Tempted

  As the water in the glass bowl swirled, the female chanted, stepped back, and lifted her hands outward. The water rose up, swirling higher until it was at least four feet tall, a mini cyclone twisting above the bowl.

  “Yes, that’s it,” Orpheus said, dropping his hands. Sandy brown hair fell across his forehead. “Keep concentrating. You’re doing it. You are fucking doing it. What do you see?”

  The muscles around the female’s eyes contracted. “Faces.”

  Demetrius stepped fully into the room. The female’s eyes popped open and shot in his direction.

  “Dammit, Aellô,” Orpheus said quickly. “Focus!”

  With the female’s concentration broken, the cyclone stopped spinning and gravity grabbed hold of the water, drawing it down to slap against the table and floor and spray over her and Orpheus.

  The female yelped. Demetrius went right after Orpheus. He grabbed hold of Orpheus’s shirtfront and slammed him against the wall. “Where is the princess?”

  “Skata,” Gryphon muttered. “Demetrius, let him go.”

  A sinister smile spread across Orpheus’s face. “Don’t tell me you boys lost her again. I guess the rumors are true. None of you are man enough to satisfy her after all.”

  Demetrius pulled forward, then slammed Orpheus back against the wall again, but before Orpheus’s body made contact he disappeared. Poofed right out of Demetrius’s hands.

  Demetrius’s eyes widened. He looked at his now-empty hands and whipped around to find Orpheus standing behind him, a murderous expression on his face.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Guardian. Aellô, we’re done here. Gather your stuff and head home.”

  The female cast each of them a nervous look but quickly picked up her cloak and bag from the floor, stepped over the puddle of water, and hightailed it for the door.

  “Now,” Orpheus said, crossing his arms over his chest as he glanced from his brother to Demetrius and back again, “to what do I owe this…surprise?”

  Demetrius took a step forward, but Gryphon’s forearm against his chest stopped him.

  “The princess is missing, Orpheus,” Gryphon said.

  “And that concerns me how?”

  “Because you took her to the portal.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking ab—”

  Demetrius pushed past Gryphon’s arm. “Dark magick hovers all around this place. That female you had in here was a witch.”

  Orpheus’s gray eyes settled on Demetrius, and for a second they flashed green. Green? That wasn’t right. “Be careful, Guardian.”

  “Orpheus, listen,” Gryphon said, moving by Demetrius with a glare. “Isadora went missing from the castle just before her binding ceremony to Zander. No one can find her. She doesn’t even know the king called off the proceedings.”

  At those words Demetrius finally pulled his gaze from Orpheus and shifted it to Gryphon. “The king did what?”

  Gryphon frowned Demetrius’s way, but refocused on his brother. “We found a bracelet in her room. One with the Helios marking. This store. Those witches.” He gestured to the door Aellô had just left through. “Casey told us the portal you took her, Callia, and Isadora to was manned by witches.”

  Orpheus’s gaze shifted from Gryphon to Demetrius and back again. “The king called off Isadora’s binding?”

  “Yeah.” Gryphon’s brow wrinkled. “Wait. You were supposed to be at the ceremony. You should know this already.”

  “I decided not to go. Why did the king call it off?”

  “Because it’s clear Zander and Callia are meant to be together.”

  Orpheus’s eyes narrowed. “Who did he give her to this time?”

  “No one.”

  “No one?” The words shot out of Demetrius’s mouth before he could stop them. Gryphon glared his way again with a what the hell is wrong with you? look that tightened Demetrius’s stomach and told him what the guardian said was true.

  The king really hadn’t betrothed her to anyone else? Fuck. Fuck!

  “Translation, little brother,” Orpheus said with disdain, flicking a curious look between the two. “The king didn’t have a chance to force her on yet another Argonaut she doesn’t want because she ran off before he could.”

  “Ran off or was kidnapped.”

  The brothers stared at each other, and in the tension crackling it was clear that they both knew something Demetrius didn’t. The darkness inside him tingled with awareness.

