For a second, Skyla thought her Siren sister was referring to Orpheus, and her skin prickled. Then she realized Sappheire’s dig was related to the hybrid who’d injured Skyla weeks ago, not the hell she’d just been through.
“It surprises me you win any battles, if you think this is defeat.” Skyla grasped the balustrade and turned for the next set of steps. She wasn’t in the mood to get into a pissing match with Sappheire. It was no big secret Sappheire was itching to take Skyla’s place as Athena’s most trusted Siren. But today she didn’t feel like dealing with Sappheire’s shit. She had enough of her own to deal with.
Sappheire skipped steps and caught Skyla on the next landing. “Word is you’re slipping, Siren.”
Skyla’s eyes narrowed. “The only slipping I’ll be doing is on your blood if you don’t back off.”
Sappheire flicked a lock of hair from Skyla’s shoulder. “Be careful whom you mark as your enemy, Skyla. You might just find yourself alone when you need me most.”
Sappheire’s threat lingered as she descended the steps. When she was gone, Skyla blew out a breath and continued to her rooms at the highest level of the building.
She’d been given this premier space when she’d become Athena’s right-hand Siren, the one the goddess confided in the most and turned to when she had a problem. Skyla pushed open the door to her apartment and crossed the immaculate space. She’d taken pains to make this area her own. Comfy white furnishings, a mixture of glass and wood tables. And plenty of books.
She bypassed her kitchen, where she enjoyed baking—though no one but her knew that little secret because she never shared her goodies with anyone—and went straight for her bedroom.
This room was all her. Red velvet comforter, wrought-iron bed, plush pillows, and shelves along every wall lined with more books than a mortal could read in one lifetime. Some from Olympus, but most acquired over her many years spent in the human realm.
She stepped around a stack she’d yet to shelve and knelt on the hardwood floor near the window. After one deep breath that did little to settle her nerves, she pried up the slat closest to the window and reached inside the dusty hole for the box she’d stashed there thousands of years before.
It wasn’t anything fancy. Just aged cedar that was now covered in a layer of dust. She blew the dust from the lid and rubbed her hand over the Siren symbol—the ancient Greek letter sigma, cut diagonally with an arrow and surrounded by an intricate bow with swirled ends and delicate edges. The same symbol branded into the skin over her right shoulder blade. The same symbol every Siren had been branded with when they’d joined the order.
Siren.
Her entire being was wrapped up in that one word. Her only reason for existing. When she’d buried Cynurus deep in her mind, she’d buried all her mementos of him in this box as well. But she’d never forgotten. She couldn’t.
She opened the box, peered inside, extracted the drawing she’d done of Cynurus one night when they’d been relaxing in his home and he thought she was reading. And as she stared at the ancient picture, which was well preserved by the perfect Olympus air, she compared the man she once loved with the one she’d given herself to just today.
They looked nothing alike. Cynurus’s features had been more refined, more aristocratic. Orpheus’s were rugged, a little bit wild. But there was something similar in the slope of the nose, and the eyes…they were exactly as she remembered. Slate gray, deep set, and as intense as ever.
Why hadn’t she noticed that right off?
Her heart leaped beneath her breast, beating so fast it was a painful whir in her chest. How could she have loved someone so much yet not really known him? How could she not have seen the darkness of his soul? Back when they were together, she’d never once anticipated he could betray her. She hadn’t wanted to believe it. Had told Athena she was wrong. And then she’d seen the proof, from Zeus himself.
The gods had no reason to lie. And proof was proof. Yet…she still hadn’t been able to kill him when Zeus ordered her to. But she hadn’t stopped his death when her sisters had come to finish the job she’d started.
And now, nearly two thousand years later, a Fate had stepped in and given him another chance. What did that mean? Did it mean the gods were wrong? That he’d served his time? Surely a Fate wouldn’t bring him back if he was truly as black as Athena and Zeus claimed.
