Alone, a smile spread across Zeus’s lips. The idiot thought he had a prize he could use for his own nefarious purposes. What he really had was one more element that would aid Zeus in his quest.
He moved through the cave, heading toward the red hue. The tunnel twisted through the mountain, the rocks absorbing the light and all but humming with energy. Rounding the last bend, he drew to a stop three steps from the stone altar where the female with fire-red hair spilling down her back in endless curls stood staring at flames crackling in a bowl set on a tall golden pedestal.
Zeus cleared his throat.
“I sensed your approach.” Circe, the strongest witch in all the kingdoms, met his gaze with piercing eyes. “Your little friend’s pathetic snuffling could be heard for miles.”
Zeus ignored the comment about his spy and narrowed his eyes on the witch. She was drop-dead gorgeous, always had been. Her body was long and lean, her breasts heaving and perfect in the flowing green dress that matched her eyes. A wide ballet collar showed off her toned shoulders and milk-white skin, the stitching accentuated her slim waist, and the long skirt flowed around her feet on the ground like an offering, making her look even taller than her seven feet. Bell sleeves cradled her slim wrists and fingers. And the choker at her neck with the large oval red stone in the middle, one Zeus swore fueled her power, accentuated the long, feminine line of her throat.
Her beauty was unmatched, her sexuality greater than that of all the nymphs. But both came with a price. The red sorceress was the most venomous black widow he’d ever faced, and Zeus had learned long ago never to mix business with pleasure in his dealings with her.
She flowed down the stairs as graceful as water, the scent of jasmine floating in the air as she stepped past him, warming both his blood and libido. “You’ve come to check on your prize.”
Of course she knew why he was here. The female knew everything. Reminding himself not to be drawn into her web, Zeus followed her through a dark archway and into another tunnel. “What of your progress?”
“Patience, my king.” She stopped at a door, pressed her hand against the steel, and turned to look at him. “Good things are bestowed on those who wait.”
Waiting was a virtue Zeus sorely lacked.
She pushed the door open. White light cast illumination all over the black stone floor and walls and shimmered in waves over the still gray body lying on the table in the center of the room.
Fucking witches... Zeus’s vision darkened as he crossed to the body and knocked his knuckles against the gray stone. “This isn’t what I’m paying you to do. I thought you’d have this situation remedied by now. I need to know the truth. Can you bring him back?”
Circe moved to the other side of the table and batted insanely long, gorgeous eyelashes. “I can bring anyone back. But as I said, magic takes time. And what you’ve asked for here...” She looked down at the stone face. “This is going to require more than just time. Reprogramming is not a simple process.”
Time was something Zeus had plenty of. But he preferred to have things done on his timetable, not anyone else’s. This, however, would turn the tides in his war against the Argonauts for good. And for that, he was willing to wait as long as it took.
But he didn’t like it. He pinned her with a hard look. “I want this fixed. You know I’m an impatient god, and you know what happens when I don’t get my way.”
Her eyes flared red. “And you know what happens when witches are pushed and magic goes awry. Do not threaten me, king, or your magic will turn to ashes in your hands.”
Energy gathered in Zeus’s palms. The desire to unleash it on her overwhelmed him. But then he looked down at the stone body between them. And told himself to save his fury for the Argonauts.
Their time would come. It would come soon.
He turned out of the room. “Just get it done.”
ETERNAL GUARDIANS LEXICON
archdaemon—Head of the daemon order; has enhanced powers from the Underworld
Argolea—Realm established by Zeus for the blessed heroes and their descendants
Argonauts—Eternal guardian warriors who protect Argolea. In every generation, one from the original seven bloodlines (Heracles, Achilles, Jason, Odysseus, Perseus, Theseus, and Bellerophon) is chosen to continue the guardian tradition.
Council of Elders—Twelve lords of Argolea who advise the king
daemons—Beasts who were once human, recruited from the Fields of Asphodel (purgatory) by Atalanta to join her army.
Fates—Three goddesses who control the thread of life for all mortals from birth until death
Fields of Asphodel—Purgatory
Isles of the Blessed—Heaven
matéras—Mother
Misos—Half-human/half-Argolean race that lives hidden among humans
Olympians—Current ruling gods of the Greek pantheon, led by Zeus; meddle in human life
patéras—Father
Siren Order—Zeus’s elite band of personal warriors. Commanded by Athena
skata—Swearword
Tartarus—Realm of the Underworld similar to hell
Titans—The ruling gods before the Olympians
Underworld—Hell. Ruled by Hades
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TWISTED
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NICK – Leader of the half-breeds and the last true hero. He’s spent his life fighting a dark pull toward the gods. A pull he now knows is linked to his father Krónos and the Titan’s plan to escape from the Underworld.
But Nick’s hidden powers are coveted by more than just his father. Imprisoned by Hades, Nick battles every form of torture imaginable as the sadistic god schemes to break him. Only one thing is keeping him sane. One woman who gives him the strength to fight the relentless darkness. She has a dangerous plan of her own, though, and as Nick’s powers grow stronger, even she might not be enough to alter his destiny.
As the fate of the world hangs in the balance, Nick’s allegiances are tested. And no one knows whether he will choose to fight for good or succumb to the sinister lure of evil. Not even him.
* * *
The guards swung the steel door open and pushed Nick into his cell. No windows, no light. A torch on the wall illuminated the damp space made up of nothing but rock walls and the pile of blankets where he slept in the corner.
They maneuvered him around until he was standing in the center of the room, facing the door. One guard uncuffed his wrists, and for a moment, Nick thought of taking them down. But voices were already resonating through the corridor, growing stronger, coming closer. And one stood out, causing his stomach to tighten and arousal to rush through his body, bringing every other thought to a halt.
