Tempted

Chapter 20

He was in heaven. Or the Elysian fields. Or wherever it was the blessed heroes went after they died. Glancing down at Isadora asleep in his arms, Demetrius figured, considering who and what he was, this was probably as close to paradise as he was ever going to get. And because of that he should be enjoying the moment rather than worrying about what came next.

Except…how in Hades couldn’t he think about what came next?

That ache lit off in his chest again, the same damn one he’d been fighting the last few hours, lying here in the wee hours of morning with her. He didn’t have another choice. He couldn’t go back to pretending anymore, and he didn’t trust himself to be with her. Not after what had happened earlier.

Who was he kidding? Even if there was a way to guarantee she’d never get pregnant, he still couldn’t be with her. If she ever found out the truth about him…That ache intensified. He couldn’t bear the thought of what that knowledge would do to her. What the Council would do to her. What would happen to their homeland if word got out the heir to the throne had shacked up with the enemy’s son.

No. The only solution was to take her home, then get as far away as possible. This time for good. She needed to find a mate, to give the kingdom heirs, and cement the monarchy so the Council couldn’t overthrow her reign and fuck things up, and he wasn’t strong enough—not anymore—to sit back and watch her fall in love with someone else.

He closed his eyes, told himself this was for the best. The only thing he could do. The one thing he should have done long ago.

“You think loudly, Demetrius.”

His eyes shot open and he looked down at Isadora. Her head rested on his shoulder and her sleek body was tucked tightly to his under the blanket, but her shimmering brown eyes registered the distance he’d already started drawing out between them.

“Was I talking out loud?” Shit. Had he voiced his thoughts?

“No, but I’ve been around you long enough now to know what you’re thinking.” She pushed up to sitting and drew the blanket around her torso, hiding her luscious breasts from view. “There’s no way to change your mind, is there?”

Skata. She did know. “You’re not well, Isadora. I have to take you home in the morning.”

She nodded, looked down at her hands in her lap. “But you’re not staying, are you? Once we go home, you’re leaving Argolea.”

His heart cracked. The heart he hadn’t even known existed before her. He chose his words carefully because, as shitty as he’d been to her over the years, he didn’t want to make this any harder on her than it already was. “I think, considering the circumstances, it would be best if I left.”

“Best for whom?”

“Best for you.”

Her eyes darted his way and the fire he saw flash there reminded him of the gynaíka who’d stood up to a god. And a warlock. And him, more times than he could count. “At least do me the courtesy of not lying. Not now.”

She rose, taking the blanket with her, and crossed the floor to find her clothes. His illusions had faded, and what candles were left had burned down to almost nothing. Soft warm light spilled over her as she bent to pick up her shirt.

He sat up, reached for his pants. “Isadora—”

She tossed the blanket to the ground, tugged on her dirty shorts, and wriggled into her filthy tank top, the flash of skin in the low light hitting him on the most basic of levels. “I just want to know one thing. Why did you come back here with me if you were planning to take me home tomorrow and then split?” She waved her hand around the room. “What was the purpose of this?”

There wasn’t one. Except for him being a selfish-ass bastard. He rose, pulled on his pants. “I don’t know. I just wanted…”

“What?”

Frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair. “To be with you.”

“Obviously not.”

The bite to her voice brought his head up. Her short blond hair stuck out all over her head. Her cheeks were sun kissed, her skin brown, and staring at him from across the room with candlelight flickering behind her, she looked like a deity of the earth. Like one of the original Horae, the personifications of nature and the goddesses of balance and order.

The heart that had cracked earlier broke open wide. “Do you think I want this? I want you. But there’s no way…Skata.” He looked down at his forearms, covered with the markings of the Argonauts. “There’s no way that will work.”

“Why not?”

“Because it won’t.”

“Because of me.”

His head darted up again. “No. This has nothing to do with you.”

“Because I’m royal. Because of the monarchy.”

“No. It’s not about that. I don’t care about—”

“Then what?”

He looked back at his hands. Gods, he was such a fake. He shouldn’t have these markings. Shouldn’t be allowed in Argolea. Sure as shit shouldn’t be with her now. Her life would be so much better if he’d been thrown to the humans like his brother. If she’d never even met him.

His voice wavered even though he tried to keep it steady. “It’s not about you, okay? It’s me. I just can’t…”

Yeah. Like he could finish that sentence? He swallowed hard.

“What aren’t you telling me, Demetrius?”

“Nothing.” Everything.

“Nothing,” she repeated. Then louder, “No, I think it’s definitely something.” She crossed to the end of the bed and her voice, which had been steady before, dropped to a whisper. So soft and tempting, it called to the very center of him in a way nothing and no one ever had before. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

He shook his head even as that hole in his heart grew wider. “What’s the difference? Either way it adds up to the same damn thing.”