She took a deep breath, let it out, repeated until the sharp stab was nothing but an ache just beneath her breast bone. Guilty or innocent, it wasn’t her job to judge him, was it? Her job was to find out if he was really looking for the Orb.
So she’d use their connection to get close, pair up, and discover what he was really after. Learning that Athena had kept secrets from her for so many years changed everything as far as she was concerned. And the fact a Fate had stepped in to give him another chance…well, that told her there was something happening beneath the surface. Something even the gods didn’t want her to know.
She wouldn’t be a sheep led blindly into the night anymore. But if he was only after power and revenge, she’d do what she was trained to do, ex-lover or not.
She’d kill him herself. And she’d bury what he’d once meant to her forever.
Chapter 6
This had been the day from hell. Not only had Athena nearly lost her patience with the most recent of her Siren recruits—gods, was the blessed well of recruits getting stupider by the hour or what?—she’d had to deal with her half brother, Ares, and she made it a point to avoid the conceited god if she could.
He was pissed at Poseidon for some slight he deemed reprehensible and he wanted Athena to send a few Sirens to fuck with the Lord of the Seas. Like she had time for that? Or wanted to take on Poseidon right now? She had her hands full with Zeus and Skyla and this whole damn Cynurus/Orpheus debacle.
Gods almighty.
She pushed Ares to the back of her mind, ran a hand over her hair, and climbed the marble steps to the archives. Inside the massive marble building, the scents of paper and ink met her nose. Columns lined the inside of the library, flanked by enormous wooden shelving units tricked out in decorative moldings. She wove through stacks of ancient leather tomes and stopped when she came across Skyla in a back corner, sitting at a mahogany table, books open all around her. “I thought I’d find you here.”
Skyla glanced up, then refocused on her books, jotting notes on a piece of paper at her elbow. “Not a stretch, when you know this is where I come to do research.”
The Siren was still pissed. Well, Athena couldn’t blame her for that, now could she? “Does this mean you’ve decided to move ahead with your duties?”
Skyla flipped the book closed, pushed to stand. She was still dressed in the same clothes as before—black shirt, fitted slim pants, and kick-ass goth boots—but unlike before, her hair was pulled back in a slick ponytail and her makeup was fresh. And she was wearing her fighting gear—the leather breastplate with the Siren stamp and the leather arm guards that reached her elbows. “It does.”
The Siren didn’t sound excited. But at least she seemed resigned. That was as much as Athena could hope for.
“He’s still looking for Maelea,” Skyla said, folding her paper and slipping it into her right boot. “Now that I know this is about the Orb, I’m guessing he’ll use her to locate the medallion. If you gave me all the information I needed up front to do my job, I’d be far more effective.”
Maelea—technically known as Melinoe, but she’d dropped that name long ago—was the waiflike creature who’d wandered the earth for over three thousand years. Not a god, not a human, she was the daughter of Zeus and Persephone, conceived one dark night when Zeus descended into the Underworld and disguised himself as Hades, then seduced the Lord of the Underworld’s wife near the banks of the River Styx. Zeus was always doing shit like that, causing trouble and making waves, but he got away with it because he was Zeus. King of fucking everything. It was no great surprise that Hades had been pissed at both his broth
er and his wife when he discovered their affair, or that he’d cast their bastard child out of the Underworld, banishing the girl to the human realm, where she’d wandered ever since, caught between worlds.
Athena had given Skyla the hint before—that the daemon hybrid was tracking Maelea—but she hadn’t told her why. “I’ll expect an update when you find her.”
Skyla nodded, stepped past Athena, and headed for the front of the library.
“Skyla.”
Skyla hesitated but didn’t look back. “What?”
There was still hurt there. Athena didn’t feel bad for causing the Siren pain, but neither did she like the resulting resentment. “Duty has saved you. Remember that.”
Skyla didn’t move, and in the silence Athena sensed that the Siren wanted to say something but didn’t. She simply nodded again and disappeared out the front of the archives.
