Give in. Come to me.
He reached out with his hand.
“Um, D? Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“No matter what happens,” Demetrius said without turning, “get Isadora out of there. Open the portal and take her home. Don’t wait for me.”
“Yeah, D, man. I know, but what if—”
“No matter what happens, Zander. No matter what I do or say in there. Just make sure she’s safe.”
He lowered his hand to the door before Zander could say anything else. Power sliced into his palm, raced up his arm, and exploded in his chest, invigorating him with phenomenal strength and the dark, vile energy of his lineage.
“Skata. D—”
The mist whipped into a whirlwind of evilness, whisking through Demetrius like a tornado. Until his vision turned dark, until his limbs grew light, until all he saw and heard and felt was the malicious wickedness that no longer existed only on the other side of that door.
Until, in one mighty pull, the blackness drew him home for good.
Chapter 23
Orpheus came to a dead standstill. Frigid air blew past his face. A tingle ran over his skin. Deep inside, the daemon he kept locked down roared to life.
He felt his eyes shift to green but couldn’t stop it from happening. This time the pull of evil was too great, the mixture of witchcraft and darkness in the empty space that should hold his soul telling him one of his own had just turned.
Rustling to his right brought his attention around. In the darkness he watched Phineus and Theron slink from the shadows to take down the three guards on the north side of the building. A barren field surrounded them. They were using shadows and darkness to cloak their attack, but they weren’t a surprise. The daemon inside him roared again, signaling the darkness was coming. It was coming, and it knew, and it was ready to destroy.
Urgency pushed at him, drew him, dominated every cell in his body. He moved in stealth mode to Theron’s side, where the guardian was sheathing his blade. “She’s not here. It’s a trap. Get your guys the hell out of here.”
“What?” Theron glared at him. “How do you—”
A roar sounded from the other side of the building. Theron’s head jerked in that direction.
Orpheus’s eyes glowed bright, illuminating the darkness in a surreal green light as he took a step away. “I’ll get to Isadora. Just go!”
He closed his eyes, blocking out Theron and the others and what he hoped didn’t happen, and instead focused not on the darkness that was so much a part of him but on the magick of his mother. On his link to Medea and what he’d sensed hidden in Demetrius from the very start. He let that guide him as he flashed from the frozen field, across empty space, through earth and solid walls. And hoped like Hades he wasn’t too late.
A thick haze of darkness surrounded Isadora, pulling the breath from her lungs and settling deep in her bones.
Her heart beat was fast and erratic. An evil air hung heavy in the stillness, ratcheting her adrenaline and fear to epic levels. A sense of déjà vu washed through her, but she didn’t know where she was, only that it was cold and dark and the stench of brimstone was strong enough to make her gag. And somewhere in the darkness, Atalanta lurked.
“I sense your fear, Hora.”
Isadora’s pulse picked up speed as she turned in a slow circle.
“You wonder why I have brought you here,” Atalanta crooned from somewhere close. “I feel the energy vibrating within you.”
Isadora felt it too, thrumming in her veins, battling the malevolence that surrounded her.
Light flared, cutting through the inky darkness in a burst of illumination. Isadora flinched, blocked the glare with her hand. As her eyes adjusted, she realized she was standing in the center of a vast room. Thousands of candles burned, but the maliciousness was still there, hovering over everything as if it could extinguish the flames with one heavy breath.
From the far end of the room, Atalanta moved into the light. “You feel it, don’t you? The power of the darkness? Our gifts are not all that different, Hora. The key is how we choose to use them.”
“Ours are different. You use yours for evil. And I…” Her voice trailed off. How the heck did she use hers? Aside from contacting her sisters, she hadn’t yet. She didn’t even know if she could.
A wicked smile spread across Atalanta’s perfect face. “Your powers are young, but I can teach you. If you join me willingly, I can teach you a great many things. The world is at your fingertips.”
The goddess was scheming. She never did anything without purpose. Was she worried that Demetrius wouldn’t follow her instructions?
Her stomach rolled. “It’s all for naught. Theron will never let Casey leave Argolea. He’ll never allow Demetrius to bring her here. You’re going to lose.”
Atalanta’s vile grin spread. “Do you think I cannot predict the Argonauts’ next move? Even now as we speak, they are preparing to rescue you from the main house. And yet they will fail. They walk into a trap.” She moved closer. “And I need not your sister, Hora. I never did.”
Atalanta moved past her, and Isadora turned to follow the trail of her red robe. “I won’t live long enough to…” She placed her hand over her stomach, barely able to think the words. “To give you what you want.”
“Oh, you will,” Atalanta said over her shoulder. She gestured to the room with a wide sweep of her hand. “My power gathers here, in this chamber, where it’s fed by the darkness I harnessed from Tartarus. And with you here, the temptation will be too great for my son to deny.” She turned to face Isadora again. “Knowing his soul mate is in mortal danger will bring him to this place. This time he’ll come ready to wage war, consumed by hatred. And when that happens, he won’t be able to resist the power of the darkness. When he finally joins me in his rightful place, he’ll be strong enough to use his Medean gifts to keep you alive long enough to bear me the child that was stolen from me by your Argonauts.”
Isadora’s breath caught as the plan Atalanta so easily laid out before her took shape in her mind. She remembered the way Demetrius had healed her broken leg. “How?” she whispered. “How is it even possible…?”
“How is what possible?”
“That you, of all beings, are his mother?”
“I should have been one of the first Argonauts, Hora.” The air stirred, whipping past Isadora’s face with the force of the goddess’s fury. “And you would be wise not to forget that.”
The wind died down and Atalanta added, “You’re honestly curious, aren’t you?”
Isadora didn’t know how to answer. She sensed she was walking a tightrope and that at any moment the string could break, thrusting her into the dark chasm of Atalanta’s rage.
“The story of Demetrius’s birth is actually linked to your existence, Hora.”
Though fear lanced through Isadora’s chest, she asked, “I don’t…How?”
Atalanta moved to stare into the flame of a candle perched on a tall spire of twisted metal. “Three thousand years in Tartarus is not exactly my idea of paradise. But it was a condition of my deal for immortality. In fact, all gods are limited by their immortality. Did you know that?”
She turned to peer at Isadora. “Don’t you think Hades would rather be here, among the humans he so loves to manipulate? Of course he would, as would all the gods, but their time in the human realm is finite. A day here or there, a few hours to meddle where they shouldn’t be meddling. I was tired of Tartarus.”
Isadora thought about the Fate, and how she’d left the temple so soon after arriving.
“Which is how you come in, Hora,” Atalanta said. “You see, I couldn’t allow the Chosen to be united, because it would render me mortal again, but the prospect…of being free of my bonds to Tartarus? Now that was tempting.”