Tempted

Chapter 11

Casey bit her lip as she waited outside her father’s suite. She’d promised Theron she would try to take a nap before dinner, but seriously, that was just an asinine request. Who could sleep at a time like this?

The door to the king’s rooms opened and her half sister stepped out. Callia closed the door quietly at her back, drew a deep breath, and rubbed her forehead.

“I know that feeling,” Casey said.

Callia’s head came up. “How long have you been out here? You should have come in. He—”

“He’s not the one I’ve been waiting to see.”

“Probably best. I had to give him a sedative. He’s not handling the news about Isadora well.” Callia glanced back toward the door. “This is pushing him closer to the end.”

A space in Casey’s chest pinched at the thought of her long-lost father, the king, dying so soon after she’d found him. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. But it was life. And if there was one lesson she’d learned over the years, it was that you made the best of what was thrown your way. Even when you didn’t like the pitch.

The door opened and Callia stepped back as Althea, the king’s personal attendant, moved out with a scowl on her face. “I can hear you both plain as day. Shoo. He needs his rest. Take your naysayer attitudes somewhere else.”

Casey, familiar with Althea’s bossiness, rolled her eyes. The frown on Callia’s lips shifted to a smirk.

“I’m thirsty,” Callia said to her sister. “Grab a drink with me? You look like you need one more than I do.”

“I’m fine,” Casey said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m a healer. It’s my job to worry.”

“Actually,” Casey said hesitantly, drawing Callia up short, “Theron asked for you.”

“Is there any—”

“No. No news. This is more about Demetrius.” At Callia’s perplexed expression, Casey motioned toward the hall. “Come on. I’ll explain on the way.”

The two fell into step down the massive corridor. The king was rooted in tradition and it showed in every inch of the castle. Massive Grecian columns lined the hallway, rising at least thirty feet to the soaring ceiling. Candles in sconces lit the way. Rich-colored throw rugs and plush furnishings lined the rooms they passed. Casey explained what little update she knew as they moved, but as they reached the end of the corridor and headed down the grand stairs to the king’s study several floors below, she noticed the tightness in Callia’s shoulders.

She stopped her sister with a hand on her arm before they reached the bottom step. “No one blames you about Gryphon. You know that, right? You did everything you could.”

Callia turned to look at Casey. They were roughly the same height and weight, with the same violet eyes and some of the same mannerisms. Though they didn’t share the same mother, the similarities between them were obvious now. “Did I?”

“Yes, you did,” Casey said with conviction. “I was there. I saw him. No one blames you. Not Theron, not the other Argonauts. No one.”

“Orpheus blames me.”

Casey frowned. “Orpheus is—”

“Orpheus is right.” Callia held up her hand, studied it as she turned it in the low light. “I can’t help thinking if he’d had another healer…” Her gaze shifted from her hand to Casey. “It’s fading. I can feel it. Something’s wrong with me. When I was treating Gryphon, I needed Max to use his powers of transference for things I should be able to do myself. Every day that passes…I feel like I’m losing a part of myself.”

“How?”

Callia huffed. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now. Except that I feel a change. Zander feels it too, only he won’t talk about it. I can tell by the way he looks at me though. And I’m tired, Casey. All the time. More every day. Just like I know you are.”

Casey’s chest pinched at Callia’s words. Yes, she was more tired today than she’d been yesterday, but she was trying not to read too much into that. But this…this news that Callia felt it too…She hadn’t considered the ramifications of Isadora’s absence. As the Chosen, she and Isadora were linked together. Hades had warned them not to separate too far or too long. But Callia…she wasn’t technically part of the Chosen prophecy.

She was, however, one of the king’s three daughters, and as they’d all recently learned, she was connected to both Casey and Isadora through the Horae, the ancient Greek goddesses of balance, and a paternal link all the way back to Themis, the Titan who’d spawned the Horae. If Casey was feeling the ill effects of Isadora’s separation, it made sense now that Callia, as the balance to the Chosen, would feel it too.

