Isadora’s mind twisted with conversations long past. She remembered Demetrius telling her he’d never known his mother. How he’d been abused by a father who should have loved him. She thought about what he’d said—that a female had seduced his father and he’d been the unwanted result. And that he had a brother who’d been raised in the human realm.
What would Demetrius have in common with a human brother?
And then she knew. His father hadn’t just hated Demetrius’s link to Medea. He’d despised Demetrius because he’d been duped by Atalanta in her quest for ultimate power. She’d wanted control of her immortality. She’d been tempted to find a way around Hades’s bargain. She’d thought conceiving her own Chosen—siblings that were the perfect balance of half god, half mortal—would do that. “You tried to get around the prophecy by creating your own Chosen.”
Atalanta turned to face her. “I tried. But I failed. And lucky for me I did, because we wouldn’t be together now.” The goddess turned abruptly toward the dark end of the room before Isadora could answer. “Ah, there you are, yios. I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
A shadow loomed in the darkness, but it wasn’t friendly. Malice spread from beyond the illuminated circle. Malice and a malevolent threat aimed directly at Isadora.
She swallowed hard. Took a step backward.
“Come into the light, yios.”
Isadora’s gaze shot to the shadows. The air stirred as Demetrius stepped from darkness into light. And one look told Isadora that if she’d held out any hope he was going to save her, she’d been a fool.
His eyes were hard, cold pools of obsidian. No spark, no light, no kindness anywhere in their fathomless depths. He didn’t look at her. Didn’t show even a hint of recognition. The darkness engulfed him fully, and though she knew it was useless she found herself wishing he’d turn into the stone-cold bastard he’d always been whenever she was around. Because this—this soulless being possessed by evil—was a thousand times worse than anything she could have imagined.
Isadora took another step back. Panic and fear settled deep in her throat. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs as she waited and watched and prayed…for what, she didn’t know.
“You please me.” Atalanta cupped his face and kissed each of his cheeks.
He didn’t recoil. Instead he muttered something in a language Isadora didn’t understand, which made Atalanta laugh. And then they both turned and stared at her.
Emptiness brewed in Demetrius’s eyes. It was as if someone else was looking out at her. As if they were strangers. As if they’d never shared a single thing on that island together.
The Horae marking on her leg tingled. Two words swirled in her mind.
Remember me.
Somewhere deep inside she knew it was her only chance. No matter what he’d planned, no matter how he’d schemed with Atalanta, there had been a connection between them. She was his soul mate, damn it.
“We’ll need a strong spell, yios. We need her alive for at least nine months. I don’t care if she’s unconscious all that time, but we need that child. Are your powers strong enough?”
“They’re strong enough.” His cold, soulless eyes didn’t leave Isadora, and the tingle in her leg grew stronger as he took a step her way. “It won’t be pleasant for her, but the child will not perish.”
Oh, gods…
Remember me. Remember me remember me remember me…
She backed up until her spine hit something solid, blocking her path. Her pulse raced like wildfire as he stopped in front of her. His body was the same, his scent so familiar it surrounded her, consumed her, reminded her of every moment alone on that island with him. He lifted his hands and closed his eyes. A chant rose up in the air as his lips moved and that black mist swirled around him, mixing with the Medean powers he drew from somewhere deep in his soul.
Fear pushed her forward. She grasped his hands, threaded her fingers in his, and held on tight. That tingle turned to a full-on vibration that shook her entire body.
Remember me.
Energy—a power she hadn’t known she could control—flowed from her hands into his, a host of memories flashing through her brain, traveling into her limbs and out again. Every cruel word he’d uttered to her in the castle in Tiyrns, the moment in her chamber when he’d accused her of abandoning Theron in the human realm, that wretched day he’d refused to bind himself to her in front of her father and all the Argonauts, the way he’d soothed her burns after rescuing her in Apophis’s castle, the nights he’d slept next to her to keep Hades away, when they’d made love, and afterward when he’d held her like she was the most precious thing in the world.
Emotions stirred in her chest. They rushed out her hands along with the memories, flowed into him. And when his chant cut off mid-sentence, when his eyes flew open and he stared down at her with a confused expression, as if he felt the transfer too but didn’t understand how, hope sprang in her soul.
Remember me, remember me, remember me…
“Kardia…”
Yes!
He shook his head as if to clear the haze, then stared down at her with the same blank, malicious expression.
No. Remember me, dammit!
She gripped his hands tighter, focused harder.
“Yios?”
This time he didn’t take his eyes off her as his chant resumed. He squeezed her hands right back, until pain shot up her fingers and into her palms.
She was weak and no match for his strength. His chanting grew louder. She cried out as he squeezed tighter, pushing down so she was forced to the ground.
“Yios?”
Something moved in the shadows behind Demetrius, but Isadora was in so much pain she couldn’t focus. Demetrius let go of her hands and swung around to face Atalanta. His chanting grew stronger; then he thrust out his hands forward. The goddess’s eyes went wide with surprise, and seconds later her body flew backward past the circle of candles to slam into the ground somewhere in the darkness.
The shadow shifted, moved, streaked toward Isadora. “That’s our cue, Princess.”
Zander. Oh, gods, it was Zander.
He wrapped his arms up underneath hers and hauled her to her feet. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Yios!” Atalanta’s bellow from the darkness shook the entire room. The candles went out in one giant breath of air.
Demetrius answered by chanting again and disappearing into the darkness.
“Come on,” Zander said, more frantic this time, hauling Isadora with him toward the other side of the room. “We have to get to the surface. I’m too weak to open a portal down here.”
She found her footing, held onto his arms with fingers that still burned, and tried to move with him. A dark doorway loomed ahead. They took five steps before a series of roars from that direction halted their progress.
“Skata.”
Atalanta screeched. An arc of electricity lit up the darkness. Demetrius’s chanting cut off abruptly and a crash resounded.
The roars—closer this time—brought Isadora’s attention back around. Terror raced down her spine.
Zander pushed her behind him and grasped his parazonium. “Get back!”
Isadora didn’t have a weapon. She couldn’t even see a foot in front of her face. The roars grew to explosive levels. She felt Zander’s adrenaline thrumming in the air in front of her. At her back, Atalanta screeched again and another arc of electricity illuminated the room.