Tempted

Chapter 15

Isadora leaned back against the wall in the great hall of the ruins and stared into the dancing flames of the fire Demetrius had built to cook the fish he’d finally caught. Stars twinkled overhead where the roof should have been, and not for the first time she marveled at the fact there was absolutely no smoke drifting up to the inky sky giving away their location to the monsters in the trees down the hill below. Maybe witchcraft wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

“What are you thinking?” he asked from across the fire. He sat on a log he’d hauled in along with the rest of the firewood, tipped forward, his elbows perched on his knees as he stoked the coals.

She drew her legs up to her chest. Her belly was full, her head felt light, and something about the way he kept watching her told her tonight was going to change her life forever. She might not have her sense of foresight anymore, but she was a female. And as such she still had her intuition.

“I was just thinking that your little tricks come in handy now and then.”

He smirked—gods, how she loved the way his lips curled with ease now—and went back to stoking the coals. She’d done that. She’d gotten under his skin and brought out that part of him he’d closed off to everyone else. It still amazed her this was the same ándras who’d scowled and snarled and berated her back at the castle.

“Not everyone thinks so.”

“Do the other guardians know?”

“No. And it’s none of their damn business.”

She got that. “Then who—?”

“My father wasn’t wild about my tricks.”

It was the first time she’d ever heard him talk of his family. And though a small part of her realized it was strange he was suddenly being so open with her, she wanted to capitalize on it. “He didn’t have the same gift?”

He harrumphed. “No. Akrisios abhorred all things witch related.”

“Even though Medea was his ancestor?”

“Because Medea was his ancestor.”

That struck her as odd. “Why?”

He shrugged, stared into the flames. “Because Hera tricked Jason into falling in love with Medea. She was one of the first soul mate curses. And in the end, when he realized he’d been duped, he left and she ruined him. She killed their children out of spite and revenge. All but one, who’d gotten away.”

She’d heard the legend. She knew how awful the end had been for Jason. “But without her your father would never have lived.”

“Doesn’t matter. He believed Jason’s line would have been stronger without her.”

“What do you believe?”

He held his hands out, palms down, to stare at the Argonaut markings on his forearms. “I believe I was doubly cursed because of her.”

The acidic honesty was unsettling, and as much as she wanted to know about his lineage, she wanted to know more about his immediate family more. “What did your father do? When he realized you had her gift?”

“He freaked. Forbade me to light candles with a sweep of my hand or cast spells that turned the housekeeper’s hair purple.” She smirked at the images he painted. “And when I didn’t listen, he used a tria mastigio on me.”

Her brow dropped low. “What’s that?”

“It’s a short whip about this long.” He held out his hands roughly two feet apart. “It’s got three leather strips that stretch out from the handle and each one has a barbed end.”

Shock rippled through her belly. “He beat you?”

“I had it coming.”

“Because you performed measly tricks on the servants?”

He shrugged again. “He told me to stop and I didn’t.”

Her eyes rushed over his bare chest, a golden glow in the firelight. She’d noticed scars on his chest and back from battles and fighting, but nothing that indicated he’d been beaten. “Where?”

“Someplace no one would ever see.”

She contemplated that, glanced at his legs covered by the frayed pants, and imagined all the muscled perfection of him scarred at the hand of someone else. His words were spoken so casually he could have been discussing the weather, but underneath she sensed disgust over what had been done to him. And a bitter hatred for a father who should have loved him and didn’t.

“Where was your mother?”

He shrugged again and went back to stoking the coals. “I don’t know. They weren’t bound. According to him, she seduced him one night and I was the unwanted result. Then after I was born she dumped me with him, and because I had the Argonaut markings he was duty bound to train me.”

Not love him. She heard the sad truth in his words. “You don’t have any siblings?”

“One. A brother. But he was raised in the human realm. And we’re not exactly close.”

“In the human realm? Where?”

He shrugged and eased back. “Closer than you think.”

She wanted to ask more, but the hard line of his words told her he wasn’t about to open that box of horrors—at least not yet—so she didn’t push. Instead she said, “What he did to you was wrong, Demetrius.”

“Why? You didn’t like my tricks when you first saw them.”

“That was before I knew you.”

“You still don’t know me.”

His low voice set off a tingling in her chest.

“I got him back though,” he said in a carefree voice. “We were in the human world. It was during my training. One day we were separated from the rest of the Argonauts and a pack of daemons came upon us. Completely outnumbered. He ordered me to cast an invisibility spell around us. I refused. After all, I wasn’t supposed to.” He stared down into the flames and his tone sobered. “It was the last thing he ever ordered me to do.”

Her stomach clenched. She heard the unsaid words: he’d watched his father die. Could he have prevented it? By then he had to have been how old? Thirty? Forty? If it had been her, if she’d been abused that long, she may have done the same.

Even as the questions hit, something else registered. The way he kept flicking his eyes at her, judging her reaction, checking to see if he’d shocked her. As if he wanted to shock her. But why? After everything that had happened between them, why would he want to scare her into thinking he was—

And then it made sense. Being cruel hadn’t worked. Telling her no hadn’t done anything but push her closer to him. He was as attracted to her as she was to him, and it scared him so much he was reverting to his last defense—shocking her into disgust.

