“Oh, wow.” She brought her hands up to her cheeks, breathed deeply. “This is harder than I thought it would be.” She dropped her arms, focused on him. “We’re not going with you, Zander. I’ve thought about this a lot over the last twenty-four hours and I…It won’t work.”
“What are you talking about?” A sliver of panic wedged its way into his chest, and he tried to read her emotions but couldn’t.
“You, me…us.” She waved her hands between them. “I think there’s a point at which it’s either meant to be or it’s not. And we passed that point. Too much has changed, and I…I don’t want to go back. There will always be a place in my heart for you, but I have to focus on Max now. He has to be the center of my world. No one else.”
“Callia, wait. If this is about what the king said—”
“No, Zander,” she said softly. “This is about me. And what I want and don’t want. All my life people have been telling me what to do, and I’m done with it. It’s time for me to make my own decisions. And right now…” She drew in a steadying breath. “Right now I want to stay right here.”
His chest pinched. And through the link he shared with her, he tried to find the lie he knew had to be hidden in her words. But he came up empty. Was she blocking him from her feelings, or…was she finally telling him the truth?
“You don’t…” He could barely think the words, let alone say them. “Want me?”
“I think—no, I know—that going to the human realm with you would be a mistake.” Her voice softened. “I want you to bind yourself to Isadora, Zander. It’s the right thing for you to do.”
That pain pierced his chest. And his heart, the one she’d thawed and softened and brought back to life burst into a thousand pieces right there in her father’s stuffy living room.
Days ago, he’d stood on that cliff with Titus, looking down at the ravine below, and he’d wanted to die. But then at least he’d been numb. So used to feeling nothing, he’d thought death would be a welcome respite. Now he knew what true pain was. And not even death could save him from this torture.
Everything he’d confessed to her at the colony rushed through his head. And this time he didn’t miss the fact she’d never once told him she loved him back or talked about a future with him past finding their son. Could he have been a bigger fool? She hadn’t wanted him then. Not in the same way he’d wanted her. He’d let his wants and needs consume him and override the signals he should have picked up from the first through his link to her.
He waited for the rage to overtake him. Craved it. But it was nowhere to be found. And wasn’t that just fucking ironic? The one time he needed it to keep him sane, it was long gone.
“Zander. Wait—”
He couldn’t. He moved for the door and freedom. Outside he stopped on the front walk and shakily breathed in the crisp air.
He’d waited eight hundred–plus years for her and finally found his humanity. And in the end all he had to show for it was a son who didn’t know him and a fiancée he didn’t want. The only consolation was at least he knew he wasn’t immortal anymore. Now he just had to wait for Callia to die of old age so he could finally die too.
Isadora ran her hands through her short hair and stared at her reflection in the vanity of her suite. The long-sleeved white wedding gown was heavy and itchy, and it reminded her of the gowns she used to wear. So much had happened and yet nothing was different. Here she was, the same cloistered female she’d been weeks ago, before Casey had come into her life, before she’d discovered Callia was her half-sister. In a matter of hours she’d be bound, property no longer belonging to her father, but to Zander.
Her soul screamed for freedom. She felt like crawling out of her skin. When the panic built to explosive levels, she clamped her hands on the vanity and stared at her reflection.
But she didn’t see her face. The mirror faded in and out, and an image appeared. Fuzzy at first, but growing clearer. Her features came into view. She was lying down. Not on the bed in her suite, but somewhere else, surrounded by flickering light and rugged stone. Her skin was tanned, her face flushed. Someone—warmth rushed through her veins when the image panned back and sharpened—was kissing her neck, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. A male. She couldn’t see his face, but his muscular back was bare, his ass tight, his body thrusting against hers as candlelight flickered over them.
Isadora swallowed hard as she watched, transfixed by the scene in front of her. Her body writhed underneath the massive male’s, and the moan of pleasure that rang in her ears told her loud and clear that she was enjoying every single thing he was doing to her.
Heat gathered in her veins, slid low until she ached. She pressed her thighs together, bit back her own moan. Her eyes grew wider as she leaned closer to the mirror, trying to see his face. Knowing now how Zander felt about Callia, she couldn’t possibly be enjoying his touch this much. It was wrong. It was…
And then the male lifted his head. Just as the image of her in the mirror reached the peak and she threw her hair back and groaned in ecstasy.
Isadora gasped and scrambled away from the mirror. Her chair fell back on the hard floor with a clank. Terror clawed its way up her throat as her body shook. No. It couldn’t be. Something…something was very wrong. The first vision of the future she’d had in over a month couldn’t be right. Because there was no way in this realm or the next that she would ever be alone with Demetrius like that.
“Took you long enough.”
Isadora whipped around and found herself staring at Persephone. The goddess of the Underworld wore a white gown tied at the waist with a gold sash and she sat on a plush chair in Isadora’s sitting area. Her long legs were crossed, one elegant foot swaying lightly. A gold sandal hung from her purple-painted toes. “I was about to level this city.” Persephone’s green eyes hardened. “I don’t like waiting, little queen. I spend my life waiting.”
Oh, shit. Their agreement. Isadora had nearly forgotten. “You’re here because—”
“Because you just got your powers back. And now, they belong to me. For one month. That”—Persephone nodded toward the mirror—“was hot, by the way. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”
“You can’t—”
Persephone rose to her full height, taller than the Argonauts and with more power in her pinky than any of them had in his entire body. Too late Isadora remembered the goddess could wipe her and this whole castle out if she wanted with nothing more than her breath. “I can. And I will. One month, little queen. You’ve lasted this long without your powers; one more month won’t kill you.”
In a poof, Persephone was gone. Isadora reached for the corner post of her massive bed before she collapsed. Outside, the bells began to ring, signaling her impending binding.
It felt like tiny knives were stabbing her from every angle. Her lungs seemed suddenly too small. She didn’t understand what she’d just seen, but some instinct deep inside said if she stayed here, it was going to come true. Whether she bound herself to Zander or not.
She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t stay. She wouldn’t let Demetrius touch her like that.
She turned, frantic as she scanned her room and tried to come up with a plan. Every idea fizzled in her mind. Orpheus had taken his invisibility cloak back. She’d never get out of the castle without someone seeing her. And the orb…No one seemed to know what had happened to the orb after the encounter with Atalanta.
Oh, gods, oh, gods, oh, gods…
“My lady,” Saphira said, stepping into the room, holding a steaming mug in one hand and the dreaded gold veil that would shield her from Zander until the last possible second in the other. “They’re ready for you.”