Enslaved (22 page)

“Who is she?” Phin asked.

“That’s the question of the day,” Titus answered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and staring at her.

Her gaze shot in his direction, and though he couldn’t be sure, he thought he saw a spark there. A flare of…was that interest?

His blood warmed even as his brain screamed,
Not
a
good
idea
.
You
don’t even know who or what she really is.

Theron looked his way, and Titus read the
What
are
you
picking
up
from
her?
thought in the Argonaut leader’s mind.

He tore his gaze from hers and looked to his guardian kin. “She wouldn’t answer any of my questions, just said she was a friend of Maelea’s. And I’m not getting anything to confirm one way or another.”

“I thought Maelea didn’t have any friends,” Demetrius said near the door.

“Yeah, bingo,” Titus answered, looking back at her.

Her breaths picked up speed. She didn’t break his gaze.

Callia pushed out of the crouch she’d been in and rested a reassuring hand on the female’s back. “You boys aren’t helping the situation. Theron, I need to take her down to the clinic. I want someone to check her out.”

“Titus will take her,” Theron answered. “Nick’s healers are good. You can check on her in a little while, Callia, but we need you here for a few minutes.”

That didn’t seem to appease Callia, but she nodded.

“T?” Theron asked.

“Yo.”

“You up to staying with her until we’re done here? I want to ask her a few questions, but first we need to figure out where the hell Gryphon is.”

“Sure. I’m up for it.” He was more than up for it. He had his own questions he wanted answered.

Callia helped the redhead out of the chair. When Titus reached for her other arm and his fingers pressed against her bare flesh, his head spun all over again. A hazy feeling settled in, leaving him loose and relaxed. Callia looked down at where he touched her, and concern dawned in her eyes before they shot to his.

Titus shook his head as the two helped the redhead toward the door, and conversation picked back up behind them. “Don’t ask,” he said. “I don’t have a clue what it means either.”

Casey turned toward Nick and Theron. “So we think we narrowed down where they might be—or at least where they were as of an hour ago. But Callia and I are both in agreement. It’s too much stress on Isadora to look again. It’s not good for her health or the health of the baby.”

“You guys,” Isadora protested, “I’m fine. Demetrius, tell them I’m fine.”

“Don’t look at me,
kardia
,” Demetrius said with a frown. “I’m with them. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t even be in the human realm right now.”

Callia glanced over the redhead’s curls toward Titus. “I’ll be down as soon as I can,”

He slipped an arm around the redhead’s waist to hold her up, liking the feel of her body against his way more than he expected. Really liking that high he was experiencing just from touching her. “Go. I’ve got her. I think this is an argument you need to be in on.”

“Thank you,” Callia whispered.

Callia let go, and the redhead leaned into Titus for support. Whether it was because she wanted to or needed him, he didn’t know. But man, that felt good. The heat of her body, the slide of her skin. And that sweet, floral scent mixing with his already foggy mind…Heaven.

As he led her through the massive gathering room with its soaring ceiling and gigantic fireplace toward the elevator, and the voices behind him dimmed with distance, he told himself this was a slippery slope to traverse. A female he could touch and who left him feeling high? Combined with the fact she was hotter than hell? If ever there was a temptation, she was it.

She balked when they neared the elevator.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I…no elevator. I can’t…”

Claustrophobic? That worked out good for him. It meant he got to enjoy the feel of her body pressed up to his even longer.

“Okay,” he said, his arm tightening around her, the heat of her body seeping deeper into his skin, igniting a burn in his flesh he’d missed more than he ever thought possible. “No elevator. We’ll take the stairs.”

He steered her toward a doorway at the end of the hall. “I’m Titus, by the way. I can either call you Thief or Panic Attack, unless you’ve got a name you’d rather I use.”

“Na-Natasa.”

He pushed the door to the stairwell open with his shoulder. “Natasa. That means ‘resurrection’ in Old Greek, doesn’t it?”

She didn’t answer. But one thought got through:
Fuck
.

Not that he wouldn’t like to. But there was a story there. One he needed to discover first. One some deep-buried instinct told him was going to mean something important. Soon.

***

Gryphon stood on the small dock and listened to the water slapping gently against the pilings beneath his feet. The lake looked like a black, oily slick, reflecting the motel lights across the road behind him. No moon shone, and there were no other lights around the perimeter of the small lake, which meant if there was any civilization out there, it was hidden in the densely forested mountains beyond. He hadn’t even known there was water out here until he left the motel and went for a walk to try to clear his head.

Dooooulas. Come to me…

He scrubbed at his scalp, pressed his fingers against his ears, knew he needed to go back to Maelea so the voice wouldn’t torment him, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew he was in control. His body still hummed with a mixture of arousal and anger that left him on edge. He wanted her, dammit, but he wasn’t about to let some female—some daughter of Zeus, for shit’s sake—get in the way of what he needed to do next.

Dooooulas…

He raked his hands through his hair and dug his fingernails into his scalp until pain shot through his skin. The voice was so much louder out here. So much more insistent.

Come
to
me,
doulas
. You know you can’t resist for long…

He pulled hard on his hair. “Leave me the fuck alone!”

“Not usually the reaction I get when I come calling.”

His head snapped up. The petite, elderly female dressed in diaphanous white seemed to hover over the surface of the water.
Skata
, was he hallucinating now too? That shouldn’t surprise him. After the shit he’d been through, nothing should fucking surprise him. But it did. “What…? How…?”

