Tempted

Chapter 8

I liked you a lot better when you were unconscious.

The fear gripping Isadora morphed into resentment with each step Demetrius took through the trees. Yeah, well, she liked him a lot better when she was unconscious too.

Rather than drumming up snippy comebacks that would get her nowhere, she thought back to what had happened when she’d been with the witches. She had flashes of chanting. Of a dagger. Of someone dipping her into a pool. The discombobulated images didn’t make sense, but she was sure they’d done something to her in that cold, dank castle. Something that explained the roller coaster reactions she was having to Demetrius today. Attracted to him? Tingly? Achy with need? Those were not logical or appropriate physical responses for her to have to any Argonaut, especially to the most callous of the bunch. And especially not now when her life was in danger and she was stuck here with him for what looked like an indefinite amount of time.

Howling echoed in the trees to both her right and left. She tensed but didn’t grab on to Demetrius. She wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction, not again. And freaking out wouldn’t get her off this island any faster.

The thick cypress trees opened up to a rocky ledge that fell away nearly two hundred yards to a canyon below. Isadora’s eyes scanned the dark mountains on the far side, the river that wound through the small valley, the splashes of color against a deep green canvas. Then her gaze swung to the ruins on the hillside to her right.

The fading light made it hard to see, but Demetrius spotted the crumbling stone structure at the same time and shifted in that direction without a word. Rocks and grasses covered the steep hillside. Acacia and wild fig trees littered the landscape leading up to the edifice. The scents of sage and thyme, rosemary and oregano greeted her senses as they drew close.

At first Isadora thought the ruins were some sort of temple, but as it came more fully into sight she realized it was a garrison. What little she knew of Pandora filtered through her mind. No one lived on Pandora. No one could survive the monsters.

Wind whistled past her ears, sent a shiver down her spine. The quickly fading light cast shadows over the stones and battered steps. More cypress trees, palms, and eucalyptus shared the top of the hillside with the ruins, flanking the man-made with the natural.

Demetrius eased her down to sit on the broken steps and handed her a short spear. “Take this while I go have a look around.”

She accepted the weapon without a word. The tip was still sharp but she doubted she’d be able to do any damage with it, especially considering she couldn’t walk. Something was better than nothing, though.

Massive columns ran along the front of the structure. Demetrius disappeared inside. Somewhere across the valley a howl erupted, drifting on the air like an ominous warning.

Another shiver ran down her spine, this one not from the temperature but from everything lurking out there in the shadows. How in the name of all the gods had Demetrius opened the portal here? Not for the first time since she’d awakened did she have the feeling he wasn’t telling her the entire truth.

Long minutes passed during which Isadora tried to piece together the fractured memories swirling in her mind. Growing more aggravated by the minute, she tapped her fingers together while she waited, the only sounds now the whistle of the wind through the trees. Just when she was sure Demetrius had ditched her, he appeared from around the far side of the building and stalked across the rocky ground toward her.

Her heart tripped at the sight of him, a reaction that made her draw in a startled breath. As he moved, her eyes shifted to his bare chest, to the slight dusting of dark hair there, to the muscles and sinew flexing beneath his tanned skin. The wounds on his belly had already scabbed over. His black Argonaut fighting pants were bloody and ripped at the knee and he’d lost his shoes at some point, his bare feet making him look more like a mortal man and less like the warrior she knew he was. But it was his face that kept drawing her back. His hard dark eyes, his jaw covered in two days’ worth of stubble, his mouth set in a grim line.

It wasn’t excitement over seeing him that stirred something inside her. It was relief at knowing she wasn’t alone. It had to be.

Her gaze focused on his full lips as he moved closer and out of nowhere she heard his husky voice in her head. Only it wasn’t the condescending, angry voice he usually used with her. This one was deep and gravelly and filled with emotion.

Wake up, kardia. Open your eyes so I know you’re there. Please open your eyes.

Kardia. My heart. Why would he ever call her that? Her pulse stuttered, caught, and picked up speed.

He stopped at the base of the steps and raked a hand through his disheveled hair as he glanced around the ruins. “The place looks empty. It’s got to be an old outpost. Pre-Archaic period, I’m guessing. Most of the roof’s gone but the walls are sound, and there are a few rooms off the main hall with enough shelter for the night.”

She had trouble comprehending his words. Was still busy trying to make sense of that voice she’d heard in her head. Was it a memory? Was it a vision of the future? Had he been talking to her?

Demetrius’s dark eyes slid her way. “What’s wrong with you?”

