The guards stepped back. The emotional transfer slowly faded, and, weak from the impact, Titus drew a shaky breath, then stiffened when his vision cleared and he caught sight of the faces around him.
Dozens of Amazons and nymphs, all looking on with excitement and curiosity. He was on some kind of stage. In the darkness, torches alive with flickering flames illuminated the space. And somewhere close, drums beat a steady rhythm while voices echoed a chant he couldn’t make out.
Okay, this was not looking good. He tugged against the restrains, but was too weak to make them budge. Shit. This was not the fantasy he’d been daydreaming about. Had he made a crack about these warriors being girls? He was suddenly wishing he hadn’t been so cocky when Natasa had tried to warn him.
Natasa…
Skata, where was she? He couldn’t remember what had happened after those guards had come into her tent. Worry gathered beneath his ribs. His gaze raked the crowd, searching for her in the sea of faces.
The chanting grew louder. The crowd parted, and then he saw her. Not Natasa, but a tall, slender female dressed in a flowing green robe with an ornate golden headdress decorated in multicolored feathers. Jewels dripped from her ears and throat and wrists and fingers, and desire burned in her eyes as she drew close.
Titus swallowed hard. He recognized those eyes.
The Queen of the Amazons.
He tugged against his bindings—harder. But her heated gaze didn’t waver. It was fixed solely on him.
Fuck…me. This was not good. Not by a long shot.
The queen moved up the stairs. The drums beat faster. The air grew thick and constrictive. She stopped in front of him, closed her hands over the lapels of her robe, and tugged. The garment fell in a pool at her feet, leaving her dressed in nothing but jewels.
Holy Hades. Titus couldn’t help but stare. She was butt-ass naked. And yeah, unlike her warriors, she was gorgeous and totally built, with the mark of the Amazons, a crescent moon, tattooed over her right breast. But she wasn’t the female he wanted. And he was seriously not interested.
“Um, look.” He tugged on the restraints. “I’m flattered, really, but I think you’ve got the wrong idea here.”
The queen turned away as if he hadn’t even spoken; then she held up her hands. A hush fell over the crowd. “The gods have seen fit to send us a prize. Tonight we thank them for their generosity.”
The gods? Not even. The gods didn’t give a rip about anyone but themselves. Before Titus could point that out, the rock at his back moved, and a loud scraping sound echoed through the night. The entire slab shifted. His feet left the ground. His eyes widened. The motion stopped abruptly, leaving him lying flat on his back, staring up at the starry sky.
Skata. His situation had not improved. This wasn’t just a stage. It was an altar. And, holy fuck, he was the sacrifice.
He pulled hard on the restrains. “Hold on—”
The queen climbed up on stone slab and stood with her bare feet on each side of his thighs. He tensed, but thankfully, the fabric of his pants prevented any kind of emotional transfer. Then she looked down, and her eyes locked on his. Hard amber eyes. Eyes that glowed as if she were possessed.
Titus’s adrenaline lurched. He struggled harder on the cuffs, twisted his wrists, then caught sight of the jeweled dagger she held in both hands high over her head.
Every muscle inside him froze.
“For all those who came before,” the queen announced in a loud and confident voice, “and for all those who will come after because of this sacrifice, we give thanks.”
She lowered to her knees, sat back on his lap, and grinned. But her eyes were clouded, distant, possessed. And Titus had the ominous feeling she wasn’t looking at him, but through him. To something…he didn’t want to see.
“And when his seed is finally spent,” she finished, her glowing eyes growing wider, “then, my sisters, we shall feast.”
Chapter Eight
Natasa’s fingers were still smoking when she sneaked out of her tent. She could barely believe that had worked, but the singed ropes proved it hadn’t been a fluke. Power rushed through her, infusing her with confidence. If she could direct it, maybe—just maybe—she could beat this thing before it killed her.
Chants rose up in the air, followed by a voice, singing some kind of garbled song to the beat of multiple drums. The sounds were coming from the amphitheater.
She stayed in the shadows, darting around tents and tree trunks as she crossed the city. When she reached the crowd, she couldn’t see anything besides the golden glow off torches and the backs of spectators gathered for a show.
She spotted a tree with limbs low enough to climb, wrapped her hand around the first branch, and pulled herself up. In seconds, she was above the crowd, with a clear view of the stage.
Her breath caught, and sickness rolled through her belly. Titus was shackled to the altar. He was still wearing his pants, but Aella straddled his lap, a dagger held high above, and her naked body was swaying and grinding against him, moving to the beat of the drums and like she was gearing up to fuck his brains out. But the wide-eyed holy shit look on his face wasn’t one of arousal. And the way he was yanking on those ropes told Natasa he wasn’t enjoying a single second of this.
Mine. Some deep-seated possessiveness bubbled up from inside, rolled through every part of her, and spurred her into action.
Frantic, she glanced around the crowd. She was seriously outnumbered and the measly dagger she had left wasn’t going to save Titus. Aella’s guards blocked the stage, armed to the hilt, preventing anyone from interfering with the ceremony. She looked down and around, but didn’t see anything that would help. Then she noticed a child’s bow and arrow set leaning against the side of a tent. The kind the Amazons used to train their women.
An idea hit. She looked at her fingers. She didn’t know if it would work. But if she didn’t try, he was going to die.
For reasons she didn’t understand, she wasn’t ready to lose him. At least not like this.
Never had Titus been thankful for his curse until this moment.
Not only were the Amazon queen’s eyes freakin’ glowing, she was shaking and rubbing against him like something was trying to claw its way free from her body.
He was never going to look at jiggling breasts the same way. This was not a turn-on. It was a major-ass turn-off. And shit, he did not want those things touching him.
He swallowed hard and jerked against the bindings. He couldn’t move them even a centimeter. The only consolation was that as soon as she did touch him, he’d be in too much pain to pay attention to what she was doing to his body.
And skata, do not even think about what she’s going to do to your body.
Closing his eyes, he imagined Natasa’s fire-red hair and those mesmerizing green eyes to distract him from that first touch of skin against skin. Wondered—again—why she’d pulled away from him back in her tent. She’d wanted him. He’d known it even if he couldn’t feel the emotions from her.
A whir echoed through the air. The queen jerked against his legs. A scream rose in the night.
His eyes shot open. The queen lurched to her feet on the stone slab, standing over him and batting at her head. The feathers in her headdress were smoking and burning. She knocked the heavy metal adornment from her scalp. It cracked against the slab, then dropped to the wood decking with a thud.