The click of heels sounded as the guards hooked chains to D-bolts in the ceiling, then reached for his arms. As they attached the first chain to his left wrist, stretching his limb up and away from his body, he winced, the injury in his shoulder sending a sharp shot of pain across his muscles. They grasped his other arm and locked him to the chain, then closed the metal cuffs around his ankles, kicked his legs shoulder-width apart, and chained those to hooks in the floor as well.
Cynna appeared in the doorway to the room.
The pain dissipated as Nick focused on her. She was wearing the same revealing outfit she’d had on when she’d watched his fight in the training ring, and it distracted him from what was going on around him. Excited him. Sent a wicked thrill through the dark part of what was left of his soul.
“Mistress,” the injured guard said, standing straight. “The prisoner is ready.”
Cynna’s gaze flicked over Nick, over his bare torso and the small white towel covering his awakening erection, then up to his face to hover on the scar on his left cheek. Without sparing a look toward the guards, she said, “Leave us.”
Her voice was like sandpaper and velvet, a voice made for sin, just like her body. In her hands she held a jar.
Two females—no, nymphs—rushed into the room as soon as the guards left. One was blonde, the other with short dark hair. They were both petite, both submissive with their eyes cast downward, and both were wearing flimsy pale pink dresses made from thin fabric that barely hid their bodies from view. They were also wearing metal collars. Collars he’d seen on other submissives in the tunnels. Collars that marked them as sex slaves.
Nick’s stomach tightened. His gaze skipped past the females, toward the steel door, which was now closed, and through the small window to see who was watching.
Darkness reflected in the glass. But that didn’t mean they were alone. Zagreus was always somewhere watching Nick’s torture. Feeding off it. Waiting for him to break.
Turning to the dark-haired nymph on her right, Cynna handed the female the jar and said, “Use this. But do not touch him anywhere save where he bleeds.”
The nymph nodded and approached, her cheeks a deep cherry red, her breaths shallow. She unscrewed the lid and set it on the rocks at her feet, then gathered a scoop of whatever was in the jar and lowered to her knees in front of him.
Nick sucked in a breath. She was inches away, his groin hidden only by the small towel. Her fingers grazed the wound on his thigh, a tickling sensation that made his muscles tense, but the healing balm was cool where it coated the gash. He relaxed as she rubbed the balm into the wound, feeling the jagged skin already knitting back together, feeling his body healing faster than it would on its own, feeling a heat he didn’t expect warming his skin.
“Enough,” Cynna said. “Now the other one.”
The dark-haired nymph pushed to her feet, still didn’t look Nick in the eye, and moved around behind him. Again he felt her fingers gliding over his skin, and he tensed, then the balm slathered the wound in his shoulder, slowly warming his skin, repairing the damage and relaxing him from the outside in.
Cynna’s deep brown eyes remained blank as she watched the nymph work. No emotion crossed her face. No pleasure or excitement over what was to come, as Zagreus always showed. Nothing but emptiness. An emptiness Nick had gotten used to seeing on her flawless face.
Only…that wasn’t true. When he’d been in the ring earlier, when he’d dropped his weapon in defiance of Zagreus’s desire to make him fight, he’d seen something in her eyes then. Something that had looked a lot like panic.
“That’s enough,” Cynna said.
The nymph’s fingers lifted from Nick’s skin, and she stepped back. Moving around him, she knelt to pick up the lid, recapped the jar, then sank back against the far wall near the other nymph.
Cynna moved forward, her eyes never wavering from Nick’s, and the scent of jasmine hit him as it always did when she drew close, filling his senses, messing with his mind. She was tall for a female, at least five ten, and in those ridiculously high-heeled boots, only a few inches shorter than him. Today her blonde hair was swept over one shoulder, a blue streak near her temple contrasting sharply with her caramel skin. Her face was heavily made up, her eyes rimmed in thick black, making her look every bit the dominatrix. And though he knew he should be anxious over whatever she and Zagreus had cooked up for him next, he wasn’t. Because there was something about her that interested him. Perplexed him. Made him want to know more.
He’d never admit it, but the mystery of who she was and how she’d come to be here had saved him. Saved him from going mad or giving in to all that dark energy Zagreus was waiting to claim.
“You just…won’t…break.”
Her words were a whisper, a frustration, a surprise. She never spoke to him. Though he’d spent more time with her than anyone else in this hellhole, she never addressed him directly. She gave the commands to her grunts, and they did her dirty work. She never even got near him.
Something about today was different, though. A tiny voice in the back of his head screamed what was about to happe
n in this cell was on a whole different level from what he’d been through before.
She stepped close, so close he could feel her heat but not close enough to touch, then moved to her right, slowly making her way around him. His stomach tightened, and that blistering arousal came rushing back.
“This isn’t a game.” Her warm breath fanned his nape, sending a shiver across his bare skin. And in his wounds, where the nymph had spread the balm, heat gathered and grew, radiating outward, heading for his belly. “You cannot beat Zagreus. No one wins against the Prince of Darkness.”
Nick’s arms flexed, and the chains rattled above his head. He didn’t want to beat the fucker, he only wanted to destroy him. Not just for what he’d put Nick through during the last few months, but for what he put everyone in this wretched place through—Cynna, his gut told him, included.
“I can’t stop what he has planned for you.” She circled around and stopped directly in front of him again. “Give in, and you save yourself the torment. Give in, and this ends now.”
“Give in,” Nick repeated, staring into her dark eyes. But unlike before, they weren’t empty. They weren’t dead. There was something there. Something that looked a lot like…desperation.
Was she warning him of something horrendous to come? Why would she do that? She was Zagreus’s puppet. Or was she simply afraid of what would happen if he didn’t break?