She shifted, tried to reach for him because his touch felt so wickedly good she wanted it all over again. Anywhere. Everywhere. Only as she held out her hand, the image swirled and dissolved, leaving behind only the swish and sway of the wind.
No, not wind. Water.
Isadora listened closer. A strange sense of foreboding washed through her, pushing out all that heat from before.
She rolled to her stomach, groaned because every muscle in her body ached, then drew in a mouthful of sand. Pushing up on her hands, she coughed as she dragged her eyes open.
Blinding light burned her retinas. She dropped back onto her butt and winced as pain shot up her spine and down her legs. Holding up her hand to block the glare, she forced her eyes open again.
Her surroundings slowly came into view. She was sitting on a beach. The sound she’d heard was indeed water, but nothing seemed familiar.
Her mind spun and tendrils of panic wedged their way into her chest. Where was she? And how in Hades had she gotten here?
A figure moved to her right, and she looked that way only to be blinded all over again by the setting sun. She winced and squinted at the shadow coming toward her.
The mystery face was shrouded in shadow, dark hair wreathed in a halo of light from the sun behind. But even from this distance she could tell he was male. Male and massive and very impressive, especially wearing next to nothing as he was.
Tingles rushed over her as he drew closer. A smattering of dark hair covered his olive skin and impressive chest, catching the light as he moved. Her eyes drifted lower to chiseled six—no, eight—pack abs, to black pants that rode low on lean hips and were rolled up at the calves, to strong, perfect bare feet throwing sand as he moved with the grace of an Olympian.
For a fleeting moment she had the feeling she was in the presence of a god. She held her breath as he stopped feet from her, and though she tipped her head back and squinted to see more clearly, his face was still cast in shadows.
He dropped a rope on the sand at her side, one she now realized had been hooked over his shoulder as he’d dragged something behind him. Sunlight glinted off his muscular arms and chest, accented the droplets of sweat gathering on his tanned skin, which she could now see was marred with thin white scars.
“You’re finally awake,” he said in a clipped and familiar voice as he rested his hands on his hips. “About damn time.”
Wait. Gods didn’t have scars, did they? They were immortal. They couldn’t be hurt, not like humans and Argoleans. She tipped her head the other way, tried to get a good look at him. Still couldn’t.
“It’ll be nightfall before long. Unless you want to get caught out here in the dark, Princess, I suggest you get your ass up and try putting some weight on that leg.”
He began pulling seven- and eight-foot sections of wood from the rope he’d looped around the bundle. Tree trunks, she realized, none more than five inches wide, stripped of their limbs so they formed long poles. Her mind tumbled again. What on earth were the trees for? And who the hell was he?
The setting sun flashed over muscles in his arms and back that flexed and rippled beneath his skin as he worked. Three long red gashes, equally spaced, cut across the middle of his back. Another ran down the outside of his left bicep, this one redder and deeper, the puckered ridge indicating the injury had happened more recently than the others.
She tried to make sense of what was happening and who he was. As if he felt her eyes on him, he turned and glared at her.
And in the split second his face shifted from shadow to sunlight, Isadora gasped.
The voice finally registered. She scrambled back on her hands and feet, stopping only when her back hit something solid.
Demetrius’s glower darkened but he didn’t say anything, just clenched his jaw and went back to loosening the rope around the bundle of logs. But Isadora’s heart rate shot into the triple digits. The last thing she remembered was sitting in her suite at the castle, staring into her mirror as she prepared herself for the binding ceremony with Zander, and seeing a vision of her and Demetrius locked in an erotic scene.
Her hand shot to her mouth and her eyes clamped shut. She couldn’t even think the words, let alone remember the image—the first glimpse of the future she’d had in over a month. She forced her eyes open and looked across the sand to where Demetrius was now laying out the logs two feet apart.
Holy Hera, what was going on?
He turned before she could collect herself and marched in her direction. She tensed as he drew close and tried to scoot back more, but the wall—no, it wasn’t a wall, it was some kind of lean-to shelter built out of more logs and twigs and foliage—stopped her.