  “Will you help us?” Gryphon asked.

  Orpheus’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re asking, not ordering?”

  “Yeah. This time I am.”

  Orpheus nodded at Demetrius. “And what about that one?”

  “He wants to find her as much as the rest of us do.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Something tells me he has other, contradictory motives where your princess is concerned.”

  Demetrius had sensed Orpheus and the princess had some kind of connection in the past. Knew it now by the way Orpheus glared at him. What was she to him? And what was he to her?

  The dark mist churned and boiled inside Demetrius as he imagined the two of them alone together. This was her choice? This piece-of-shit, rat-bastard, scheming nothing?

  Orpheus’s eyes slid back to Gryphon. “I’ll take you to the portal where I took the girls. But if she already went through—”

  “We know,” Gryphon said. “There’s no telling where she could be by now.”

  Orpheus grabbed a cloak from a nearby closet, led them outside, gave them a location in the Aegis Mountains, and disappeared in a flash of light. With no other choice, Demetrius followed. He cleared his mind and imagined the location, then he was flying, flashing from the sidewalk on Corinth Avenue to a wooded area at the base of Mount Parnithia.

  Orpheus was already there waiting when Demetrius opened his eyes. Seconds later, Gryphon arrived. They followed Orpheus up a hill toward a small tent city made up of colorful fabrics. Flags flew in the wind, streamers of greens, reds, golds. A large pavilion with three flags marked with sun symbols took up the center area. As Demetrius glanced around, he counted twenty, thirty, maybe fifty witches in this gathering alone.

  Fifty witches. The darkness inside condensed even as disgust roiled through him.

  Faces turned their way as they moved into the camp. Voices died down and movement stopped. At his side, Demetrius saw Gryphon ease his hand toward the blade he kept strapped to his thigh. Even he didn’t completely trust his brother. Not when he’d led them into the center of a witch’s brew.

  Orpheus spoke in Medean to a young female standing near the pavilion’s door. Her eyes grew wide. She nodded and disappeared inside. Seconds later she came back with an older female, this one with long, straight, snow-white hair, a youthful face, and piercing blue eyes. The witch looked only about thirty, but Demetrius sensed she was much, much older.

  The witch’s eyes narrowed, passed from one to the next, and swept back to Orpheus. “These are not the Horae.”

  “No.”

  “They have no need for our services.” She started back into the pavilion, but Orpheus caught her by the arm.

  “We’re looking for one I brought through here days ago. The blond. You remember her?”

  She studied him closely. “The princess?”

  “Yes. Did she pass here in the last day?”

  “None crossed the portal as of late.”

  “What about the other portals?” Demetrius asked in a low voice.

  The witch’s gaze snapped his way and held. Knowledge passed over her eyes. Tension gathered in the air around them and anxiety pricked the edge of Demetrius’s control.

  She knows. The words reverberated in his head. There was a reason he steered clear of witches. They were too perceptive. And they recognized their kind with ease.

  “All requests come through me,” the witch finally said. “If the other portals had been crossed, I would know.”

  When she looked back at Orpheus, Demetr
ius let out the breath he’d been holding. But his relief was short-lived when she added, “Why do you come to me?”

  Orpheus held up the bracelet Gryphon had brought with them. “This was found in her room.”

  The witch muttered in Medean, but the words were too quiet for Demetrius to make out. Her gaze darted up. “Come.” She gestured with her hand. “Come inside.”

  Her urgency set off a tingling in Demetrius’s skin. He followed Orpheus and Gryphon as they ducked beneath the tent flap. The inside of the pavilion was set up as a gathering area, with a circle formed in the center, chairs and rugs scattered around the perimeter. A few females looked up from their conversation on the far side of the circle and went silent.

  Magick hung in the air, as did the scents of incense, herbs, and oils. A primitive part of Demetrius reacted to the scents, but he pushed it down as he focused on the witch again. She stopped near the circle, turned, and wrung her hands together. “That bracelet belongs to an apprentice of mine. I made it myself. But I fear she may have given it to her sister.”

