If he could die, this would be the perfect place to take the plunge.
Zander stood on the edge of the cliff, transfixed by the massive canyon below. A thin layer of day-old snow crunched beneath his boots as he shifted his weight on the rocks and wondered…What if?
The temperature was in the teens, the wind howling past his face, numbing what little he could feel of his skin. As an Argonaut, born of the guardian class descended from the greatest heroes in all of ancient Greece, he was stronger than mere humans. Stronger still than the Argoleans and the newly discovered half-breed race he now protected. Stronger, even, than his warrior kin.
No, hypothermia wouldn’t kill him, dammit. Frostbite was nothing but a minor annoyance. And shit, since he was him, he could take a bullet to the chest and still his frickin’ heart would go on beating. But this—he stared down into the abyss some six hundred yards below, which opened and darkened until all he saw was a river of deep green shrouded in a layer of thin mist—this might just do the job. A little voice in the back of his head whispered, Just do it.
He wasn’t stupid. He spent more time with humans than any of the other guardians from his world and knew taking this leap would be nothing more than a major-ass Nike commercial gone wrong. But still…it was damn tempting. There was always the possibility he could hit that one vulnerable spot on the way down that would kill him instantly and end his immortality once and for all.
His brother in battle, Titus, stepped up next to him before he could make up his mind and peered down into the canyon below. “Fucking nasty way to go. But you’re right. It wouldn’t kill you. And I’m not in the mood to pick up your broken-ass pieces and nurse you back to health today.”
Zander glared at the younger Argonaut—the way-younger one, who, wouldn’t you just know it, could take that fall and die…the lucky bastard. “Stop reading my mind. You know it drives me bat-shit crazy.”
Titus smirked. Reached up to rub his hand over his mouth. In the waning light of early evening, the markings on his forearms and hands that all the Argonauts shared stood out against his light skin. It wasn’t a full-out grin, but then Titus never truly smiled. “You’re already bat-shit crazy, old man. And do you think I like knowing what goes on in that twisted brain of yours? ’Cause let me tell you. It’s definitely not high on my thrill-ride list.” He waved his big hands. “You’re projecting your crap all over the place. Trust me. I’m trying not to listen.”
Zander’s scowl deepened, and he stepped back from the ledge, frustrated he hadn’t taken the plunge before Titus started bitching, even more irritated because he knew that little free- fall wouldn’t snuff him out like he wanted. He was in a foul mood and it was only getting worse the longer they went without running into any daemons.
It didn’t help that he and Titus had been patrolling this particular mountain range for the last frickin’ week looking for stragglers and that they’d come up empty so far. He didn’t want to go back to Argolea; he didn’t want to head to the colony or look for any more half-breeds hiding out in the woods. He was itching for a fight in a dark and dangerous way, which was only making him moodier than Hades. And if he didn’t get one soon, bad things were going to happen. For everyone.
“Let’s go,” Titus said, stepping back and rubbing his hands together to ease the chill. “There’s no one hanging out here, and if there was a settlement down below, we’d have spotted it. We’ll head north, cut toward Mount Hood and see what we can find.”
Though he didn’t want to, Zander nodded. The closest half-breed colony was hidden deep in the Willamette National Forest to the south, unknown to the humans who lived around it. Consensus among the Argonauts was that there were other half-breeds, or Misos, those with both human and Argolean parentage, in hiding from the daemons who hunted them. Thanks to the colony’s leader, Nick, a man who was both a half-breed himself and something else that none of the Argonauts could quite pin down, they now knew of three other colonies spread out over the globe. One was in Africa, one in the frozen wasteland of northern Russia, and another in the jungles of South America.
“Hey,” Titus said with that smirk again as they started walking toward a trail that led back into the trees. “It could be worse. You could have drawn shit patrol in Siberia like Cerek and Phineus.”
The mention of his two guardian brothers didn’t lighten Zander’s mood. “At least then I would have been away from you and your constant mind-probing.”
Titus chuckled. “You need to change your outlook, Z. Immortality? It’s a gift. Shit, I’d give my left arm to have that power instead of reading mi—”
Zander turned on his guardian kin so fast, Titus sucked in a breath. “It’s not a gift. It’s a fucking curse.”
Titus glanced down at Zander’s meaty hand pressed tight against his jacket. A dark warning flashed over Titus’s features. He didn’t like to be touched. Not anywhere. Not even by a brother. “You need to step back. Right now.”