And then there was Zander. The only immortal Argonaut. Only he wasn’t quite so immortal after all, was he? The guardians had all assumed he couldn’t be killed because he hadn’t found his Achilles heel like every other male from his line had. But after 829 years, they now knew he had one vulnerability: Callia. Whatever physical effects she suffered, he suffered as well, and when her life ended, his would too.

Casey’s stomach churned and a whole host of new worries lit off in her brain. This now went beyond simply Casey and Isadora. If Isadora wasn’t found…not one, not two, but four would die. And the kingdom…

She had to tell Theron.

“Something has to be done,” Callia said, her worried voice cutting through Casey’s thoughts. “I’m not afraid to die, but I can’t—I won’t—let anyone turn out my son.” Until Isadora produced an heir, Max was next in line for the throne. “Do you honestly believe the Council would let a ten-year-old rule?”

No, Casey didn’t believe for a second Lucian, the Council leader, would live up to that agreement. It didn’t matter that Callia’s son Max was of royal blood, that his father was an Argonaut. To the Council he would forever be the illegitimate grandson of the king. And in their eyes, tarnished. Casey now understood what Theron so adamantly protected every day of his life—not just the order of the Argonauts, but their entire kingdom, their world. The Council did not grasp the depth of Atalanta’s vengeance or her hatred. If rule were left up to them, Atalanta would already have Argolea in ruins.

“I can’t sit back and do nothing much longer,” Callia whispered.

“Hopefully you won’t have to.” Casey tugged Callia the rest of the way to the king’s study and pushed the door open.

Heads turned as they entered. Theron looked up from some map he was studying on the desk and smiled Casey’s way, but it was a tight, strained motion that spoke of his stress. Zander crossed to tug Callia close. Max sat in Theron’s chair, listening to the guardians, and his face brightened when he saw his mother step into the room. Cerek and Phineus stood by Theron’s desk with their massive arms crossed over their chests.

“Where is Titus?” Casey asked her husband.

“He went to see the witches, to try to locate Orpheus.”

Casey glanced at her sister, then back at Theron. “Why do I get the feeling that’s not a good thing?”

“Because O’s gonna seriously fuck things up instead of make them better if someone doesn’t stop him,” Phineus mumbled.

Theron shot the Argonaut a scathing look, then turned back to Casey and forcibly relaxed his features. “I’m still not sure this is a good idea.”

She frowned, because they’d already been through this. Several times. And they’d already agreed this was the best option they had. “We have to know one way or the other, right?”

“Know what?” Callia asked.

Theron looked her way. “Whether Demetrius is truly guilty of treason like Gryphon said before…skata, before he poofed out of here.”

“And how do you plan to figure that out?” Callia asked.

“Casey’s gift is hindsight, thea.”

Callia turned to look up at Zander. “So you’re telling me she’s going to look back to see if he planned to kidnap Isadora?”

“Not his plans,” Casey corrected. “I can’t see his thoughts. But by touching him—or, well, something of his—I can get a glimpse of his past. I can tell us all if what Gryphon said is true. If Atalanta really is his mother. If she is—”

“Then every one of his badass moods and questionable actions over the years makes a sick sort of sense,” Cerek muttered.

Callia’s gaze swept over the room and then her eyes settled on Max, sitting in Theron’s chair behind the desk, his legs swinging in the air. And as if she’d finally clued in to what was going on, they jumped right to Casey. “You’re not strong enough to do this on your own.”

“I’m fine—”

“You’re not fine, meli.” Theron looked to Callia. “I won’t risk her, even to know this about one of our own. I need to know if it’s safe for her to do this. She grows weaker every day Isadora is gone. I don’t want to put extra stress on her.”

Callia’s eyes settled on Casey again and Casey frowned, both hating and loving Theron’s protective nature. “I’m fine, Callia. Max is only here as a precaution. In case I need a little extra oomph to look. Trust me, if I was really ill I wouldn’t even consider it.”

Callia stepped close, held out both hands in front of her sister but didn’t touch her. Her eyes fell closed and she seemed to be concentrating, but on what Casey didn’t know. Casey felt a warm tug deep in her chest, then nothing but a smattering of tingles.