  “Does this sister have a name?” Orpheus asked.

  “The sister…” The witch paused. “She’s just a young girl. She works at the castle during the day. Her name is Saphira.”

  Foreboding slid down Demetrius’s spine.

  “The princess’s handmaiden is called Saphira,” Gryphon said.

  “I know.” The witch swallowed, ran a hand over her brow. “Oh, dear. I think we may have a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?” Demetrius ground out. “What would your witch want with the princess?”

  The witch looked back to Orpheus. “Isis has gone missing as well. I thought perhaps she’d gone into Tiyrns to see her sister, but now I fear that’s not the case.”

  “Who in Hades is Isis?” Gryphon asked.

  “The witch who took Isadora across the portal days ago.” Orpheus focused on the witch. “Where did they take her, Delia?”

  Unease passed over Delia’s face. “It’s the eve of the full moon, and the feast of Hecate draws close. This time of year the dark powers will do anything to break free of their bonds. I cast a binding spell on the Horae when you were here with them so others wouldn’t see what they were, but if Isis recognized them—”

  “Shit,” Orpheus muttered.

  Demetrius didn’t like the direction of the conversation, and that tingle in his skin was now a roaring vibration.

  “What?” Gryphon asked. “Man, I am having so much trouble following this conversation.”

  “The witch has taken her to Apophis,” Orpheus said from between clenched teeth.

  “The warlock?” Gryphon’s eyes grew wide.

  “Yeah, dammit.” Orpheus looked back at his brother. “There’s good and evil in this world, little brother, even among witches.” He turned back to the witch. “What do you know about their plans, Delia?”

  Delia wrung her hands together. “The word we’re hearing is that Apophis has banded forces with Atalanta.”

  Demetrius stiffened and the blackness inside jerked.

  “Son of a bitch,” Orpheus muttered. “They’re going to hand her over in exchange for freedom from their prison. Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “Yes,” Delia said with a pained expression.

  “How?” Gryphon asked. “And what prison?”

  Delia looked his way. “Apophis was once an ándras like any other male in our region. But two thousand years ago he discovered a way to harness the black arts and used them to fuel his immortality. As his strength in this realm grew, the covens knew the horror he would unleash if he was free to roam Argolea. They united their powers to confine him to Mount Parnithia. Trapped there, he constructed Thrace Castle around him, but he’s been recruiting those from our race to his side for years, and he’s never stopped searching for a way out.”

  Demetrius clenched his jaw. That was all they needed. A fucking warlock with godlike powers, set free in their realm to wreak havoc. And now he was working with Atalanta? Holy Hades.

  Orpheus looked back at Delia. “Did you know Isis had joined Apophis’s horde?”

  “No, I didn’t. But looking back…” She wrung her hands again. “She was acting strangely after you and the Horae went through the portal.”

  “Shit,” Orpheus muttered. “How long do we have?”

  “Not long. The feast of Hecate is all but upon us. At the full moon’s crest, Apophis and his band of witches will be able to open their own portal and send the princess across undetected. Once she’s there, Atalanta can then open the portal for the rest of them, if she so chooses.”

  “We need directions to Thrace Castle,” Gryphon said.

  “It’s protected by black magick. You’ll not get close.”

  “We’ll get in,” Demetrius growled. “How many man the gates?”

  Delia finally looked his way again. “At least fifty. But take heed, Guardian. Those in service to Apophis are not only of our kind. They’ve traded what’s left of their humanity to him in exchange for enhanced powers. And he uses that humanity to strengthen his immortality. Though his followers may look like common witches, they are not.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. A witch near the far wall came running. “Selene will take you as far as the outer wall. Her powers can mask you that far, but no farther. From there, it’ll be up to you. We can’t go in with you. Apophis will sense us. But I don’t have to tell you, if he and his minions are set free in the human realm…”

  Then Atalanta won’t be the only immortal being roaming the world with a major-ass case of pissed-off.

