Enslaved

Chapter Thirteen

Gryphon dug the key from the front pocket of his pants and tossed it toward Maelea. “Here!”

She caught it with her free hand and tried to get it into the lock on her cuffs. Her fingers shook. She missed the hole. Three more daemons poured into the room through the broken window while Gryphon scrambled to his feet and kicked the injured beast in front of him to the ground, then arced out with his blade, catching another in its arm.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she muttered, fumbling with the key. There! The key slipped in, turned. The cuff sprang from her wrist.

“You,” the closest daemon growled, advancing on Gryphon. “Atalanta is looking for you.”

“Tell her to go back to hell,” Gryphon yelled.

The daemon growled. Maelea looked up just as it lifted its arm and swung out.

“No!” Maelea watched in horror as the daemon’s claws raked across Gryphon’s chest. His body sailed back into her from the blow, shoving her off the bed and into the wall. The knife flew from his hand. She grunted as she dropped to the floor, as Gryphon landed on top of her. Panic welled as she looked up at the three daemons advancing quickly.

“Gryphon!” She wrestled her way out from under him, shook his shoulders. His eyes were closed. Blood welled from deep gashes across his abdomen. For a minute, she thought he was dead, and fear spread to the center of her soul. Then she realized he was still breathing and the muscles around his eyes were tightening as if he were concentrating. Or dreaming. Or freakin’ hallucinating.

“Gryphon, wake up.” She grasped his shoulders, shook harder. He still didn’t open his eyes. Belatedly, as she worked like crazy to revive him, she realized the growls had stopped. The room was quiet. She looked across the bed toward the five daemons, four of whom stood frozen midstep. The other lay on the floor where Gryphon had kicked it, still as a statue, blood pulsing from its wounds.

Panic and fear intermixed with confusion. She didn’t have a clue what was going on, why the monsters weren’t already killing them, but for whatever reason, they had a chance now. She shook Gryphon again. “Wake up, dammit!”

His eyes fluttered open. A dazed look passed over his face. “What are you…waiting for? Run!”

Run. Yes. Run. Fear morphed to urgency as Maelea scrambled to her feet. She knew how to run. She was good at it. She’d been running from Hades her whole life. Twenty minutes ago, all she’d wanted was to run from Gryphon.

“Run!” Gryphon hollered in a hoarse voice.

She turned for the door, stumbled down the hallway. Saw the sword Gryphon had taken from that skeleton in the tunnels below the colony, leaning in the corner.

Her feet stilled. Her mind swam. She sensed he’d done something to those daemons, though what or how, she didn’t know. They weren’t dead. For some reason they were frozen. And the urgency in Gryphon’s voice—a voice that had recently whispered how much he needed her—brought her back to reality.

He was lying on the floor in there bleeding because he’d stepped in front of her…because he’d protected her. And he no longer had a weapon. If she ran now… If she left him, he’d be killed.

Her pulse raced and her heart beat so hard she was sure it had to be bruising her ribs. All these years she’d been hiding. All these years she’d done her best to stay off Hades’s radar. Even though the daemons were technically Atalanta’s creation, they were from the Underworld, from his darkness. If she turned against them, it would eventually reach Hades’s ears.

But if she walked away and Gryphon died, she knew she’d never be able to live with herself. She’d stayed hidden not only to protect herself, but to protect those she cared about. And she cared about Gryphon, even after the things he’d done and said to her. Cared more than she should. Because she understood him. Likely in a way no one else ever could.

Her hand shook as she wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the sword. But her determination had never been stronger.

She rushed back into the room before she could change her mind. Gryphon lay on the far side of the bed, where she’d left him, his torso at an odd angle, his head against the wall, blood welling from the cuts across his chest. His eyelids fluttered when he saw her, that dazed look telling her he was more injured than she’d first thought.

“What are you doing?” he managed. “You have to run. You have to get away before they…wake up…”

She’d been right. Whatever he’d done to freeze them was only temporary. Gripping the sword in both hands, she turned to stare at the grotesque monsters. Vibrations ran down her legs, into her feet. Into the floor, making the bed rattle against the wall. But that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be coming from her. She had no power other than sensing energy shifts, which this most definitely was not.

She ignored the ludicrous, refocused on what she had to do next. Her stomach rolled, but she swallowed hard and said, “What do I have to do to kill them?”

“Maelea—”

“There’s only one way to kill them, right? Otherwise they heal and bounce back. Isn’t that right?”

“Maelea—”

“Tell me what to do, Gryphon! Before they wake up! I’m not leaving you here.”

“You…” He hesitated, and she looked to him, saw the way he pressed a hand over his wounds, tried to sit up but couldn’t. Blood oozed between his fingers, dripped down to this stomach. “You…you have to…decapitate them.”

Oh…gods. Her attention shifted back to the monsters. And this time she had to swallow back bile and what little dinner she’d eaten earlier to keep from losing it. They were each at least seven feet tall. She was only about five six. She’d never be able to do this.

