"Please!" the spirit cried. "I'm sorry for—"
"Save your pleas," he said flatly. Over the centuries, he'd heard every desperate bargain imaginable. Nothing swayed him.
What will you do if Anya begs you? What then?
Suddenly Lucien wanted to vomit, to rail, to kill at the thought of bringing such a lovely creature here. Whatever her crime, he doubted she deserved to burn, the flesh melting and peeling from her luscious body only to regenerate and melt again.
Perhaps when she died, she would be allowed in heaven.
He could pray, at least.
"Please," the Hunter's spirit screamed as two thick boulders opened up above the pit. Orange-gold flames shot out, crackling and snapping, the smell of sulfur stronger as it blended with the odors of burned hair and rotting tissue.
The spirit's struggles intensified.
When Lucien saw demonic, scaly arms reach through the flames, when he heard the taunting become eager giggles, he tossed the spirit in. The scaly arms caught it and jerked it downward. There was a scream so filled with pain it was deafening, and then the boulders closed.
He didn't know what kept the demons inside, only that something did. Something that had not been able to hold the demon he now housed, which was why it had not been returned to hell after it escaped—thanks to you—Pandora's box.
If you hadn't opened the box, you might never have met Anya. And that would have been best, he told himself, despite the sudden flare of rightness that came with knowing her. He wouldn't have been commanded to hurt her.
He repeated the journey with every slain Hunter, and when he was finished, he opened his eyes to find himself back in the physical realm. The cave walls closed in around him, dark and bleak. There was silence, but he wasn't sure the quiet was any better than the screams of the Underworld. His mind wanted to fill every second of it with thoughts of Anya.
She'd obsessed him.
And she was gone, he noticed. Disappointment filled him.
Having realized what was happening, his men had continued about their business and had patched up the innocents. Or maybe Anya had done it before she left. Where had she gone?
"I don't understand," Paris said to one of the beaten humans. "For what?"
"Artifacts," the old man said through swollen lips. "Priceless, godly, powerful. Each will lead the bearer closer to Pandora's box, helping him to finally procure it."
Pandora's box. Words guaranteed to engage his complete attention. Lucien joined the group. "How will the artifacts help us find the box?"
Amun stood off to the side, watching, but turned his head when Lucien spoke. Strider flicked him a glance, muttering, "Nice to have you back."
"The woman?"
"Still here," Gideon replied, which meant she had indeed left.
He moved beside Amun and waited for someone to explain.
"Just up and disappeared, right after you," Strider said. "Why does she keep showing up?"
Lucien didn't answer, for he didn't know what truly drove Anya. I missed you, she'd said. Had she really? He just didn't know. She was as mysterious as she was beautiful. "Who are these men and how will those artifacts help us find the box?"
Strider shrugged at the abrupt subject change. "They are mortals who've devoted their lives to the study of mythology. And I don't know."
"Can we go home?" the younger man asked. His brown eyes were watery. "Please."
"Soon," Lucien promised gently. "We just need to know what you told the Hunters."
"Hunters?" both asked in unison.
"The men who imprisoned you."
"Bastards," the younger man gritted out. "You plan to kill us after we tell you?"
"No," Strider said with a laugh. "Please. Look at you, then look at me. I don't do puny targets."
The old man gulped. Opened his mouth.
"Don't," the son said.
"It's okay. I'll tell them." The older human drew a heavy breath past his cut and bleeding lips. "According to ancient lore, there are four artifacts. The All-seeing Eye, the Cloak of Invisibility, the Cage of Compulsion and the Paring Rod."
Two rang a distant bell, delighting him. Two were unfamiliar, puzzling him. Mostly the irony of the situation disgusted him. If these humans were correct, they knew more about the world he'd once inhabited than he, a former soldier to the gods, did. "Tell me about them. Please."
With fear in his eyes, the man continued, "Some legends say that all four belonged to Cronus—some say each belonged to a different Titan. Most accounts agree that when Zeus defeated Cronus, he—Zeus—scattered them throughout the world to prevent the former god king from using them again, if he ever managed to escape his prison. For it had been prophesied that the Titans would ultimately destroy the Greeks forevermore."
Why hadn't Zeus killed Cronus to begin with, then, rather than imprison him? For that matter, why hadn't Cronus killed Zeus after his escape? Why choose imprisonment? Gods. He might never understand them, Lucien thought, even were he to devote years to studying them as these mortals had done. "What else do you know about the four artifacts?"
The younger man shrugged, taking over the story. "The All-seeing Eye provides glimpses into the otherworld, illuminating the right path. The Cloak shields the wearer from prying eyes. The Rod may part the ocean, though that is widely disputed, and the Cage enslaves whoever is locked inside. Like we said earlier, all four are needed to find and win the box, or so the legend goes, but we don't know why."
"And where are these artifacts now?" Paris rushed out. All of the warriors crowded around the men in anticipation of their reply.
The old man sighed even as he inched backward, as if fearing the warriors would erupt with his next words. "Again, we don't know." He laughed, the sound bitter. "We've been looking for them a long time and never found any indication they truly existed."
"That's why those bastards brought us here," the younger one added. "To help them hunt for clues."
"Had they found anything?" Lucien asked.
"No." The younger man shook his head. "And they were more frustrated by the day. They have men everywhere, all over the world, searching. Much as I might wish otherwise, I seriously doubt there's anything to find. If there were, we would have found it by now."
He had known the Hunters were everywhere, but he hadn't been aware of the artifacts. It was his fault, really. For so long, he'd purposely cut himself off from the world, content to live quietly in his fortress, the heavens a distant if bitter memory. Never again.
Cronus had to want the items back. Desperately. Perhaps Lucien could use that to his advantage. He made a mental note to visit Sabin and the warriors in Rome so he could alert them. "That is all you know?" he asked the men.
Both nodded warily.
"We are grateful for this information. Let's get you home now," he said, curling his fingers around each of their wrists.
"Our house is in Athens," the younger man said in a trembling voice dripping with hope. "We live together, and we can find our own way."
Tears of relief streamed down the old man's cheeks. "Thank you. Are you—one of them? The immortals? You disappeared earlier."
"Give me the address," Lucien said, pretending he hadn't heard the question. "I will take you there."
When the father told him, reverence blooming in his eyes, he flashed them.
Surprisingly, Anya was waiting in their house. She paced back and forth in the sparse but comfortable-looking living room. Not a flicker of emotion played over her features when she spied him.
"I'll wipe their memories," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as well. "They'll recall nothing of the Hunters, nothing of the Lords."