“Now
that’s
the reaction I usually get,” she said with a grin.

A Fate. Before she even leveled those white irises on him, he realized she was Lachesis, the Fate who spins the thread of life. And though he tried to contain it, he just couldn’t stop the anger and rage from spilling over. “You’re here now? I could have used you five fucking months ago. Not
now
.”

Her features softened. She floated toward the end of the dock and stopped. Not, he noticed, close enough for him to touch her. Or grab her. Or drown her for abandoning him when he needed her most.

“The choices were not yours to make in the Underworld,” she said. “Hence I would have been of no use to you there. Now is when you need guidance, Guardian.”

Fuck guidance. He needed a lobotomy so he could forget the hell of the Underworld. So he could stop hearing that damn voice. He leveled his steely gaze on her. “I don’t need you or any of the gods. Go screw over someone else’s life.”

He turned for the shore, vibrating with a fury that came from the core of him. A fury—an
emotion
—he realized he hadn’t felt before Maelea came into his life. But the Fate appeared in front of him before he could step off the dock. And the depths of her white irises stilled his feet. “Choice was taken away from you, Guardian, and it was wrong, but you endured. You will endure now because you are strong. Maelea is more important than you know. Keep her safe.”

Wariness crept in. “What’s so important about Maelea? She herself said no one wants her.”

Mystery swam in the glow of the Fate’s blinding eyes. “I cannot answer that. But I can tell you this. There is a reason you are together now. A reason you were sent to the Underworld. A reason that will someday make sense to you.”

She faded before he could ask what the hell she was smoking.

Shaking his head at her vague advice, he headed for the road. Gravel crunched under the soles of his boots. Like he needed more voices telling him what to do? And what the hell was she telling him anyway? To be nice to Maelea? The princess of the fucking Underworld? Screw that.

He reached the road, his temper bubbling with each step. Where had the Fate been when he was being tortured in the Underworld? Where were the rest of the Argonauts? Orpheus was the only one who’d cared to come after him, and then only because he’d felt guilty. And Maelea? Too fucking bad if she was an innocent victim in all of this. So the hell was he.

A roar sounded from the direction of the motel. He narrowed his eyes to see through the darkness. And spotted two, three…no, four daemons rounding the corner of the building.

His adrenaline surged. He grasped the knife he’d strapped to his thigh before heading to the lake. That was exactly what he needed. A knock-down, drag-out, shit-kicking fight to remind him he was alive. That he wasn’t in hell anymore. That the only hell around him now was the result of one vindictive brunette locked in his motel room.

Maelea…

He’d left her chained to the bed. Without a weapon. While he’d walked away to clear his head. Panic closed in and choked the air in his lungs. Glass shattered across the parking lot. A scream ripped through the darkness.

Fear pushed Gryphon’s legs forward. His lungs burned as he raced across the pavement to reach her in time. He didn’t bother with the doorknob, just threw his shoulder against the wood and crashed into the motel room, tearing the door from the frame, sending splintered wood flying across the ground.

One daemon had already come through the broken window. Another was on its heels. Maelea stood on the bed, throwing lamps and pillows and anything she could reach at the monsters with her free hand.

He hurled himself in front of her, arced out with the blade, caught the first daemon across the chest. Blood streamed. The daemon roared. His claws connected with Gryphon’s shoulder, knocking him back into Maelea. She screamed, jumped back as far as her cuffed arm would let her go. Gryphon’s head cracked against the headboard, but he slashed out again with his knife, this time connecting with the daemon’s thigh, slicing right into its femoral artery.

The daemon screamed a deafening sound, dropped to its knee. Blood gushed over the bed and floor. The second daemon knocked the first out of the way and charged. At the window, three more were scrambling to get into the room.

They were outnumbered and about to be overrun. And he had no idea where he’d left his sword.

He swung out, but the charging daemon plowed into him, knocked him off the mattress and into the wall. His shoulder and head hit with a crack. Pain raced along his limbs. He kicked out, swung with the puny knife in his hand. Caught the daemon across the neck. Blood spurted. The daemon howled and staggered back. Gryphon tried to push up to his feet, but a vibration knocked him back into the wall. One that seemed to come from the ground and made the other daemons in the room stumble, grab on to whatever piece of furniture was close, and steady themselves.

“Get up!” Maelea cried. “Do something!

He scanned the room, took in the seething monsters ready to annihilate, Maelea standing on the mattress, cuffed to the headboard, her face alight with fear and horror. And knew there wasn’t time to free her. No time to mount a defense. No suitable weapons to protect them.

Keep
her
safe.

Gryphon was down to his last option. And using it—the gift he’d gotten from his forefather Perseus—meant losing Maelea forever.

Chapter Thirteen

Gryphon dug the key from the front pocket of his pants and tossed it toward Maelea. “Here!”

She caught it with her free hand and tried to get it into the lock on her cuffs. Her fingers shook. She missed the hole. Three more daemons poured into the room through the broken window while Gryphon scrambled to his feet and kicked the injured beast in front of him to the ground, then arced out with his blade, catching another in its arm.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered, fumbling with the key. There! The key slipped in, turned. The cuff sprang from her wrist.

“You,” the closest daemon growled, advancing on Gryphon. “Atalanta is looking for you.”