She stood still for several minutes, eerily silent. Finally, when he couldn’t stand the quiet anymore, he looked at her, then wished he hadn’t. Her face was drawn, her shoulders slumped, but it was the heartbreak in her eyes that would stay with him long after this conversation was over.

He reached for her. “Isadora—”

She moved out of his grasp. “No, don’t. Don’t say anything else.” She turned toward the stairs.

Panic rushed in. “Where are you going?”

“I need some air.”

“It’s still dark outside. You can’t leave—”

“I’m not suicidal, Demetrius. I won’t leave the ruins. I’ll stay within the walls. I just want some fresh air.”

He shouldn’t let her go up there alone, but he knew she was struggling to stay in control, just as he was. And after the way he’d just hurt her, he owed her a few minutes to collect herself.

She moved up three steps, then hesitated and turned back to face him. But she didn’t meet his eyes. Instead she focused on his chest and bit her lip as if thinking through what she wanted to say. Firelight flickered over her features and he knew right then, soul mate curse or not, there was never going to be anyone else in his life that mattered as much as she did.

“You said I’d regret this.” Her voice, usually strong and confident, was so soft he barely heard her. “Do you remember that? You said when I went home I’d look back on my time here with you and regret every moment of it.”

He swallowed again, loathing the fact his warning had now come true. “Yeah,” he managed. “I remember.”

“And what did I say to you?”

When he didn’t answer, she lifted her chocolate eyes to his. “Don’t remember? Then I’ll tell you. I said the most important things in this world are the ones we have to fight for. And I still believe you’re worth fighting for, Demetrius. Even if you don’t.”

He stood where he was long after she disappeared up the spiral stairs. The door at the top opened with a hiss, then closed gently behind her as she left. And alone, his heart squeezed so tight, it hurt to draw a single breath.

He was doing the right thing. No matter how painful, no matter how upset she thought she was now…in the long run, ending it here, before she learned the truth about him, was the only thing he could do.

In the quiet, he turned a slow circle and glanced over the Hall of Heroes, stopping when his gaze landed on Jason’s trunk. In the three thousand years after Jason’s tragedy, Demetrius hadn’t learned a thing, had he? He was still fucking things up, just like his forefather. History, obviously, loved to repeat itself.

Damn it.

He blew out a breath, ran his hands over his face then rested them on his hips. After ten minutes, he figured that was long enough for her to collect herself. It would be morning soon. She could start packing up whatever she wanted to take to Argolea. As soon as it was light, they’d set out for the temple again. And from there…

From there he didn’t know where the hell he’d go.

The ache spread out from his chest like wriggling tentacles searching for pain receptors to latch on to and bleed dry. He made it to the top of the steps and pushed the heavy door open, pausing as chilled air slid around his hand and crept toward his body.

Had a cold front moved in? The temperature seemed to drop by the second. Isadora was wearing only a tank top and shorts. She had to be freezing up here. Before they headed for the temple, he’d make sure she grabbed a few blankets from down below. Shoving his shoulder against the door, he stepped out into the moonlight. And then froze.

The seven foot daemon holding Isadora against his body had one hand wrapped around her mouth to keep her quiet, the other over her abdomen to hold her still. Two other daemons stood behind the first, their grotesque faces awash in the moonlight trickling through the open ceiling above. But it was the figure draped in red, moving up on Demetrius’s right, that nearly stopped his heart.

A vile grin spread across Atalanta’s face. “Guardian, it’s so good of you to join us. We’ve been waiting.”

His gaze jumped to Isadora’s wide, frightened eyes.

Atalanta stepped up to Isadora and bent to run one red-tipped nail down her cheek. The princess tensed. “You’ve done well,” Atalanta said to him, continuing to study Isadora. “Very well, it seems.”

Skata. How had she gotten here? And why now? When he was hours away from getting Isadora to safety?

Atalanta trailed her finger down the center of Isadora’s chest, over the daemon’s arm holding her still, then hovered her hand over Isadora’s belly. A wicked smile turned her bright red lips higher at the corners. “Oh, yes. Extremely well, yios.” She turned to face him. “But then I never expected anything less. I always knew my son would one day make me proud.”

Isadora gasped beneath the gnarled hand clamped over her mouth before looking to Demetrius for some sign that what Atalanta said couldn’t possibly be true. But there was nothing he could say or do to reassure her.

“And you, yios,” Atalanta went on, obviously enjoying her torment, “have done that now. In nine months’ time, the princess is going to bear me a child. The heir to the throne of Argolea. With my bloodline in its veins. And in doing so, she will gift me the link to the Horae that was stolen from me by the Argonauts.”

His gaze shot to Isadora’s face. Betrayal and revulsion raced across her perfect features, morphed to bitter hatred. And in the stillness that followed, Demetrius knew he’d been wrong. History hadn’t repeated itself. Because in Jason’s case, the only people who’d been affected by the hero’s fuckups were the ones he was supposed to have loved. This time the whole world was at stake. And thanks to him, the enemy now had the weapon it desperately needed.