Seconds later Callia opened her eyes, then looked back at Theron. “She’s telling you the truth. She’s strong enough. But it’s a good idea to have Max here just in case.”

Max swung his legs back and forth, glanced from face to face. His power of transference was the most valuable any of the Argonauts possessed, but he was still only ten, and if Casey’s suspicions were correct, what she was going to see in Demetrius’s past wouldn’t be appropriate for a child.

“I’ll tell you if I need Max’s help.” Casey turned to her husband. “Feel better now?”

The crease in his brow said no, but it was the worry in his dark eyes that softened her. She stepped to him, ran her hand over his jaw. “Stop worrying, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Everything will be fine when Isadora is home and I know you’re safe,” he whispered. “Until then, you’ll just have to deal with me.”

Demetrius made it halfway down the steep hillside toward the beach on the northern side of the island before he heard the horrific scream from the trees behind him.

He jerked that way. Not human, not Argolean, definitely monster. But the sound had come from the direction of the stream.

Isadora.

Shit. Shit!

He’d just left her. She couldn’t have gotten into trouble already. Did the female have a target strapped to her forehead?

He scrambled back up the steep hill, his heart pounding hard against his ribs as he moved. Sweat slicked his skin as he raced along the path. When he reached the riverbank minutes later, he found nothing but empty plastic buckets lying on their sides and the dagger he’d given her resting near the edge of the stream.

“Skata.”

Worry jumped to panic. “Isadora!”

An ear-piercing scream brought his head around. He reached for the blade at his back and took off at a dead run.

He skidded to a stop where the stream spilled into a small lake. A thick, soupy fog hung all around the water, making it hard to see what lay beyond the western shore, but there was no missing what floated in the middle. Or what hovered above, waiting to strike.

Isadora lay on her back in the center of the water, her eyes closed, her hands fanned out to the side. She looked peaceful, like she was asleep, but above her three shadowy wraiths lingered. Waiting. Licking their chops like vultures ready to devour.

His heart shot into his throat.

“Hey!” He jumped up and down to get their attention, waved his sword in the air. Isadora didn’t so much as move, but the heads of all three monsters came up and their crimson eyes zeroed in on him with deadly focus.

Oh, shit. Not wraiths at all. These were the Keres. Daughters of Nyx, sisters of the Fates, female death spirits who drank the blood of their prey. They couldn’t kill, not by force. And from what little he knew of them, they waited until death was already drawing close to strike a target.

His eyes darted to Isadora. But she looked the same as when he’d left her at the stream. Asleep, maybe, but she wasn’t close to death. She was—

The water around her rippled, and near her bare leg a scaled tentacle broke the surface only to disappear again.

Oh…fuuuuuck!

He charged into the water without a second thought, screaming Isadora’s name until he dove beneath the surface. His muscles burned as he swam with everything he had in him. When something brushed his leg, he swam harder. Even under the water he could hear the Keres above shrieking.

He gasped as he broke the surface near Isadora. His hand closed over her arm, but she still didn’t move. Not even when he wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her toward the shore. “Wake up, dammit!”

She was dead weight in the water. It took twice as long to reach the shore, and every time something grazed his limbs he was sure it was some kind of serpent about to eat them. His feet finally hit the silty soil; he stumbled, righted himself, turned and slipped his arms under Isadora’s to haul her out of the water. The cotton of her shirt tore.

The Keres screamed their frustration as Demetrius dragged her back onto the shore. As he cleared the edge, a bubbling sound echoed. He looked back to see the water in the center of the lake churning and fizzing. The Keres shrieked and disappeared into the fog.

Dread filled Demetrius’s chest as he supported Isadora and watched the water recede as if being sucked in by a giant vortex. Rocks and reeds and tree trunks came into view, but what held his undivided attention was the mighty beast with six heads emerging from the column of water in the center of the lake.

“Holy fucking shit.” He looked down at Isadora, out cold in his arms, then back to the creature that was a cross between a serpent and six different dragons. No way he could outrun it. Not with her unconscious. His adrenaline surged. Options raced through his mind. He still had the sword in his hand.