Athena stared after her, trying to decipher what it must be like to be mortal. Though Skyla didn’t age, she was still mortal in every sense of the word. She truly was the toughest Siren Athena had ever trained, but that didn’t make her invincible. The iron shield she’d built around herself since Cynurus’s death wouldn’t last forever. And when it finally gave, Athena had a sinking suspicion the aftermath just might cause a host of problems for the whole of Olympus.
Unless, of course, Athena headed it off before that happened.
Footsteps echoed to her right. She didn’t turn to look to see who’d joined her. She already knew who’d been lurking in the stacks because she’d told her to wait there until Skyla left. “Gather two other Sirens. I have a job for you.”
Sappheire paused at Athena’s side, her gaze straying to the front of the building. “Khloe and Rhebekkah are available.”
“Good.” Athena turned toward the blue-eyed Siren who would one day soon take Skyla’s place. “Send them to Argolea. A new queen rules. I want them to enlist the help of the Argonauts.”
“Toward what end?”
“To locate the warlock who holds the Orb of Krónos.”
“And what if they won’t? As far as they know, the hybrid is one of them.”
“They will. Especially when you tell them what he really is.”
“And what of her?” Sappheire nodded toward the door Skyla had just exited.
“Follow her. And report back to me what she and the hybrid are doing.”
“You think she’s compromised.”
Athena chose her worlds carefully. “I think it’s possible Skyla is letting emotions rule her actions.”
“And if you’re right?”
Loyalty was a sacred trait that couldn’t be taught. But even to the gods, self-preservation trumped loyalty by a long shot. “Then you and I both know what has to be done.”
***
Orpheus had been in a piss-poor mood ever since the blond with the hypnotizing violet eyes had ditched him three nights ago in her apartment. He’d replayed the events over in his mind and only two things were clear.
One, she was definitely otherworldly. Even if she hadn’t poofed right out of his arms, he’d have known it from the mind-blowing sex they’d had in her hall. Human females didn’t blow his mind. Argolean females either. He’d even slept with a few goddesses in his many years and not even they’d rocked his world the way Skyla had. He tried to ignore the fact she was the only one who’d ever flipped him end over end like that, but couldn’t.
He had to get the female out of his head. The only thing that really mattered—and the second point that was clear to him—was that the sex obviously hadn’t been as earth-shattering for her as it had been for him. Evidenced by the way she’d run like the wind as soon as it was over.
Whatever. He didn’t care. Skata, he shouldn’t even be thinking of her anyway. He had more important things on his mind. Like locating that damn Maelea creature, the one he’d let get away the night he’d met Skyla. The witches in Argolea had told him she could sense energy shifts on earth. If that sonofabitch warlock Apophis was using the Orb’s energy, Maelea would be able to feel it. And she’d be able to tell Orpheus right where the slimy piece of shit was hiding.
He stayed in the shadows of the ritzy Lake Washington neighborhood he’d tracked Maelea to. Two nights of waiting and she hadn’t returned to the small town of Auburn, Washington, where the concert had taken place. But he’d lucked out when he overheard a conversation in a bar between two human males about the weird black-haired woman who routinely hung out at the death-metal concerts. What she’d been doing with the metalheads, Orpheus still didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to question a streak of luck, especially not when the waitress told him Maelea had mentioned living somewhere near Lake Washington in the Laurelhurst area.
He’d spent the last night running reconnaissance and he was pretty sure which house was hers. The daemon inside him could sense the light and dark warring within her. The new moon cast not a hint of light as he hid in the shadows and waited for the streetlights to go out. At this time of night—nearly two a.m.—not a soul was awake, but in this rich area, he knew neighbors looked out for one another. And a six-foot-six, two-hundred-seventy-pound stranger lurking in the shadows would draw attention he didn’t need.
