d been in the perverse god’s realm.
Just what had she been thinking? Didn’t she realize a deal with Hades was forever? What kind of idiot made that sort of transaction without weighing the consequences? Especially for someone she didn’t even know?
Anger creasing his brow, he opened his mouth to ask just that, then stilled when she drew in a long breath and let it out slowly. Even through the thin blanket he felt the tips of her nipples brush his chest. His skin tingled with awareness and blood pooled hard in his groin, bringing every one of his senses to attention. And when she shifted her leg higher so it grazed his inner thigh, electricity coiled tight in each of his nerve endings.
Oh, man. That felt good. Way too fucking good.
Bad idea. Wrong person. Get the hell away before she wakes up.
The only problem was, his body wasn’t responding to his brain’s commands, and suddenly the only things he could think of were a host of erotic images that involved her, him, and all kinds of sinful positions he’d never let himself imagine before.
Which, if he wasn’t careful, would lead him exactly where he couldn’t go.
Chapter 10
She was hot and achy and couldn’t seem to get comfortable.
Isadora groaned, shifted to her stomach, flipped to her back. Heat pulsed along her ribs, spread to her abdomen. The tips of her nipples tightened to painful levels and her breasts grew heavy and stiff.
When the ache spread lower and she couldn’t find a position that eased the throb, she pulled her eyes open and stared up at the ceiling that wasn’t really a ceiling after all.