The clothes he’d brought for her were scattered over the floor. Cheeks heating with memories of his mouth, his hands, how she’d all but begged for more, she stooped to pick them up, then dragged them on. The shorts were baggier than she liked, but they were better than nothing. She didn’t look at the table as she dressed, and when she was done she straightened, only to have a wave of nausea that came out of nowhere wash over her.
She reached out to steady herself. Breathed deep until it passed. Then wiped a hand over her damp brow.
That was weird. Yeah, she’d been a little stressed since she’d been here, and she wasn’t eating like she should be, but she hadn’t felt anything like that since…
Dread spiraled through her and she mentally ticked off days. At least seven had passed since she’d last been at the castle in Argolea. Seven days away from her sister. The ramifications of her situation suddenly hit full force. Regardless of what had happened here with Demetrius, she needed to get home before things turned dire for Casey.
Her gaze strayed to Demetrius, still sound asleep, and her temper kicked up. She moved around the table and flipped open the lid of the first trunk, looking for…she didn’t know what. Just something that would help her get the hell off this island. Not his type? Screw him. He wasn’t her type. Mean definitely wasn’t her type. Why on earth had she ever thought he wasn’t the bastard he’d always been back home?
She moved to the next trunk and silently rejoiced when she found a sword. She turned the blade in the low torchlight still burning from last night and figured it would do. It wasn’t as big as the one Demetrius carried, but it fit better in her hand. Orpheus had taught her just enough to wield the damn thing, but she wasn’t afraid now like she’d been before. She wanted off this damn island so bad she was willing to search for holy ground without him. She could open the portal on her own.
She turned for the steps, then belatedly remembered the spell book she’d seen in Jason’s chest.
What you’ve got there is more powerful than you or your sisters realize.
Orpheus’s words from days ago skipped through her mind. She looked down at the winged omega marking on her inner thigh, visible beneath the hem of her short shorts. Orpheus knew all about spells and drawing power, and if her link to the Horae gave her some sort of advantage where that was concerned, she was going to use it. No matter the cost.
She moved to Jason’s chest, set the sword down in front of her, and pawed through the contents until she found the book. The cover was dusty and she blew until the grime cleared and the Helios symbol became visible in the aged leather.
“Aren’t we curious this morning?”
Isadora’s heart lurched into her throat. She dropped the book, grasped the sword, and whipped around with her arm outstretched. The tip of the blade stopped centimeters from Demetrius’s bare chest.
His eyes flicked down to the weapon, then lifted to rest on hers. “I see sleep did you well. You obviously remembered all those reasons you hate me.”
Her heart pounded hard against her chest. Relief that it was him and not some monster pissed her off more than if she’d found herself face-to-face with a Hydra. “No, I just remembered your legendary cruelty.”
“Very good, Princess.”
His low mocking tone clawed at her self-respect, heated her cheeks, and made her remember all over again what she’d done last night. With him. In this very room. The difference was, to her it had meant something. To him it was…
She didn’t know what it was to him. A game, she guessed. One more way to humiliate her.
He took a step forward, until the tip of the blade pressed into his chest but didn’t break the skin. “Do it. Now’s your chance.”
She wanted to. She was so angry she could barely see straight. Every one of his cruel words over the years crashed in to remind her of the thousands of times he’d belittled her. And that, coupled with the newfound fear over her sister, made her unsteady. But when he moved closer still and the tip pushed deeper, she tensed. Her eyes shot to his chest and to the tiny droplet of blood that trickled down the blade.
Her stomach rolled. Yes, she was angry, and yes, she hated that he made her feel anything at all, but she didn’t want this. She didn’t want to hurt him just because he’d hurt her.
“Go ahead, Princess,” he whispered. “All you have to do is push.”
Her eyes lifted to his and though she saw indifference in his black irises, she also saw something else. Lurking deep, there lingered…regret.
Her heart stuttered, caught, and picked up speed as she stared at him. The night before spiraled through her memory again, only this time she didn’t focus on his words. This time she focused on the look of desire in his eyes, the way he’d touched her, the fact he hadn’t been able to get enough of her. And she remembered the way he’d told her to tell him to stop, and when she hadn’t, how he’d finally let down his guard and taken her places she never knew existed.
He’d wanted her, and it scared the crap out of him. So much he’d reverted to his old ways to convince her he was the enemy. She lowered the sword, even as her heart raced beneath her breast.
“Your father’s right,” he muttered. “You’re no leader.”
His words cut to the heart of her, to every one of her insecurities and what she feared most in this world. But she didn’t dwell on them. For whatever reason, he was trying to make her hate him. And his baiting words belied his actions. Those were what she focused on.
She turned the sword and held out the handle to him. “Maybe I’m not. But I know a lie when I hear one.”
For just a split second, confusion crossed his features. And then the mask came up again, the one that said Fuck you to the world and Leave me the hell alone. But that wasn’t the real him. The real him was the one who’d rescued her more times than she could count, watched over her, and pleasured her so completely last night without taking a single thing for himself in the process.