His harsh voice cut through the fog and she blinked even as her heart continued to race beneath her breast. “I…”

He frowned and stooped down to pick her up again. “Since you’re no help to me, you might as well just get out of my way.”

She didn’t argue, had no idea what was going on or why. As he carried her into the main hall, which was flanked by two rows of columns, chipped and broken but still standing, she mentally focused on her surroundings instead of his strong arm beneath her legs or the bare skin of his chest pressing into her side or the heat radiating from every inch of his body.

Her eyes skipped over shadows and light. The ceiling was missing but the walls rose around them like a security barrier, and the first twinkle of lights from the night sky shone above. Halfway down the hall he ducked under an archway and stepped into an octagonal room.

Windows devoid of glass looked down over the open valley. A slight breeze blew through the large room with its pointed dome ceiling missing pieces here and there. Pottery shards and rusted metal littered the floor. Demetrius set her down on a bare section of stone against the wall that faced the wide open windows along the eastern side, then kicked debris out of her way.

“I’ll be back,” he announced.

Her heart pounded hard in her chest as he looked down at her. She didn’t nod when he spoke, was too busy trying to figure what was wrong with her. Scowling, he shook his head and disappeared beneath the archway once more.

Alone, she drew deep breaths to settle her racing pulse, but it did little good because her mind wouldn’t slow. Kardia. She was almost sure he’d called her that when they’d been climbing that cliff face too.

A soft echo drifted in through the windows. Happy for the distraction—any distraction—Isadora pushed herself across the floor and eased up to look over the low ledge to the ground beyond.

The rocky outcrop on this side of the fortress dropped off steeply to the sea below, churning against rocks and sand. Soft moonlight cast eerie shadows over the uneven ground and shimmered off the water. As far as strongholds went, this was a perfect location. Nothing could surprise you, nothing could attack you without warning, and no one would even know you were here unless you lit a fire or sent up smoke signals. That settled her anxiety, at least for the moment.

Her gaze ran back over the ground, then stopped and held when Demetrius stepped into view. Moonlight highlighted the dips and ridges of his powerful back. Mesmerized, she watched as he looked out to the water and pulled in a deep breath. Just as he had on the bluff, he held his hands in front of him and closed his eyes. His voice drifted on the wind, no more than a hum, a murmur, a silent curse. He turned a slow circle, his lips moving with muffled words, and when he’d made a complete rotation he knelt down and lifted a handful of soil, which he then proceeded to sprinkle as he rose and walked around the ruins, disappearing from sight.

Unnerved, Isadora eased back down to the cold floor. Again the sense that Demetrius was not who and what she’d always pegged him to be ran through her mind.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she scooted into the corner of the room so she could lean her head against the wall. She was so tired. And weak. And not just because of her bad leg. Something else had happened to her. Something before, during, or after her time with Apophis that she couldn’t quite remember but which weighed heavily on her soul. And she was too exhausted and worn out to figure out what that was right now.

Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. For just a moment, here in these ruins, she felt safe. Whether or not that was because of Demetrius, she didn’t want to know. She just wanted to forget.

She drew in a deep breath. Let it out. Relaxed into the wall as sleep drifted over her. But her mind kept twisting back to what she’d seen. And one image it wouldn’t relinquish.

Demetrius.

Darkness closed in, faded to gray, and then grew lighter. Through shadows and mist she saw him standing on that cliff, his hands outstretched, his hair whipping around his lean face. Looking like an Argonaut, a sorcerer, a god, all rolled into one. And she heard his voice. Deep, rich. So damn sexy it set off a tremor deep in the center of her being.

Wake up, kardia. Open your eyes and look at me.

She did. Slowly. Blinked several times. Only she wasn’t in an ancient garrison anymore. She was in a dim room illuminated by hundreds of twinkling candles. Massive marble pillars rose around a circular raised platform and a flat altar of granite. Symbols were etched into the side of the altar, into each of the pillars midway up. Symbols she couldn’t quite read but faintly recognized.

She saw herself dressed in nothing more than a short black robe that hit mid-thigh, parted in front to reveal the long supple line of her neck, the mounds of her breasts, and the deep valley of her cleavage. Her legs were sleek and bare, her hair a wild mess of gold around her face. She looked like a sex goddess sent to seduce, and lying over a bloodred velvet chair, staring into Demetrius’s wicked, searing eyes, it appeared she planned to do just that very soon.

I’ve waited so long for you.

