Her hand slinked down the outside of the black pants, and her fingers found the snap on the holster at her thigh. Even through the pack strapped to her back, she could feel the push and pull of air in his lungs against her spine. The beat of his heart thumped through the canvas, strong, steady, nowhere near as fast as hers. As voices echoed around the front of the tower, her hand trembled, but she flipped the snap anyway and wrapped her fingers around the handle of the blade.
The voices drifted away, and near her ear, the man whispered, “They’re leaving.”
He seemed relieved. Was he not one of the guards? She didn’t care. Whoever he was, he was still an obstacle between her and freedom.
The hand over her mouth dropped, and as soon as he loosed his grip on her waist, she pulled the knife and whipped around, ready to strike out. But there was just enough moonlight to make out his face. Light hair, a long, straight nose, rugged jawline, and piercing blue eyes. Unfriendly, searching eyes she’d seen peering down at her from a high window too many times to count.
Gryphon. Orpheus’s brother. The guardian who’d mutilated those daemons today, who’d nearly killed one of his own in the process. The guardian, rumor ran in the colony, who was psychotic.
Fear burst in the center of her chest. Arm outstretched, she moved backward, her boots echoing off rocks as she stumbled into the moonlight. The blade in her hand shook, and every instinct in her body said run, but she couldn’t turn her back on him. This close, she was afraid that if she did, she’d never even reach the trees. She wasn’t immortal like her parents, only ageless. And because she’d been cursed by Hades at birth, there was no afterlife for her. If she died now—before finding her way to Olympus—she’d simply cease to exist. No one to even remember who or what she’d been.
“Don’t…don’t come near me,” she managed.
He didn’t move a muscle, just stared at her with those haunted eyes, watching her as he’d done for months now from the isolation of his room. Except this time his brow was furrowed as he studied her, and a perplexed expression grew slowly across his features the longer he watched her.
Her heart rate picked up speed. Was he going to kill her? Would she even see him move? Her puny knife was nothing against a warrior as skilled as he was.
Voices grew louder toward the front of the tower again. As he turned to look, she knew it was her only shot. She tore off toward the darkness of the trees and ran with everything she had in her. If she could reach the passageway she’d found before he did, she could bar the door. She could still get away.
Twenty yards into the darkness of the orchard, he slammed into her from behind, knocking her off her feet. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Her backpack went sailing. The knife flew from her fingers. She hit the ground on her side, her shoulder and hip taking the brunt of the impact. A grunt left her mouth. But even before pain registered, she scrambled to her feet, tried to push herself up, the flight instinct roaring in her blood. He flipped her to her back before she could find her footing, though, and pinned her hands easily with one of his. Then he slapped his free hand over her mouth and used his weight to still her struggling.
“Stop moving, dammit,” he whispered. “They’ll hear you.”
He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, and this close, she could feel the corded muscles beneath the thin, long-sleeved shirt he wore. He was warm where she felt cold, hard where she was soft, and his breath, mere millimeters from her ear, heated the skin of her neck and sent shivers of fear racing down her spine.
And yet…the darkness inside her that was a result of her link to the Underworld vibrated with excitement. It pulled on something in her chest, drew her toward him—a pull she’d felt before but resisted because she didn’t understand it.
Now she did. Now, the reasons he watched her made sense. Still to be radiating darkness like this, here in the human realm, he had to have been cursed.
Hades had already tried to kill her numerous times. He could very well have let Gryphon free to finish the job. Her need to get away from him shot into the stratosphere.
Her mind was a blur of frenetic activity. But when she realized he was listening to what was happening around them, she tuned in to her surroundings.
The voices had separated. One seemed to be coming from her left, another from her right. From far off in the distance more shouts echoed, more voices heading this way.
There were more than the two tower guards out here. Earlier, when she was with Skyla, she’d heard Nick say Gryphon was locked in his room, under armed guard. They had to be looking for him, not her.
Hope resurged. If she could get away from him, if she could signal the guards as to his location, they’d forget all about her. He’d be locked up and she could still escape in the resulting chaos.
Dogs barked in the distance, and another voice—a voice Maelea recognized as Nick’s—boomed from the direction of the castle. “Fucking find him. He couldn’t have gotten far.”
Gryphon lurched to his feet and hauled her up next to him. “Run.”
“But my pack,” she started, pulling on the hand wrapped around her bicep, hoping it would be enough to get him to take off without her.
“Forget the damn pack. I said run!”
Maelea gasped as he dragged her forward, a death grip on her arm. Her feet went out from under her, but he yanked her close to his side, kept her from falling. As she found her footing, she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go. His legs were longer than hers, and she struggled to keep up with his pace. Her adrenaline surged. Her muscles screamed in protest. She couldn’t see a damn thing out here in the darkness of the orchard, only the lights of the towering castle fading in the distance.
He jerked them to a stop and finally released his hold. Maelea’s lungs blazed as she bent over, and even though instinct said to keep running, to get as far from him as possible, she couldn’t. She needed a second to suck back air.
Hinges groaned.
“Through here,” Gryphon said. “Quick.”
Hands braced on her knees, Maelea looked up only to realize he’d found her exit, a door hidden behind twisting vines that led into the hillside behind the armory. Hope dropped like a cement block into the bottom of her stomach.
“Go, dammit!” Gryphon pushed her inside the darkened tunnel that led straight down.
“But—”
She stumbled. Her hands slammed into the rock wall of the tunnel. The heavy steel door clanged shut behind them, followed by the groaning of metal against metal and then nothing at all as the tunnel was blanketed in utter darkness.
Fear leaped in Maelea’s throat, followed by a heavy weight pressing in from every direction. She twisted around, could hear the dim voices in the orchard and the barking dogs, searching for their trail. She opened her mouth to cry out, but Gryphon’s big hand covered her lips, and then his enormous body pressed against hers, pushing her spine into the cold rock wall at her back.
“Don’t you dare make a sound,” he whispered near her ear.
She froze, unable to see anything but the whites of his eyes. But she heard everything—the pounding of her heart, the rapid pace of his, the push and draw of air from his lungs so close to her own, and the muffled voices in the orchard, the orders being shouted right and left, the boots clomping over soft spring earth.
Tears burned her eyes. There was an army of men searching just beyond that door. An army ready to bring Gryphon down. An army that didn’t know she was with him.
A scratching sound echoed against the metal door. Gryphon turned his head, his lips brushing Maelea’s cheek as he twisted. Realizing his face was closer than she’d expected, shards of heat—heat she didn’t want—ricocheted through her body, followed by a resurgence of the darkness inside her, and finally a jolt of fear that paralyzed her limbs.