She pushed up from the ground and walked around the fire before she could rethink her action. He looked up with a wary expression as she approached.

“The fire’s almost out.” She held out her hand. “Let’s go to bed.”

His gaze dropped to her hand and he swallowed hard. “I—”

Oh yeah. He was definitely pulling out all the stops. Well, so was she. For the first time in her life she knew exactly what she wanted and she wasn’t afraid to go after it. “No more excuses, Demetrius. Come with me.”

Hesitantly, he slid his fingers in hers and let her pull him from his seat. They walked through the secret doorway into the stairwell together. The door sealed behind them. As she led him down the spiral staircase, her heart thumped so hard against her ribs she was sure he had to hear it. But she wasn’t afraid. If anything, she felt powerful.

The Hall of Heroes was dark when they reached the bottom step. He waved his hand and lit one torch along the far wall. Shadows and light played over his face, over his muscular body as she pulled him toward the makeshift bed. And when she turned to face him, she saw a thousand thoughts and emotions rush over his features.

She moved into him, until the heat and life of his body swirled around her and settled deep in her soul. “I want to be with you,” she said softly as she rested her hands on his rock-hard abdomen.

His fingers landed gently on her shoulders, the brush of his skin against hers igniting a rush of hormones deep in her body. “Kardia—”

“Here, tonight. Like last night, only this time I want you.” His eyes darkened at her words. “All of you, Demetrius.”

“You can’t. Your father—”

“It’s my choice to make. I’ve waited a long time. And tonight I choose you.”

“Kardia.”

The emotion in that one word, my heart, stole her breath. Grasping the hem of her tank top, she tugged it over her head. The worn cotton landed against the dirt floor, but his eyes didn’t follow. They were locked on her. Right where she wanted them.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

His hand came up and she held her breath in anticipation as his fingertips grazed the swell of her breast. Her nipples puckered and a heavy ache settled between her legs. He stared at her breast, licked his lips, moved a fraction of an inch closer.

“Yes.”

“I…” His eyes darted up to her face. “I think you should get some sleep.”

He was gone before she could stop him. Before she even realized what had happened. “Demetrius?”

But he didn’t answer. The only sound was his bare feet hitting the stone steps. Then the whoosh and slam of the great door at the top of the staircase.

Confused, she tried to figure out what she’d done to make him run. Every time something happened between them, he pulled back at the last minute. Almost as if he was afraid she wouldn’t really want him if he got too close.

Her gaze swept over the room and landed on Jason’s chest. Every time, he pulls back.

Her skin grew hot and damp as an idea took root.

A leader goes after what he wants. He doesn’t take no for an answer. Her father had said that so many times it was ingrained in her mind. Wasn’t it time she started acting like the leader she was destined to become?

Yes. Yes, it was. And what she wanted right now was Demetrius.

Demetrius stalled as long as he could. Until the chill night air sent gooseflesh all over his skin and he shivered in the great hall. The fire had gone out. He was too tired to light another and didn’t think he had enough magick left inside to cloak the smoke this time anyway.

Okay, this was stupid. She had to be asleep by now. He’d just go in, grab a blanket, and slip right back out. She’d never even know he was there.

As he moved soundlessly down the steps to the Hall of Heroes again, he called himself ten kinds of stupid. He was an Argonaut. Hiding from a female. From the weak little princess, for crying out loud. If the guys ever caught wind of this…

He let that thought die as soon as it hit. The rest of the guardians were never gonna know any of this. Especially not anything that had happened between him and Isadora last night.

Dumb, dumb, really fucking dumb. That was him in a friggin’ nutshell.

The chamber was quiet when he reached the floor. The torch across the room still flickered and burned, but it had died down and now cast only a dim glow over the heroes’ trunks. Quietly, he moved toward the dark corner where Isadora—hopefully—was sacked out.

His night vision sharpened. He caught sight of her lying still on her side, one leg angled out in front of her, her hands tucked up near her face. She’d kicked the blanket off and the orange tank top rode up on her abdomen, giving him a nice view of her toned hip and creamy skin. The shorts, though baggy, were the perfect length to showcase her shapely legs and the winged omega marking on her inner thigh. Warmth gathered in his stomach as his eyes ran over her body.

Go. Now. Leave.

With a muffled grunt, she rolled to her other side. He tensed, afraid he’d awakened her, but when he looked closer he realized her eyes were still shut and her chest rose and fell in rhythmic succession. And that’s when he noticed her breasts pushing against the strained cotton. That warmth turned to a white-hot burn that pooled in his groin. Hard.

Don’t just go. Run.

He hesitated. What if her nightmares came back? If he was all the way upstairs, he’d never hear her scream. She didn’t have the nightmares when he was close, so maybe if he just slinked down in the corner…

It wasn’t an excuse to get close to her, he told himself. He reached for an extra blanket from the floor, but as he drew near, her sweet feminine scent enveloped him and cut through what was left of his gray matter.