His mouth was set in a hard line, his jaw covered in a thin layer of stubble, his dark eyes flat and resigned as he leaned close. For a second she thought he was going to touch her and her body stiffened, the heady scent of sweet male sweat and something else she couldn’t quite place drifting in the air to make her light-headed. But instead of grabbing her, he reached past and picked up something at her back, then turned and walked away without a word.
Curious, she shifted forward and that’s when she realized he’d grabbed a rope from the mini-shelter at her back. Only it wasn’t like any other rope she’d seen before. This one was green and consisted of a number of differing vines woven together like a braid.
She watched as he strapped boards together. He worked in silence, his muscles flexing and relaxing as he moved, his skin shining with a thin layer of sweat. Head still spinning, Isadora sat silent, unsure what to say or do. Glancing around, she took a wider look at where they were.
Behind her, green mountains rose. To the right and left the white sand beach stretched into infinity, bordered with forest and dense brush and the occasional palm tree here and there. The air was temperate, the push and pull of the water familiar. In front of her lay a pile of black ashen logs, as if from a recent fire, and off to her right, just out of her reach, a collection of spears of differing lengths, all made of wood, the tips chiseled to dangerous points.
Trepidation washed over her. There was no other sound besides the gentle lap of water and ropes thwacking wood where Demetrius worked. There were no other people anywhere close, no signs of life either. She knew they weren’t in Argolea—at least nowhere she’d ever been—but nothing else made sense. And though she didn’t mean to, her eyes kept straying back to Demetrius as he worked. At the play of muscle and bone beneath his tanned skin. At what he was doing with his big, powerful hands.
Warmth gathered low in her belly. A warmth she didn’t want and didn’t understand. What was going on? Why was he here? And where the heck was here, anyway?
As the sun dropped toward the water, she finally realized he was building a ladder.
A loud shriek sounded in the trees at Isadora’s back, followed by a howl that seemed to shake the ground. She jerked, every hair on her body standing on end. Instinct had her scrambling out of the lean-to on her hands and knees and looking back into the trees. “Wh-what was that?”
“Skata,” Demetrius muttered. Rope thwacked board faster. “That, Your Pampered Highness, was either a Calydonian boar or a harpy. Take your fucking pick.”
Wide-eyed, she turned to look at Demetrius. His jaw was locked tight and his hands now moved with lightning speed over the boards. “A what or a what?”
“Not a what, Princess. A when.” He dropped the end of the ladder in the sand and stepped close to pick up a handful of spears. “And if you don’t get your ass moving, you’re gonna meet one or both up close and personal.”
The trees rattled and swayed as the shrieks and roars grew louder. Fear had Isadora struggling to her feet. She took a step back just as her left leg went out from under her.
Pain shot up from her shin and she cried out. Before she hit the sand, Demetrius’s arm wrapped around her waist and tugged her tight to his side.
“Fucking lovely,” he muttered. He shoved a spear into her hand. “Take th
is.”
She had little time to do anything else. He hooked the other weapons under his free arm, picked up the end of the ladder, and then he ran. Clamped tight to his side, Isadora could do nothing but put her good foot down in time with his to keep her balance and hold on tight to his shoulder with her free arm.
Her leg throbbed and every step sent pain ricocheting throughout her body. She had no idea where they were going, but the roars and screams behind ratcheted up her adrenaline. A loud crashing sound echoed and Demetrius slowed, whipped them both around. A gigantic boar sailed through the air as if launched from the trees and landed hard against the lean-to Isadora had just been sitting in.
The lean-to split apart into dozens of pieces. The boar grunted, squealed, rolled to its side, and righted itself. It whipped around and looked back into the trees. Then it opened its mouth and bared enormous fangs and razor-sharp teeth.
No way. It couldn’t be real. Before her brain could click into gear, a flutter of tree limbs drew her attention. She glanced back to the forest only to see a winged monster that looked like something straight out of a nightmare emerge and hover above the boar.
