She moved out the door, disappearing from sight. From outside he heard a pop, a sizzle, and then a scream—Isadora’s scream. And then nothing at all.
He knew they were gone. He didn’t even need to look. Just as he knew he had one chance now, and time really was ticking.
He hit the doorway to the Hall of Heroes at a dead run, slithered through the widening gap as the door opened. Skipping stairs to get to the bottom fast, he ran through everything he might need. Candles and torches flared as he hit the ground, as if the dark magick inside him vibrated so strongly he didn’t even need to harness it. He flipped up lids on the heroes’ chests one by one and snagged the Pelican spear, a knife that looked like a circle of teeth—which he strapped to his thigh—and two daggers he hooked in the belt loops of his pants. Then he headed for the stairs.
Something flashed in the corner of his eye. Three steps up he paused and looked back toward the pallet he’d lain on with Isadora only minutes before. Quickly he crossed back to the makeshift bed and used the spear to flip up the top blanket. Lying near the far right corner lay the diamond with the Titans’ marking. He bent and lifted it and immediately felt the heat and life of the earth radiate into his palm and up his arm.
You’re the one who set the torches.
I am. It’s sacred.
His gaze darted up and around the hall as he thought of his conversation with Lachesis. Bloody hell, this was the sacred ground they’d needed all along. She’d been trying to tell him, but he’d been too stubborn to listen. Isadora could have opened the portal at any fucking time. All she’d needed to do was calm herself and focus.
He dropped the weapons in his hands, shoved the earth element into his pocket, and brought his pinky fingers together. He focused his mind, thought of Argolea. The Argonaut markings on his arms glowed as if backlit, growing strong in intensity. And then the portal opened in a pop and sizzle of light that shimmered all along the walls.
He stepped through the portal and into the Gatehouse in Argolea. Where a force slammed into his side and shoved him to the ground.
“What the hell?” he said.
“It’s him. Skata. Get him!”
Four sets of hands grabbed on to him. He tried to push himself up but they shoved him back down to the ground. Blinding pain shot off behind his eyes as his head smashed into the stone floor.
“He’s armed!” a voice yelled.
“Someone get to the Argonauts and tell them we’ve got him!”
“Get the fuck off me!” Demetrius hollered. A knee jabbed his back. His arms were wrenched behind him before he could break free and swing out. What were these morons doing? Didn’t they know who he was?
He thrashed, knew if he got to his feet he could take all four of them down. Throwing his head back, he cracked his skull against the guard behind him. The guard cried out in pain, loosened his grip. Demetrius swung around. The blade at his throat brought him to a sudden halt.
“This little party’s over,” the guard muttered. He stripped Demetrius of his weapons while another guard searched his pockets.
“Look at this,” the one to his right said.
The guard with the blade held the earth element out so Demetrius could see it. “Oh, Guardian, you have been a bad boy. Many have been looking for you, and I can’t wait to see what they’ll say when they get an eyeful of this.”
“You don’t seem pleased to be here,” Atalanta said. “I’d think you’d be dying for real food after a week of nothing but berries and fish.”
Isadora cut her gaze from the roaring fire in the enormous stone fireplace to Atalanta, seated at the other end of the long rectangular table in what she supposed was a dining room. Supposed, because she didn’t care. All she could think about were the things the witch in front of her had said back at the ruins. And the fact Demetrius hadn’t once denied them.
Atalanta lifted a large goblet and took a deep drink. Unable to watch, Isadora’s gaze fell to the tall, grotesque metal candleholders in the middle of the table, dripping red wax like blood splatters onto the scarred wooden surface. The scents of spices and raw meat wafted on the air. Isadora’s stomach rolled as she looked from the candles to the slab of oozing red meat on the plate in front of her. She didn’t know where they were, only that it was colder than the top of the Aegis Mountains here and everything about this place was vile. The food, the temperature, the smell, the company. She wanted to go home. She wanted her sisters. She wanted…
Bile rose up her throat and she swallowed hard so she wouldn’t think of Demetrius. She didn’t want him. She couldn’t. Not after what she now knew was true.
Dear gods. She couldn’t be pregnant. Hours ago, that had seemed like the perfect solution to all her problems. But now? Her eyes slid closed. She just couldn’t be. The goddess was lying. No one could know so soon…
The soft chuckle at the other end of the table drew Isadora’s eyes open. “I know much, Hora. And my son’s seed now grows within you. Just as we planned it would.”
What little food she’d eaten earlier rushed up and Isadora’s stomach heaved. She covered her mouth with her hand, rolled out of the chair, and darted for the bathroom in the hallway Atalanta had let her use before ordering Isadora to join her for dinner.
Sardonic laughter followed as she slammed the door shut and reached for the toilet. Again and again her stomach heaved until there was nothing left. Until every muscle in her body ached from exhaustion. Until her soul was utterly and completely spent.
Tears rushed down her face as she dropped back on the floor and grabbed a towel from the bar to wipe her mouth. How could she have been so stupid? Why hadn’t she seen the signs? Every cruel word and despicable thing Demetrius had ever done or said over the years came back tenfold in her mind to make perfect sense. She’d wanted to believe there was good in him. She’d built up a fantasy of who he was, when the truth had been staring her in the face the entire time.
He was Atalanta’s son. The spawn of ultimate evil. And he’d tricked her to get what he—what Atalanta—wanted.
Her gaze strayed to her stomach. No, she couldn’t possibly be…
She squeezed her eyes shut tight on a wave of misery, unable to even think the word. And that’s when she remembered the Fate’s words.
Look within yourself for the balance you seek.
Chapter 22
Casey’s eyes flew open wide. On a gasp she rolled out from under Theron’s arm and lurched from the bed.
“Meli?” Groggy, Theron pushed up on his elbow and blinked Casey’s way.
The first rays of dawn shone through the high-arching window of their suite in the castle, cascading over his rumpled hair, the dark whiskers on his jaw, his broad, bare, and muscular chest. His eyes were still sleepy, the lines on his face a harsh reminder that even in sleep he hadn’t found peace. Exhaustion was wearing on him, and since he hadn’t slept more than two hours since Isadora had gone missing, Casey had pulled out all the stops and lured him to bed with the promise she would ease at least a little of his anxiety first. Truth be told, she’d succeeded in easing them both, for a little while at least, and afterward Theron had finally fallen asleep in her arms, just as she’d wanted. But now…
“Meli?” he asked again, sitting upright on the white silk sheets. Confusion cleared from his eyes and the focused intensity she was used to seeing from the leader of the Argonauts returned to his features.