His fingers wrapped around the handle of the blade, and as he lowered it to the ground, she knew she had a choice. To let him go on believing that lie or prove to him he was wrong.
She moved into him without a second thought. Just as she had last night, except this time she wrapped both arms around his waist and held on tight.
He tensed, and beneath her ear his heart rate kicked up speed.
The reaction warmed her, told her yeah, she was definitely right. He was trying to keep her away from him. Though she didn’t understand why, she wasn’t about to let him win. Last night had meant something to her. And it had obviously meant something to him as well, if it had spurred him into using his old cruel tactics on her again.
“Wh-why are you doing this?”
“Because you won’t.” She wiped the droplet of blood from his chest, then softly pressed her lips to the wound that was already healing. She wanted him to know she was serious, that this—he—mattered. Because something inside her sensed he never really had before.
Seconds passed as they stood frozen together. For a moment she thought he was going to draw away. And then the blade clattered to the floor at her feet and his large, warm hands landed gently on her shoulders and slid down her back.
Yes. Yes.
She closed her eyes, burrowed closer, and hung on to the feeling. The same one she’d experienced last night when he’d kissed her and touched her and made her want.
“Why are you so damn stubborn?” he whispered.
“Why are you so hell-bent on pushing me away?”
“Because I’m no good.”
His blunt words drew her back, forced her eyes up. The dim light cast a warm glow over his face, made his skin look darker, the week’s worth of beard thicker, his eyes blacker. But there was an odd sort of truth in his words. A truth she didn’t understand but wanted to know.
What had happened to him? What had he done or seen in his two hundred years that made him honestly believe that he wasn’t good enough for her?
“Good is
a matter of opinion, Demetrius. And as far as I’m concerned, nothing about you isn’t good enough.”
“Isadora—”
She didn’t want to argue. She knew she wasn’t going to change his mind with words. What she wanted was the chance to make him believe.
She eased up on her tiptoes, slid her hand around his neck, and tugged. He was so tall she couldn’t reach his mouth on her own, but he took the cue easily. And then his lips were on hers and all the hurt and anger from this morning seemed like a distant memory.
Gods, he tasted good, felt even better. Days ago she’d sat on that beach, watching him strap those boards together, scared to death about the prospect of being stuck here alone with him for any length of time. And now…now a part of her ached at the thought of their time ending before their bond had a chance to solidify.
His hands slid up to frame her face and he tipped her head, kissed her slowly and deeply and so thoroughly she felt it all the way to her toes. And when he eased back to look down at her with those stormy, emotion-filled eyes, she knew she was right.
“This,” he said softly, “is a bad idea. You know that, don’t you?”
She smiled because this—what was happening between them—was really the least of their problems on this island. “Why are you so convinced doom is lurking around every corner?”
“Because it usually is.” A frown turned his lips. “Once you go home, this—I—will just be one giant regret you’ll look back on and wish you could change.”
And he was trying to prevent that. Suddenly, his words and actions last night and this morning made a whole lot more sense. “I doubt that.”
“I don’t.”
She rubbed her fingers down the back of his hand and leaned into his touch. “Sometimes the most important things in this world are the ones we have to fight for. I don’t believe you’re not worth fighting for, Demetrius. Even if you do.”
“Kardia—”
Her heart swelled at the term of endearment he used without even realizing it. And as she pressed her lips into his palm and kissed him gently, she had the strangest sense he’d called her that last night. After she’d fallen asleep. After he’d come back and lain down next to her.
Whatever doubt she’d carried slithered away. He wasn’t the stone-cold bastard she’d always believed him to be. He was so much more. Now she just had to make him believe it too.
Easing back, she smiled again, then bent down and picked up the sword he’d dropped. “I’m hungry. And I was thinking after breakfast maybe you could give me a few pointers on my hand-to-hand combat.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “Planning on battling a few monsters today?”
“You never know. Considering my luck, it might not be a bad idea to be prepared just in case.”
A sound that was half snort, half laugh came out of him. “Yeah, I’ve seen your luck. Up close and personal. Several times.”
“My gods.”
The humor fled from his face. “What?”
“You are gorgeous when you smile.”
His eyes darkened. “I think—”
Too deep. Keep things light. When things got deep he reverted to his old ways.
“That’s your problem, Demetrius.” She reached up to pat his stubbly cheek. “You think too much. Let’s go find that breakfast.”
Her smile lingered as she headed for the stairs. She knew he was watching her with that perplexed expression, just as she knew he didn’t have a clue what to do about her next. He thought he could push her around, treat her as he had before, and she’d react the same as she always had. Like a coward. Like a weakling. Like the shy little princess who didn’t have a backbone. Well, things were different now, and he was partly to blame for the change sweeping over her. If the last week had taught her anything, it was that she was in control of her own destiny.
And he’d better watch out, because she had her sights set on him.
***
He watched her carefully all day. And two things were clear to Demetrius as he followed Isadora on the narrow path down to the beach on the north side of the island. One, she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. And two, she was growing weaker by the day.