“Fuck,” Demetrius muttered.
“Wh-what is that?”
The sickeningly gray-colored thing that looked like a twisted cross between a woman and a bird shrieked, the sound so loud Isadora felt the sharp stab of pain in her eardrum. She slammed her free hand over her ear and cried out. The creature swung its gaze their way and narrowed bloodred eyes.
“Skata.” Demetrius let go of Isadora and shoved the end of the ladder into her free hand. “Run. Run hard.” Then he dropped the bundle of spears from under his arm and picked up one in each hand.
Terror leaped in Isadora’s throat. She had no idea how any of this could be real, but she wasn’t about to stand here and get into a debate with Demetrius. Balanced on her good leg, she turned to look behind her. Then had a moment of Oh, shit.
They’d run far enough down the beach that she could see around the next set of rocks. Fifty yards away the beach came to a dramatic end, a sheer cliff rising straight up at least four stories.
A hissing sound echoed at Isadora’s back. She turned just in time to see the winged creature open its mouth to reveal three rows of razor-sharp teeth dripping with blood. An ear-shattering shriek erupted from its throat and then, with a great flutter of wings, it charged.
Horror enveloped Isadora, held her tight where she stood. Her legs trembled as the monster flew through the air.
“Run!” Demetrius yelled just as it reached him. He swung out with the spear.
Screams and grunts mixed with the clash of Demetrius’s spear against flesh and bone. The beast’s claws arced out and caught Demetrius across the abdomen. He swiveled. Blood spurted from his wounds. He reached back and hurled the spear hard.
The spear caught the monster by the wing, tearing a large hole that gushed bloody fluid. The monster screamed and dropped to the ground.
Across the sand, the boar roared and dashed forward, as if it had suddenly realized it was about to miss out on all the fun.
Demetrius hooked another spear with his bare foot and kicked it up in the air. “Fucking run!”
His voice cut through the terror-filled haze. Isadora stumbled backward, caught herself on her good leg before she went down.
The boar charged. The winged creature screamed again, righted itself. Its eyes seemed to grow even redder.
Oh, shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit…
The pain in her leg only a dim thought, Isadora tore off across the sand as fast as her weak leg would let her. Her heart pounded hard as she dragged the ladder with one hand, which now made a sick sort of sense, and held the spear in the other.
Like she’d even know what to do with a spear. Like she stood a frickin’ chance if those things got by Demetrius. She’d only just learned how to use a blade—thanks to Orpheus’s help—and only when she thought methodically about how and where to strike. But a spear? A spear?
Oh, gods.
A fresh wave of panic consumed her when she reached the base of the cliff. Up close it was much higher than she’d thought. The ladder wouldn’t even come close to reaching the top. Fear closed her lungs, made it hard to breathe. Her heart pounded hard in her ears, drowning out the sounds of clashes and grunts and screams and roars behind her, where Demetrius still battled the two monsters.
She swallowed hard and pulled the ladder up so she could maneuver it against the cliff. It rose at least fifteen feet, not to the small lip that jutted out a good distance up but—yes!—close enough. Maybe if she could get high enough, she could pull herself the rest of the way up.
Her eyes flicked from the tree-trunk poles to the green woven-vine rope. Would it hold her weight? He’d lashed it together quickly. Would it splinter as soon as she was high enough to fall and break her neck?
A roar shook the ground. Isadora grasped the rung above her head and climbed.
The muscles in her arms quivered and ached as she tried to use her strength to pull herself up instead of putting weight on her bad leg. Fear stabbed into her chest like a hot, sharp knife. When she was three-quarters of the way up, breathing heavily from exertion and trying not to look down, the ladder shook.
Both hands clamped on to the rung in front of her. A scream tore from her mouth. Below she heard Demetrius yell, “Climb faster!”
A high-pitched shriek sounded from somewhere close. She didn’t look, knew she couldn’t. Instead she grabbed the rungs faster and climbed higher.