Zander’s eyes met Titus’s. The guardians were roughly the same size, both six and a half feet, two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, but that’s where the similarities ended. Titus’s wavy dark hair was tied with a leather strap at the base of his neck. Ice crystals clung to his thin mustache and dark soul patch. Sure, he looked human to the average passerby, but he wasn’t. And his hazel eyes sparked of knowledge and danger. The kind that were a fiery combination for anyone who crossed him.
Zander slowly dropped his hand. But he didn’t back away. In a fight, he’d win, even against a hothead like Titus. He could take a beating like no other and still go on ticking. But he could be hurt. And it’d take a while to heal. As much as he wanted a good knock-down, drag-out bloodletting today, he didn’t want it with Titus.
He did, however, want the brother to get it. Especially if he had to keep prowling this fucking earth for shit only knew how long with the mortal bastard. He clenched his jaw. “Watching everyone you care about die is not a blessing, Titus. I served with your father. I served with all the Argonauts’ fathers. I was around when Eurandros was king and Leonidas wasn’t even an itch in his pants. And now King Leonidas is dying of old age, but not me. I’m still just as strong and healthy as ever.”
The rage Zander kept buried deep inside built by the second. “You might not want to die now, Guardian, but one day you will. One day you’ll be ready to go to the Elysian Fields or wherever the fuck it is the rest of you get to go when your days are done. But not me. No, I’ll still be here. Doing the same damn thing I’ve done for the last eight hundred twenty-nine years. Watching you all die and wishing like Hades I could go with you.”
He stalked off into the trees before he did something he knew he’d regret, knowing, okay, he sounded like a major pussy having one gigantic pity party. But he was sick of it. Sick of holding up his head and acting like he was all rosy and chipper at the way fate had bashed in his brain. There’d been a time—a long time—when he’d thought like Titus. When he’d actually believed the fact he hadn’t yet found his vulnerability, or Achilles’ heel, like his father and grandfather and every other male from his line had, was a gift. But that was before. Before he’d realized he was going to be stuck here for all eternity while everything that truly mattered was taken away from him. Before ten years ago. Before he’d figured out Hera’s curse was real.
“Zander. Wait up.”
He ignored Titus and kept going. Head down to block the wind. Temper and self-loathing warming his blood. Yeah, he was in the mood for a major-ass pounding. And if he didn’t get away from Titus quick, he wasn’t gonna care that the Argonaut was friend, not foe.
He made it thirty yards into the trees before the miserably cold temperature went bone-jarring frigid.
He came to a standstill. His head darted up. Ahead and to the right, six daemons stalked through the trees, obviously on patrol themselves. Searching for half-breeds to decimate.
A slow smile spread across his face—the first he’d felt in days. All were easily seven feet tall, with horns
and fangs, catlike faces, dog-shaped ears and the bodies of men. Really big-ass, don’t-mess-with-me ugly men you might meet in a dark alley on the wrong side of town after hours, looking for nothing but trouble. His smile only widened.
“Just who I was looking for. You freaks want to come out and play or stand there and look stupid like your bitch of a leader, Atalanta? ’Cause you know, you do it so well. In fact, I see the family resemblance. You there, in front.” He pointed toward the ugliest one, with something vile dripping from its fangs. “You’re like, what? Her brother? No, I know.” He snapped his fingers. “Her son.”
The one in front, the one clearly in charge, looked at Zander and growled, “Argonaut,” then sniffed the air and added, “Two.” The other five daemons spread out in a U formation, surrounding Zander, then crouched, ready to strike.
And yep, that was indeed steam coming out of the leader’s ears. Hot damn. This was gonna be a good one. Six against one. Maybe he could get his ass kicked once and for all. And maybe he could take a few daemons out with him in the process.
Titus jogged up behind him just as Zander reached for his parazonium—the ancient Greek dagger all Argonauts carried—from the scabbard hidden at his back. “Aw, hell. You just had to go and antagonize them, didn’t you?”
“Sure as shit, I did.”
Titus reached for his own dagger. “Okay, smart guy. Which ones do you want?”
“All of them.”
“Zander—”
“Just stay back until I need you,” he growled. “I can’t die, remember? You can.”
He took a step into the melee and ignored Titus’s protest, but knew the Argonaut would listen and let him have the first go. If only for a few moments. Hopefully, that’s all it would take to end this for good.
“Come on, motherfuckers. Show me what you’ve got.”
With a roar, the daemons bared their fangs and charged.