Both of those realizations set off a tremor of unease deep in his gut. The first, because it meant he’d have to be more vigilant about keeping his distance from her, which, shit, he was obviously doing a bang-up job of already, wasn’t he? And second, because enough time had passed since her kidnapping that she should be recovered from whatever had happened to her in Thrace Castle and later with Atalanta.
Early afternoon sunlight bathed her in ribbons of gold. Her pale skin had taken on a warm glow from days in the sun, brought a rosiness to her cheeks that hadn’t been there before, but she grew tired more easily now, needed to take breaks to catch her breath when they hiked, wasn’t eating nearly as much as she should.
Granted, they hadn’t had a real meal in days. Fruits and the measly snack foods he’d gathered from that wreckage weren’t cutting it for him either. As if on cue, his stomach rumbled. Which was why they were down here, on this beach this afternoon, with its reef-protected bay. So hopefully they could catch some dinner before heading back to the ruins.
But still…
What if those witches had cast some kind of deterioration spell over her? What if Atalanta had? Either way he needed to get her back to Argolea and to a healer who knew how the hell to help her.
Isadora stepped out of the waist-high grasses and onto the white sand beach, stopped, and took a deep breath.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he stepped around her, careful not to touch her. He’d purposely avoided touching her all day. Because whenever he did…yeah, this morning was a prime example of him losing his ever-loving mind. Whenever he did, he forgot all about his vow to keep his distance and sank right into her.
“Nothing,” she said on a sigh. “I’m just enjoying. If you forget about everything asleep in there”—she nodded back toward the trees—“this place is really beautiful.”
Not as far as he was concerned. It was like one giant Venus flytrap waiting to snap.
The contented smile on her face tugged at him, warmed his blood, reminded him what those lips felt like against his. To distract himself, he rolled up his pant legs and said, “Just pick a place to relax while I see what I can find.”
She chose a rock near the edge of the small bay, sat, and pulled her knees up to her chest while he waded out and climbed onto a series of flat rocks twenty feet away. Waves crashed against the reef farther out, but the water in the inlet only rose and fell gently, making it easy to see the sandy bottom and the sea life within.
Roughly ten minutes passed before he heard her sigh. “We searched all morning. How sure are you there’s actually holy ground on this island?”
“Pretty damn.” He zeroed in on a nice-sized fish, lifted his sword, and timed its movements.
“We searched half the island—”
“A third of the island.”
“—and didn’t find a single temple or even any sign of burial grounds.”
The fish swam close and he tensed, ready to strike, but it darted away before he could thrust the blade into the water. He moved to another rock, one that was closer to the reef. “Any temples are going to be built on higher ground farther inland.”
“Why wouldn’t they be near the ruins?” she asked.
He caught sight of a big juicy fish with a shimmer of color across its side. “Because the ruins are more recent, built by the original seven after they rounded up all the nasties and stuck them on this island. The temples will have been built by early dwellers who inhabited this island before that. And as such they would have constructed their temples on the highest points so they were closer to Olympus. Burial grounds will be near there as well.”
“Why didn’t we search farther inland today, then?”
“Because we needed to get the lay of the land.” And because farther inland was at least a day’s hike, probabl
y more. He wasn’t about to take Isadora on a jaunt that long, especially not when she was so weak. It screwed with his plans, but a couple of hours out here with her today and he’d realized he had to wait until she was stronger before they ventured that deep into the island.
Which, yeah, created a whole other set of problems he just didn’t want to think about yet.
“That’s it, buddy,” he whispered as the fat fish swam close. “Just a little more.” He lifted the sword, ready to strike.
“I get the feeling you’re holding out on me.”
The sound of her voice right at his back caught him off guard. His sword stabbed into the water. He lost his footing and whipped around to grab her arm and steady himself. But his center of gravity was already shooting backward, and instead of stopping him from going in, she went down with him.
“Demet—!”
Her shriek turned to a muffled rumble as water rushed over his head. He quickly found his footing in the six or so feet of water, pushed his arms around until he found her, and dragged her up with him.
He gasped as he broke the surface, drew air into his lungs, and had a moment of Oh, shit when he realized he could have smacked her head against those rocks or ripped her arm out of its socket or—
Her laughter stopped him cold.
She wasn’t unconscious. She wasn’t injured. She wasn’t anything but soaking wet and laughing hysterically in his arms. Her fingers sank into his forearms, his biceps, and then his shoulders as she pulled herself closer and the laughter died on her smiling lips. “That doesn’t count as a rescue. Now I think you’re just trying to pad your numbers.”
Rescue? What—?
Water sluiced over her face, dripped down her forehead from her short blond hair, made her rosy cheeks glisten in the afternoon sunlight. And her eyes absolutely sparkled as she looked up and grinned as if he were the biggest idiot on the planet.
Before he could stop it, a smile wound its way across his lips as well. “I thought you said you were going to start returning the favor. That was a crappy save.”