His lips didn’t move, but his words echoed in her mind, and her body answered with a rush of warmth that ignited a wild, uncontrollable desire. Heat gathered in her center as a slow smile slid across her mouth. She rose languidly from the lounge and slinked across the room, up the three marble steps toward the immense stone altar where he stood waiting, wearing nothing more than loose, low-riding black silk pants.

He captured her hand as she drew close, pulled her in for a hot, wet kiss that vibrated all the way to her toes. And just as she felt herself melt, give in, crave, he lifted her around the waist, laid her out on the altar, and untied the black sash around her waist.

She shivered as the halves of her robe fell open, revealing the length of her bare body.

Open your eyes, kardia, and look at me.

Slowly, she did. And gasped as his face shifted and morphed into that of the Lord of the Underworld.

A depraved, victorious sneer ran across Hades’s face as he drank in every inch of her naked flesh. Horror pressed in and she opened her mouth to scream. But the only sound she heard was his heinous voice closing in to smother her.

Soon you will truly be mine.

Demetrius paused outside the open, arched doorway and listened to the slow steady rhythm of Isadora’s breathing.

Thank all the gods she was asleep.

Tired himself, he placed a hand against the cool stones and debated the urge to take a peek at her. Then he remembered the fear in her eyes when they’d been attacked on the beach. When she’d broken her leg all over again. When she’d watched him casting the invisibility spell on that bluff so that damn harpy couldn’t see them anymore.

Too bad he also remembered the disgust.

Bitterness brewed in his stomach when he thought of the way she’d said witch, but he welcomed it. Welcomed the familiar feeling and the distraction it brought as he pushed away from the wall and headed for the passageway he’d found hidden in the northwest corner of the ruins.

With the protection spell in place, he was able to breathe a little easier. Any monsters lurking in the shadows wouldn’t be able to get past the circle he’d cast, at least for now. His powers were nothing more than tricks, really. He wasn’t strong enough to cast a spell for any serious length of time. Tomorrow night he’d have to cast the damn spell all over again, and there was a good chance it might not even work. And judging by the way his luck was going…

His jaw clenched as he moved down four dusty steps that took him into what he suspected had once been a kitchen or dining hall but was now nothing more than rock and soil and open sky. Stars twinkled overhead and moonlight shimmered down, casting shadows and light over the uneven ground. He moved around a corner and paused near a six-inch gap that ran from floor to what used to be a ceiling at least ten feet high, where two walls intersected in the shape of an L.

He might have passed right by this spot earlier if he hadn’t felt the chill brush his face. Now he was just plain curious. He ran his fingers over the edge of the gap. The air leaking out was cool, but not frigid. Grasping the edge of the protruding wall, he pulled, and like a door opening, the wall hinged outward.

The space was just wide enough to slide through, no wider. He paused inside to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. From the moonlight shining at his back, he realized he was looking at another wall of solid stone.

He was just about to turn around and head out the way he’d come when the cool air slid over his bare feet. Kneeling down, he ran his fingers along the bottom edge of the wall and the inch-high gap that stretched the width of a door.

A false wall, he realized. Stepping as far back as he could, he squinted and discovered what faced him wasn’t solid stone but an arched doorway. He pressed his palm against the center of the door. Pushed. Nothing happened. Lifting his gaze, he looked over the entire space, and that’s when he noticed the ancient text inscribed into the stones surrounding the door. Faint, weathered from time and the elements, but readable.

Only he who hath been chosen shall pass unto this sacred place. Speak ye hero and enter.

A shot of apprehension rippled through him. What could possibly be sacred on this miserable island? His brow wrinkled as he read the words again and realized it was nothing more than a riddle. He’d never been good at riddles. Never really cared. And yet…

He glanced at his forearms, and two words came to mind. The ancient Argolean words for Eternal Guardian. A name he and the other Argonauts were never even called anymore because it had fallen out of use. “Aionios Kidemonas.”

A loud scraping sound echoed and the door opened inward all by itself.

“Whoa.”

He stepped inside the circular room, which looked like home to nothing more than wide dusty steps that spiraled down into a black abyss. He listened, the only sound the rapid beat of his own heart. Beside him he spotted a metal ring embedded into the stone, roughly shoulder height, with what looked like a wooden torch perched within.

He swiped the cobwebs away, lifted the torch from its holder. Touching the rag wrapped around the end, he brought his fingers to his nose to sniff.

Oil.

Apprehension turned to wariness. His senses went on high alert. Were he and Isadora really alone on this island?

Muttering one of the easy spells he remembered from childhood, he waved the fingers of his free hand over the end of the torch and watched as flames ignited in the cloth to illuminate the downward-spiraling room and cast eerie shadows over the walls. He took a step down, then another, and as he descended he couldn’t help but consider the irony. He’d used his powers more in the last two days than he had in the last two hundred years combined.