When she made it to the top of the ladder she reached for the closest rock sticking out of the cliff. She perched her bare foot on the uppermost rung, grabbed on, and hauled herself up. Her free hand reached the four-foot ledge. Her fingers dug into rock and dirt, and pain shot through her joints and muscles as she pulled with all her strength.
The creature screamed again at the base of the ladder.
“Go!” Demetrius yelled below her.
Her arms ached in protest, but somehow she managed to pull herself up and over the ledge. She fell onto her back, sucked air into her burning lungs. Demetrius appeared at the ledge before she’d taken three good breaths.
He didn’t even look winded as he hauled himself onto the ledge and jerked the ladder up with him. He placed it against the cliff again, reached for her hand, and yanked her to her feet. “This isn’t a pit stop, Princess. Move!”
Sweat covered every inch of Isadora’s skin. She was so tired she could barely move, but when that thing below screamed again, she realized he was right. This was no place to rest. He might have injured the beast, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t fly anymore, or—oh, gods—climb. She grabbed the ladder when he pushed her toward it, hooked the foot of her bad leg on the first rung, and pushed herself up.
Blinding pain shot from her leg to her skull, and she screamed out as she felt something crack. Her vision swirled and she nearly let go of the ladder, but the horrific cry of the thing below reminded her that if she gave up, she was going to be lunch. Gritting her teeth, she paused, drew in deep breaths. Then with Demetrius’s urging she kept climbing, letting her arms and good leg do as much of the work as they could.
She tried not to think about how high they were, about how unstable the ledge their ladder was perched on could be, about how close Demetrius was, right below her feet, or how much weight rested precariously on the rungs of this makeshift ladder. The next ledge was below the end of the ladder so she didn’t have to struggle so hard to make it to the top. She fell off the ladder onto her side on the hard rocky surface and just tried to breathe. Demetrius stepped off after her, pulled the ladder up again, and grabbed her by the arm, hauling her with him and pushing her toward the ladder again for the last climb.
“I can’t.” Her determination wavered. She leaned into him. The pain in her leg was so great she couldn’t put even an ounce of weight on it. Exhausted, she tried to push him away so she could sink back to the ground, but he was like a solid ston
e presence, preventing her from doing anything but what he wanted.
He picked her up at the waist, shifted her around, and placed her hands on the rungs in front of them. “You can do it. C’mon. We’re almost there.”
Tears burned the backs of her eyes. Gripping the rungs, she tried to pull herself up with the sheer weight of her arms, but her good leg slipped, and a scream tore out of her when she realized she was going down. Strong arms caught her and she felt Demetrius move in right behind her and place his hands over hers on the crossbeams. “Just a little farther, kardia.”
It took every ounce of strength she had to keep going. That and Demetrius pushing her up from behind. When they finally reached the top of the cliff, she collapsed onto the ground on her back and sucked in as much air as she could to stop the world from the crazy spin cycle it seemed to be on.
He yanked the ladder up from the last ledge, tossed it to the ground at her side. Wind whipped his dark hair back from his face as he held out his hands in front of him, closed his eyes, and chanted in a language that was oddly familiar.
Pain momentarily forgotten, Isadora watched, unable to tear her gaze away. With the waves crashing far below, the wind picking up speed to lift the hair away from his face, and blood and dirt staining his weathered skin, he looked like a god. Like Poseidon calling forth the seas, or Zeus preparing to unleash his wrath on the world. But when the language he was speaking finally registered, she knew the male in front of her was no god at all.
Run!
Instinct kicked in, drowned out the fear she’d felt earlier. She scooted back on her hands, winced when pain lanced up her leg and prevented her from moving.
The winged monster shrieked in anger. From his waistband Demetrius drew a three-foot spear, opened his eyes, and peered over the ledge to the beach below.
He hurled the spear down toward the beach. An agonizing cry echoed up to where Isadora lay watching in horror, and then all sound ceased but for the gentle whistle of wind through the trees and the crash of waves against rock at the base of the cliff.