Rage colored Callia’s vision but she forced herself to stay calm. She needed the princess’s help right now, more than she’d ever needed anyone’s help before. “Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go see your so-called friend.”
Isadora didn’t move, and that dead look Callia had noticed days ago in the king’s study when she’d tried to convince Isadora to stand up to her father came back with a vengeance.
“Your son won’t rule. The Council will never recognize him as an heir, because your mother committed adultery.” She glanced at Casey, then back to Callia, and oh, yeah, the bitterness got through loud and clear. “It doesn’t matter what any of us want. It doesn’t even matter that you’re Ar-golean. All that matters are the rules. And the traditions.”
It was all Callia could do not to wrap her hands around Isadora’s throat. Was the princess honestly as heartless as she sounded? She was talking about her nephew. Flesh and blood. Even if she didn’t want to recognize Callia’s son, that’s exactly what he was. As Callia fought the rage, faintly she wondered if this was what Zander battled on a daily basis, but the thought dissipated as she narrowed her eyes on her new half-sister.
“I don’t care about any of that right now. I just want my son back.”
“Well, I do care,” Isadora said. “Your son’s father will sire the heir to the throne. There’s no going back on that now. Zander made a commitment to the king. And the king is not going to change his mind simply because the truth of your parentage finally came out. He’ll acknowledge you, but he’ll bury the fact Zander is your son’s father. Mark my words. No one but us and the Argonauts will ever know the truth.”
That was it. As much as Callia could take. She lunged for Isadora.
“Oh, my God!” Casey gasped, grabbing Callia around the middle and tugging her back. “Stop it! Both of you.”
Isadora didn’t flinch. And she didn’t look fazed, even as Callia struggled against Casey’s hold. “Take a close look, Callia. I don’t like this situation any more than you do. If it were up to me, none of this would be an issue. But I don’t have a say in it and neither do you.” She stood rooted in the same place, her eyes hard, unreadable stones. Eyes that said she’d been beaten down more times than Callia could even imagine. Eyes that seemed brutally resigned to her fate as nothing but property. “I’m not trying to piss you off. I’m just telling you the way it is.”
Though she didn’t want to, some part of Callia softened toward Isadora. Just enough so she didn’t tear the princess’s larynx out. She stopped struggling against Casey.
“This situation isn’t going to miraculously fix itself when you find your son,” Isadora added. “You need to be prepared for that.”
Callia’s chest rose and fell as she tried to regulate her heart rate. And even if she didn’t like it, she heard clearly what Isadora was saying. Even if they got her son back from Atalanta—and that was a big if—Zander’s binding to Isadora was still on. Once an agreement was made with the king, it was final. And no matter what she or Isadora or even Zander wanted at this point, it was moot because it was all out of Isadora’s hands. Out of all their hands.
It wasn’t right. It would never be right. But at this moment…Callia didn’t give a flip about politics and what was wrong with their world. “I’ll deal with it. All I want is my son.” She zeroed in on Isadora’s tense face and though it nearly killed her, gentled her voice. “Please. Help me get to the human world so I can find him.”
Isadora sighed. But it wasn’t with relief. It was with resignation. Resignation and indifference. “Fine, then. I’ll take you to the secret portal.”
“Where is she?” Zander twisted the daemon’s arm so far up the monster’s back, bones cracked.
The daemon growled, tried to wriggle out from under Zander’s hold, where he had the motherfucker pinned to the snowy ground. Around them, blood splatters stained what used to be pristine white.
“Zander,” Theron said behind him. “Enough.”
Zander twisted harder, ripping the daemon’s arm clear out of his socket. The beast howled in pain. Beside him on the ground, two decapitated daemons lay steaming in the frigid night, their bodies illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the tall Douglas firs.
Covered in blood and sweat and other revolting viscera, Zander ignored Theron and leaned down so he was right at the daemon’s good ear. The one he hadn’t yet ripped off. “I’m gonna gut you like a pig if you don’t tell me where Atalanta is.”
“Zander,” Theron said again, grabbing his arm. “I said that’s enough. If you keep this up he won’t be able to talk.”
The daemon coughed. Blood sprayed over a fresh patch of powdery snow. He lifted his head inches off the frozen ground. “Go to hell,” he rasped.
Zander’s vision blurred. He shook off Theron’s hand. Reached for his knife. “You go first, asshole.” In one swift move she sliced the Daemon’s jugular. Blood spurted over him and the ground. The daemon gagged and struggled.
“Fuck,” someone whispered behind him.
Zander pushed up from the ground, every muscle in his body vibrating. He looked over what he’d done. Two mutilated daemons and the third choking on his own blood. Not a single one had told him where Atalanta was hiding out. Where his son was now.
He shoved the bloody knife into its holster at his thigh and turned away from the group. Behind him he heard one of the Argonauts decapitating the last daemon.
Pussies. Let the motherfucker bleed for a while.
He pulled out the GPS from his pocket and stalked across the snow. North was his best bet. Nick had mentioned the attacks were stronger father north. He wouldn’t be so gentle with the next daemon he found.
“I said, hold up, Guardian.” Theron stepped into Zander’s path.
Zander halted. Flicked his eyes up. “Move.”
“Where do you think you’re heading?”
“Where do you think I’m heading? Get the fuck out of my way.”
Theron squared his shoulders. Cerek and Gryphon took up space next to him.
Slowly, Zander lowered the GPS and looked at his kinsmen. Titus moved up on his right. Phineus on his left. They were boxing him in. “What the hell is this?”
Theron moved forward. “Look at you. You’re covered in shit. Your shoulder’s bleeding like a sieve and you’re on the edge of an eruption. You didn’t even give that last daemon time to answer before you ripped his ear off.”
Zander looked into the trees.
“You’re going back to the colony,” Theron said. “You’re getting that shoulder patched up, your ass cleaned off and your head cooled out. You’re no use to anyone like this. And we’re never going to find the boy unless you chill it down a notch.”
The rage bubbled up and over. Zander dropped the GPS, had Theron by the front of his jacket and was up close and personal before any of the other Argonauts saw him move. “Try and make me.”
“No!” Theron barked when Titus and Cerek moved to pull Zander back. He didn’t pry Zander’s hands off or move to get out of Zander’s hold, even though they both knew he was ten times stronger than Zander. Instead he focused in on Zander’s eyes and lowered his voice. “I don’t know what you’re going through. None of us do. But this isn’t the way, Zander. I’m trying to help you here. We all are.”
Zander’s jaw ticked. Through a tunnel he heard Theron’s words. But the rage was right there. Thrumming to be released. Coloring his vision and actions and thoughts.
“Do the smart thing, Z,” Theron said. “We need to regroup. Come up with a plan. Nick will have information about where the most recent strikes have been. And you need that shoulder cleaned up before infection sets in. You won’t be able to find your son if you’ve got gangrene.”