The corner would be uncomfortable. And the bed he’d made for her was easily big enough for two. He’d slept on it next to her last night and nothing had happened. And gods knew he was more tired tonight than he had been then. If he was going to leave her in the morning to hike around and find holy ground, he needed at least a few hours of rest.

Careful, so as not to wake her, he eased in beside her, tucked his arm behind his head, and lay down on his back. She lay facing him but—thankfully—was still asleep.

He released a breath. Closed his eyes. And fell instantly asleep.

The light rain hit Apophis’s cheek with a sting he felt deep in the fleshy tissue of his skin.

Not his skin by birth, but his now by possession. He lifted the young Argonaut hand attached to this new body and ran it across his smooth, unwrinkled cheek. Power coursed through his veins. He was strong, not just mentally anymore but physically. And he was no longer confined to that bloody prison. He couldn’t wait to test out this new body in every way possible.

The portal popped and sizzled as it closed. Crossing the frozen ground, he tried to remember what those useless Argoleans had called him. Grant? Grim? No, Gryphon. Yes, that was it. The Argonaut Gryphon. Playing the character wouldn’t be so important now, but shortly it would be. And this was the perfect time and place to experiment with his newfound persona.

Northern British Columbia. A frozen wasteland as far as he was concerned, but a means to an end. He narrowed his—Gryphon’s—eyes and peered through the trees toward the main house some three hundred yards across the clearing. Night fell fast this far north, but the hour was late. Atalanta would already have dismissed her warriors to their barracks. The archdaemon resided with her in the house, but before turning in for the night he’d make a sweep through the outer buildings and check in with security.

Oh, Apophis wasn’t a fool. He’d done his research, especially since siding with Atalanta. The archdaemon was the one he needed. It would know what she had planned.

He hovered in the shadows. Waited. Watched. Planned. Did Atalanta think she could outmaneuver him? Outthink him? She did not have a clue about what lingered deep inside him. From the edge of his vision he watched lights dim in the last bunkhouse, then the archdaemon close and lock the door behind him before turning for the field that led back to the main house.

Apophis’s muscles vibrated. Magick gathered in the depths of his new hands. The power burst from his fingers and struck with deadly precision, taking the daemon down with one blow to the back of the neck that paralyzed his limbs within seconds. He was on the daemon before it could gasp, grasping its jacket and dragging the body into the trees so the security detail roaming these woods wouldn’t be any the wiser.

He dropped the daemon at the base of a great pine tree, knelt down so he was face-to-face with the monster. “Your mistress took something that belongs to me. I want it back.”

Recognition swept over the archdaemon’s features and his eyes widened in horror. “You…you’re not…a guardi—”

“No,” he whispered, leaning even closer until the glow from his eyes turned the daemon’s face, the ground, even the base of the tree just to his left, a blinding shade of blue. “I am your worst nightmare. And I can make you feel pain like you’ve never known. Tell me where the princess is and I will let you live.”

The daemon trembled with such force, Apophis knew it realized death was but a breath away. “I…she…”

“Your fate will be a thousand times worse with me than your mistress, I guarantee it. The princess. Now. I grow tired of this conversation.” He held up his hand for effect and watched the daemon’s eyes grow even wider as it stared at the power pulsing inside his newfound skin, the blue glow backlighting the bones and veins and tendons within.

The daemon swallowed hard. “In the human realm. An island. She sent them to…Pandora.”

“Who else is with her?”

“An Argonaut. At-Atalanta’s son.”

Apophis’s brow lifted. Now this was an interesting bit of news. The conniving, vengeful goddess had a son who was an Argonaut. He wanted to know just how that had transpired, but a stronger curiosity left him wondering if the princess knew what evil lurked alone with her on that island.

The ramifications of what Atalanta might very well have done slammed into him. He needed the princess alive, with her virginity intact, if he had any hope of gathering the strength he needed to open the portal and draw his army of witches through with him.

“Pandora, you said?” He glared down at the shaking daemon. “How did she send them?”

“Th-through a portal.”

Of course she had. One of the many benefits to being of the god class. You could poof people and things around the earth wherever and whenever you needed. Including yourself. But lucky him, even though he wasn’t one of them—yet—he had the Orb of Krónos. And that was almost as good. Soon, it would be better.

“Thank you, daemon.” He pushed to stand.

“Wait. My arms. My legs.”

The left side of Apophis’s—Gryphon’s—mouth turned up. “You won’t be needing them where you’re going.”

True horror erupted over the daemons features. “But you said—”

“Never trust a warlock.” He blasted the daemon with one shot of energy, which severed its spinal cord. The daemon gasped; blood vessels burst in its eyes and skin. Its airway constricted until it choked to death on its own fear.

From across the barren field, a roar sounded in the main house, so strong it shook the forest where Apophis stood staring down at the lifeless daemon. Atalanta had just discovered her archdaemon was no more. He smiled as he reached inside his coat for the Orb resting against his chest from a chain around his neck.

“I’m coming for you, Princess,” he whispered as he placed his index fingers over the sign of the Titans branded into the center of the disk. The portal opened before him. “And this time, you will be mine forever.”