  “Understood.” Orpheus looked toward Gryphon again. “You might want to use that fancy medallion of yours and call your guardians. Three against fifty isn’t gonna cut it.”

  Gryphon reached for the Argos medallion that hung around his neck and worked like a GPS between the Argonauts. And as he did, Demetrius pictured Isadora behind the dark castle walls with that thing, doing who the hell knew what right this very minute. His stomach clenched. The female couldn’t stay out of trouble for five fucking minutes. And just like every other time she’d gotten herself in a bind, the Argonauts were being sent in to save her. He was sick to death of playing royal baby-sitter. At what point was he going to be free of her for good?

  Never.

  As that blackness simmered and churned inside of him, Demetrius made himself a promise. If she wasn’t dead yet, he just might kill her himself.

  Chapter 3

  Somewhere close, Isadora heard the crash of waves, felt the gentle push and pull of the water. The sounds were relaxing, the tide freeing. And the tingle in her skin was as intoxicating as the strongest wine in all of Argolea.

  Something brushed her calf. Sparks of electricity zinged along her nerve endings. She drew in a breath, relaxed as the touch crept up her leg, over her hip to her abdomen. Warmth gathered there, teased her, pushed up to the undersides of her breasts. A thick heaviness pulled on her body, called to her from a place outside herself. Unfulfilled need puckered her nipples. Her blood warmed, beat in her veins, slid lower inch by inch, until she had to press her thighs together to keep from moaning.

  You like that, don’t you, Princess?

  Excitement leaped in her chest. The voice was male, deep, and sinfully sultry. A hint of darkness hovered along the sexy edges, calling to someplace deep inside her. Her mind struggled to make the connection she knew was on the tip of her memory, but awareness eluded her.

  She rolled to her back. Arched. Needed…something more, though she wasn’t sure what. More of his touch. More of those strokes that were making the blood pound in her ears. More of him.

  He chuckled low, near her ear. Hot breath fanned the sensitive skin of her neck, sent delicious shivers up and down her spine. Tell me, Princess. Are you wet?

  This time she did moan. Because his barely there caress, those erotic words, and that wicked voice all condensed until a fire ignited in the center of her core.

  Hands pushe
d between her legs, spread her thighs. Flames licked at her center even before she felt the first contact.

  Open your eyes, little one. Look up at me. It’s time.

  Her body blazed with white-hot desire and scorching flames filled with need. Slowly, she peeled her eyelids open and stared up at the blurry image above. Short dark hair framed a rugged face, onyx eyes, and a strong square jaw, with the slightest dent right in the middle of his chin.

  Demetrius.

  Alarm rang through her head like a bell being tolled, and yet still her body arched toward his, toward his lustful gaze and that decadent promise of ecstasy hovering in his dark eyes. But it was wrong. He was cruel. And she had never wanted and should never want him like this.

  Her mind protested as she tried to move. A groan tore from her chest. She rolled onto her side, sucked air, and tried to break his wicked pull even as her body continued to hum with unfulfilled cravings.

  Hands grasped her hips, and she cried out as they easily rolled her back. Warmth gathered in her center all over again. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want him. Why wasn’t her body listening?

  “Wake up, paidi, it’s time.”

  This time the voice wasn’t male and deep and sinfully erotic. This time it was female and clipped. And the hands hovering against her skin were small and cold.

  Isadora blinked, shook her head, tried to see through the fog still hanging around her like a shroud. The room came into view. It was circular, made of stone. A chill spread down her spine when the temperature registered. An old iron chandelier hung from the high ceiling, shining light over the stone floor, over her. Over Isis standing at her side, smiling a sinister grin.

  Isis. The witch. The scene from earlier raced through Isadora’s mind. She darted a quick look to her left, then her right. This room was not the same one she’d been in before. It looked like a bedroom chamber with high arching windows, a four-poster bed, a chest of drawers, and a large, cold, unused fireplace on the far wall filled with dead embers.

  “It’s time, paidi,” Isis repeated. “We must ready you for your journey.”

  “Wait—”