Any normal woman would have panicked, especially considering the circumstances. But she wasn’t normal—not anymore—and even before she looked she knew it was Theron up tight against her back. His dark, spicy scent flooded her senses. In the stillness, the solid weight of his arm across her hip became as real as her pulse pounding in her brain.
What the hell was he doing in her bed?
Carefully, so as not to wake him, she rolled to her back. The movement made his arm slide across her belly, sending sparks along her nerve endings. She sat up slowly and reached for his hand to free herself from his gasp, only to falter when their fingers touched.
A jolt of electricity shimmied through her. The room spun. And suddenly she wasn’t in a bedroom anymore, but in a dark and cold forest, surrounded by the undeniable sights and smells of death.
She gasped. Turned a slow circle. Wondered how she’d gotten here and where Theron had gone. Cannons exploded behind her, the loud sounds making her jump and whip around. Dried leaves crunched beneath her feet. Shouts and curses and bloodcurdling screams came from far off in the distance.
Dear God, she was in the middle of a war zone. Her adrenaline spiked. She looked right and left as her heart kicked up to rival the roar of a 747 on takeoff. Where was Theron?
Gunfire echoed. Followed by a voice Casey knew intimately, booming from the trees no more than twenty yards away.
“Patéras!”
Without questioning her common sense, Casey tore off in that direction. Then pulled up short when she reached the small clearing and the scene laid out before her.
Two daemons lay mauled and incapacitated on the hard earth near a small bubbling brook. Fresh blood oozed from their wounds to run down their grotesque faces, staining the ground with the vileness in their veins. A man—the one from Casey’s dream the night she’d met Theron—lay on the ground mere feet away. More blood gushed from a gaping wound in his chest, his eyes and mouth open as if he was in shock. Across the small stream, a boy who looked no more than fourteen, wearing a ratty gray coat, stood slack-jawed, with eyes as wide as saucers. In his arms he cradled a smoking rifle.
Theron bolted through the trees at Casey’s right and dropped to the ground beside the older man, his own features twisted in disbelief. “Patéras. No.”
“Theron,” the man gasped, reaching a shaky, bloody hand up to grip Theron’s shirt. “You must finish them.”
“I will. I…Patéras.” He placed both hands over the wound in the other man’s chest. “We have to get you back. Now. We—”
“Ochi,” the older man barked in a weak voice.
Theron’s muscles froze as if he hadn’t heard right.
“Ochi,” the older man said again, softer this time. “My time has already come and gone. You must”—he cringed in pain—“finish them.”
Theron lifted grief-stricken eyes to look toward the daemons, who, Casey realized in horror, were starting to revive, bloody stumps and all.
“This is what you were born for,” the older man said, pulling Theron’s attention back to him. “You will take my spot—”
“No.”
“You will do as the king commands. You won’t question his authority. Trust him as you trust me. Remember we are”—the older man took a shuddering breath—“of the same line.”
“Patéras,” Theron whispered.
The older man’s hand fell against the dirt. His eyes flickered, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “To peproōmenon phugein adunaton, gios mou.”
Then his head rolled to the side, and in the silence that followed, Casey watched a single tear slide down Theron’s cheek, roll across his chin and drip onto the older man’s face.
Though the daemons were now growling low in their throats and groaning as they righted themselves, Theron’s motions were slow and methodical. He carefully closed the older man’s eyes, then looked up across the river to where the young boy, still frozen in place with the whites of his eyes showing all around his dark irises, stood immobilized, staring at the scene.
And though Casey couldn’t see Theron’s face, she knew there was murder in his eyes. The boy knew it too. He wet himself, dropped the gun and ran as hard and as fast as his small legs could carry him.
Casey screamed a warning just as the first daemon lunged. But she needn’t have bothered. Theron was on the beast in an instant, pulling a blade as long as his forearm from somewhere deep in his coat and decapitating the staggering daemon with one vicious slice.
The other daemon rose to his towering height of seven feet and, though visibly wounded, growled low in his throat. “You will pay for that, Argolean.”
“I’m no common Argolean,” Theron snarled. “And you are about to meet Hades up close and personal.”
Casey gasped at the malicious intent she saw in Theron’s face, took two steps back until her spine hit a tree trunk, then covered her eyes to block out the vision of death in front of her. This one Theron did not send back to Hades quickly. No, he slaughtered the beast one limb at a time, taking out on him every ounce of hatred and grief he had in him.
When it was over, when he was exhausted and dripping with a combination of his own sweat and blood and that of the daemon that lay mutilated in front of him, he rose and stared down at what he’d done.
Horrified, Casey slid the fingers covering her eyes open to stare at him, too afraid to move or speak for fear he’d turn his vengeance on her. But what she saw shocked her. Though the homicidal glint was gone from his eyes, there was not an inkling of remorse. She watched as another lone tear tracked down his cheek. Oblivious to it, he decapitated the daemon as he’d done the other.
And then, as if he’d finally realized something was on his face, he reached a grimy hand up to his cheek, wiped at the tear and stared at the liquid on his finger with a perplexed expression, as though he’d never cried before.
And Casey knew in that moment, he never had.
Her skin was cold all over as she blinked and came back to herself. She wasn’t in a dark forest surrounded by war, but in the same bed she’d fallen asleep in hours ago.
She stared at Theron, still asleep beside her, his hand clutched tightly in hers. And knew, without even asking, that what she’d just seen had been real. Just like the vision she’d had of the little girl in the middle of the village when she’d first arrived.
Okaaaaaaaaay. That little bit of news on top of everything else was enough to seriously wig her out. Heart pounding, she gently eased out from under his arm and slid out of bed. Though it was still dark, she had an uncontrollable urge to see the sun, to feel its warmth, to put the cold far, far behind her.
She crossed to the small porthole window and opened the curtains. The moon had set, and the first rays of dawn were already spilling over the horizon.
She took slow breaths, and when she felt better, looked back toward the bed.
How long had she been out? And when had Theron come to her room?
Her so-called hero had rolled to his back, one hand at his side, the other fanned across his broad, bare chest. He wore only low-riding black pants that showcased his hard abs and the thin line of dark hair that drew her attention downward. Looking up and away from that temptation, she focused on his muscular arms. In the dim light she could just make out the markings across the backs of his hands and remembered the show he’d put on in Nick’s office.
She quickly turned back to the window. Um. Okay. Yeah. Remembering that whole spectacle didn’t settle her nerves any either.
“It’s a three-hundred-foot drop.”
Her heart rate kicked up at the velvet sound of his voice, but she didn’t look back. He might be a sex god she hadn’t been able to get out of her head since their night together back at her house, but he was also the man…Argonaut…whatever…who’d kidnapped her. She wanted answers. And she wanted them now. “Excuse me?”