He laid Isadora out on the grass behind a giant shrub and drew her legs in so she was completely hidden from view. Then he swallowed hard and held his hands over her, muttering in Medean, casting the mother of all protection spells and drawing deep from whatever power was left in him.

He was a crappy witch. He’d never developed his craft. He hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t cared. Now, though…now he wished he’d embraced his heritage at least a little.

With the measly spell cast, there was nothing else he could do but distract and divert. And hope like hell she woke up and got the hell out of there before the monster found her.

He took one last look at her lying on the grass, out cold and soaking wet. And for the first time in his life he wished he hadn’t been such an asshole to her. That he’d felt what it was like to have her arms wrapped around his body. That he’d tasted those sweet lips. That he’d just once gotten lost in her softness.

Wishing is for shit.

Yeah, he knew that better than anyone, didn’t he? The only bright spot in this whole nightmare was that Atalanta wasn’t going to get what she so desperately wanted.

He stepped back onto the lakeshore, stayed in the shadows, and sprinted around the far side of the water, well away from Isadora’s hiding spot. Pulse pounding, he slowed to a stop and gripped the sword in both hands. “Hey!”

The water column arced in all directions, splattering across Demetrius and the ground. The beast swung around. Two heads on the monster blew fire six feet out.

“Is that the best you can do?” Demetrius yelled. “Why don’t you come over here and try that?”

The middle head roared, then the creature dove underwater and raced toward shore.

Demetrius braced his feet on the soft soil and reared back with the blade, ready to strike. The beast shot from the water like a bullet, flew over his head, and landed on all four feet with a crack that shook the ground. Demetrius whipped around. One head shot forward, the hideous mouth opened. Before it could roast him, Demetrius swung the sword.

The blade sliced through the thick neck. The head fell to the ground with a thwack. The other heads screamed and pulled back. But instead of slowing the monster, the wound seemed to give it strength. Two heads instantly grew from the one severed. And then there were seven.

“Fuck me.” This wasn’t any monster, this was a Hydra. His mind raced over what he new of the legendary beast. Each time one head was lost, two grew back in its place. Only one head was mortal. Decapitating that one was the only way to kill the creature.

Of course, you had to figure out which one that was. And you had to get close enough to cut it off. And you had to avoid being torched by all the other heads in the meantime.

Oh, man…he was so screwed.

He glanced back to the brush where Isadora lay hidden. Then his gaze shot to the fog.

He waved his sword in the air. “Try again, shithead!” He took off running.

The Hydra heads roared, but the monster took the bait and gave chase. The fog thickened. Demetrius couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of him, but he kept running, wanting to draw the beast as far away as possible. Up ahead he heard a loud crashing sound, and not knowing what the hell he was running toward, he veered off into a thicket of trees.

The crashing grew louder. A lion’s roar sounded. Demetrius looked back just in time to see flames erupt from the fog in the direction he’d been headed. Holy skata, there was something else out here. The Hydra bellowed in response, but instead of following Demetrius into the trees, it charged the newcomer.

Snapping and screams pierced the eerie fog. The two monsters collided with a crack that sounded like a two-ton bomb detonating. They rolled across the ground, taking down trees and stumps and anything in their way.

Demetrius scrambled back out of the way. Only when the second monster jerked to its massive feet and Demetrius got a good look at its size did he realize it was a Chimera, an enormous lion-headed creature with the body of a goat and the tail of a dragon. The Hydra righted itself. The seven heads roared a challenge in unison. The Chimera didn’t seem to give a rip. It braced itself, opened its mighty mouth, and vomited a steady stream of fire that seemed to have no end.

Okay, he was not sticking around to see who won this fucked up, no-way-in-hell-this-should-be-real battle. Demetrius sprinted back to Isadora. He was pretty sure his heart was in his throat by the time he skidded to his knees at her side. One quick check confirmed she was still unconscious, but breathing. Another loud roar kicked him into overdrive. He scooped Isadora into his arms. And then he ran.