He shook off the feeling he was being watched, crept up the empty drive with its manicured hedge and towering trees blocking out the other houses. The property was a sprawling four acres right on the waterfront. Prime real estate he had no doubt Maelea had purchased back when land in the Seattle area was cheap. He briefly wondered how she kept her neighbors from asking questions about her ageless appearance, then brushed it aside. No doubt she kept to herself. He couldn’t exactly see her at the neighborhood picnic, getting chummy with the local mom’s club.
He moved around the back of the house, felt the daemon in him stir. Yeah, she was definitely in there. He could feel the blackness of her soul, along with that same odd light from Olympus.
Man, that would suck. Light and dark warring together within, never letting one get the upper hand, never giving the bearer any kind of relief. And he thought he had it bad.
The back patio curved outward, covered by a trellis of climbing ivy. He picked his way around patio furniture and up the three cement steps to peer in the back window of the house.
“Rethink that move, daemon.”
He froze. Knew that voice. For some reason wasn’t surprised to hear it here, now.
Slowly he turned and peered through the dark with his enhanced sight toward the woman who’d rocked his world just three nights before.
Correction—not a woman. Dressed in what looked like some ancient Spartan fighting gear with…shit, a very familiar symbol stamped on the breastplate…Skyla’s affiliation suddenly made sense.
He turned back to peer into the house. No lights. Nothing moved. No sign anyone but a ghost lived here. “I was wondering when you’d show up again.”
“I thought I warned you to steer clear of this.”
“Well, lucky for you I never do as I’m told.” He glanced inside the window ledge at the LED that indicated an alarm system was turned on. “And at my age, I don’t plan to start now.” He took a step back, looked up at the second-floor window. Still no lights.
“I—”
“I’ve been trying to figure out what you are. We both know you’re not human, though you put on a good act. You’re definitely not a god. I’d have picked up on that right away. You aren’t a Grace or a Muse—not enough class. For a minute I thought nymph.” He shot her a look, from the swell of her breasts pressing up behind that leather breastplate to the knee-high black boots showcasing her shapely legs. “You screw like one.”
A disgusted look crossed her features. Was that jealousy? No, not from her.
He turned back to the house. “Then I realized there was only one creature built like an X-rated Barbie doll able to kick a daemon’s ass.” He dropped the humor. “Tell your boss Zeus to go fuck himself.”
“Cy—”
He didn’t wait to hear w
hat she had to say. He flashed inside the house, turned to look at her through the window. Her shocked expression said she hadn’t expected he could flash through walls.
Get used to surprises, sweetheart. I sure have.
He shot her a salute and turned for the front of the house. In the entryway he stopped. Listened. His oversensitive hearing picked up one heartbeat. One even breathing pattern.
He grasped the old oak banister, climbed the curved stairs toward the second floor. The creak of wood behind him stopped his feet and brought his head around.
“Orpheus,” Skyla whispered. “Rethink this move.”
Skata. How the hell had she gotten past the security system?
“Look, lady,” he said in an equally low whisper. “I know you’ve got a hard-on for me and all, but it wasn’t that great. I’m not interested anymore.”
She might be trained by the gods themselves, but she didn’t hide the sting his words inflicted as quickly as she should have. For a tiny second he regretted saying them. Then the feeling fled.
“If you’re determined to drag her into this, go ahead,” she whispered in a hard tone. “But I’ll not let you hurt her.”
As if he cared. He reached the second floor and looked right and left. The door at the end of the hall was open. He headed that way. Paused outside. Peered past the door into what looked like a bedroom suite that ran from one end of the house to the other.
The bed along the wall was empty. To his left, lights from windows that looked out at the street streamed into the room. From the right, dots of illumination peppered the darkened windows at the back of house. Ahead, a door that had to lead to a bathroom was cracked just an inch. And though he couldn’t see her, he sensed Maelea close. Hiding like the ghoul she’d become.
He took a step into the room, conscious that Skyla wasn’t far behind.