The steps dropped what had to be thirty feet. The air was cooler down here, mustier. At the base of the steps, he held up the torch to shine over the massive space ahead.

“Holy mother of Zeus,” he whispered.

A long hall was flanked on both sides by massive marble pillars that ran up to the ceiling. Between each pillar sat a lone steel trunk. Three on the left, three on the right, and at the very end of the hall another, though this chest was bigger than the first six and was decked out with gold hinges and trimmings and the symbol of Heracles.

He moved toward the wide flat stone table that stood on a raised platform in the center of the room and held the torch waist high so he could read the words carved into the base.

Aionios Kidemonas.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he turned a slow circle, glancing from one chest to the next, each monogrammed with a different Greek symbol.

The Hall of Heroes.

No way.

A lump formed in his throat. It couldn’t be real. Not here on this island of all places, hidden away from the world.

His eyes flicked over the second chest from the end, then came back and held. He focused in on the ancient symbol of his forefather, Jason.

His heart beat hard as he stopped in front of the trunk. Glancing around, he noticed more steel circles embedded into the pillars, as if to hold luminaries. He slid the torch into the closest, then flexed his fingers and refocused.

There was no lock. No magick words to speak. Grasping the lid of the chest, he lifted. Aged metal groaned as it hinged up and back. He peered inside and froze.

“No fucking way.” His hands slid into finely spun golden wool. Slowly he lifted the fleece from its resting place and stared at the mythical object, which looked like nothing more than a ram’s skull and horns with a head full of golden curls. The search for the Golden Fleece had been Jason’s one major quest. The journey that had propelled him to hero status. The mission in which he’d fallen under Medea’s spell. It had set events into motion that now could not be undone, and which had condemned Demetrius and every other of Jason’s ancestors.

It didn’t look like much to him. He turned it in his hands, noting not a flicker of power anywhere in the damn thing. Just bones and wool and history. Frowning, he set it aside and looked down again, then felt a burst of excitement.

“Now this is what I’m talking about.” The parazonium with its black handle and red jewels was the perfect weight in his hand. He swung it right and left, brought it back to center. “If only…” He touched the edge with his free hand and winced. The blade sliced through the tip of his finger as if it had just been sharpened.

He brought the tip of his finger to his lips and sucked until the blood flow slowed and stopped and he felt his skin begin to heal. Wiping his finger on his pants, he looked back in the chest. Then smiled when he spotted a shield with Jason’s markings, a steel breastplate with the same, and shoes.

“About time you did one damn thing for me.” He set the parazonium and shield on the massive stone tablet and bent over to push his foot into the well-used sandal.

Not a pair of hiking boots, but a thousand times better than bare feet. He’d left his shoes on the beach and had been kicking himself ever since for taking them off in the first place. Looking back in the trunk, he realized there was only one sandal, not two.

“Figures.” He tugged the sandal off and tossed it in the chest. Digging deeper, he found a spell book that had to have come from Medea, a bag of rocks he had no clue what to do with, a sheepskin rug, blankets, and a bunch of black candles.

His distaste for witchcraft reared, but with the monsters he’d seen the last two days, he wasn’t about to be picky. He’d use whatever the hell he could. Hooking the belt and scabbard over his shoulder so it lay diagonally across his back, he slid the parazonium in its sheath. After replacing the other items back in the box, he stepped to the next trunk, the one with Achilles’s symbol branded into the metal, then flipped the lid and smirked as he lifted the Pelican Spear from its resting place.

Achilles’s great spear, which had aided the famed hero in defeating Agamemnon’s enemies. He bet Zander’d like to get his hand on this. He turned it in the light. Now it was nothing but cold tarnished metal.

From trunk to trunk he moved, taking note of the objects that might just come in handy. When he was done, he gathered what he needed for the night, replaced everything else, closed each trunk, and headed back toward the spiral stairs.

At the top he extinguished the torch, replaced it in its holster. As soon as he stepped through the arched doorway, the door slid closed with a deafening thwack.

Sweet. That was the best fucking security system he’d ever seen.

The ruins were silent as he made his way back to the main hall and the small room off the north side where he’d left Isadora. With any luck she was out like a light. He’d toss a blanket over her, then park himself across the hall where he’d spotted another small room with a view down the hillside, toward the ravine below.

He climbed the four short steps to the main hall. Rubbed a hand down his face. And was twenty yards away when she screamed.