“Push…push them over,” Gryphon managed, as if reading her thoughts. “It’ll give you a better angle. We’ve only got minutes before they start to…wake up.”

Maelea forced back the sickness, moved to the first daemon. Its body was hard as stone, and reeked of a foul stench. When she pushed against it, the skin burned her hand. She jerked her arm back, then realized she needed leverage. Stepping away for momentum, she rammed the beast with her shoulder, putting her weight behind the blow.

It toppled to the floor like a tree falling in the woods. Maelea stumbled when its weight shifted, almost dropped on top of it before she caught her footing. Breathing heavily, she looked down at its body lying still on the carpet, eyes wide, fangs dripping something vile. Then she swallowed hard and lifted the blade.

Vibrations arced through her body, ricocheted through her feet. Shook the room. She didn’t look when she brought the sword down. Couldn’t. She turned her head and closed her eyes. But she felt the blood and slime splash across her clothing when the blade connected, and she heard the horrific squelch of tissue and the crack of bones breaking as the steel sliced through its neck.

“Maelea…”

She couldn’t look at Gryphon. Couldn’t look at what she’d just done either. Knew if she did, she’d lose it. And there were still four other daemons left to deal with before she lost it for good. Swallowing back the bile in her throat, she opened her eyes. And was shocked to see the remaining daemons had all toppled to the ground, all on their own.

Weird. But she wasn’t about to question luck. Not right now. She stepped over the decapitated daemon, moved to the next. Lifted the sword in her shaking hands and repeated the movement.

She was dripping sweat by the time she finished. Her clothes were covered in blood and gore. The room looked like something straight out of a slasher movie. She dropped the sword at her feet, moved on shaky legs toward Gryphon, grasped the comforter from the bed, and tossed it over him.

“Maelea…”

She tucked the blanket around him, told herself not to focus on what she’d just done, but on what she needed to do next. “Where are the keys to the truck?”

“Maelea—”

“Gryphon, the keys.”

He dropped his head back against the wall. Pain and regret rushed over his features, but she couldn’t deal with either of those just yet. She had to get them out of here before more daemons showed up. “In the backpack,” he rasped. “Near the wall.”

She scrambled for the pack, found the keys in the front pocket. She also found the money he’d taken from that army surplus store, a handful of knives, and a few clothing items, which would undoubtedly come in handy when they got the heck out of here. Zipping the pack, she threw the strap over her shoulder and pushed to her feet, then reached down and grasped him by the arm, trying to help him up.

“I can’t carry you,” she said, grunting with the effort when she realized how heavy he was. “I can help, but I’ll need you to…help me back.”

He groaned and shifted, placed an arm on the bed, tried to push himself up. Fell back on his ass. It took three tries before she was able to slip an arm under his and use the strength in her legs to push them both up. His chest rose and fell as if he was having trouble breathing, and his eyes weren’t focusing. As the blanket fell from his body, she caught sight of the slash marks across his chest, bleeding profusely.

He needed stitches. He needed a doctor. Shit, what was she going to do with him?

Just get to the car. Just get to the car.

She turned for the small hall that led to the door, felt as if she was dragging deadweight. Gryphon braced a hand on the wall and tried to help her but did nothing more than shuffle his feet and slow them down. The muscles in her arms and legs screamed in protest as they moved. When she finally reached the threshold, she propped him against the wall and kicked wood and metal aside so he wouldn’t trip and drag her down.

“The bodies,” he managed. “We can’t…leave them like this.” His head fell back against the wall. His eyes slid closed. If she let go of him, she was sure he’d slump right to the floor like a rag doll.

“We don’t have time to worry about that.”

She bent to push a board out of the way. He pulled away from her hand pressing into his chest, holding him up. Startled, she looked back to see him heading into the room again, scrubbing his shoulder against the wall as he used it to keep himself upright. “Can’t…leave them for humans to find.”

She reached for him. “Gryphon—”

His leg went out from under him. She reached for him. A gasp tore from her mouth when he nearly hit the floor. At the last second, his hand slammed into the wall, and he pushed himself back up, the muscles in his arm straining with the effort.

Dear gods, he was delirious.

She had to stop him. Had to get him to come back this way. Toward the car. She also knew that if he fell, which he’d likely do at any minute, she wouldn’t have enough energy to pull him back up. Her adrenaline was waning now that the battle was over. She needed to convince him to cooperate so she could conserve what little strength she had left and get them the hell out of here. As her mind spun with how to get him to do that, she remembered the vial Persephone had slipped in her pocket.

She fished it out, stared at the clear liquid inside. A concoction of ancient herbs guaranteed to grant her control, Persephone had said. Maelea had no idea what it contained, but she knew there were a variety of ancient calming herbs still used today by the gods. It had to be one of those. Persephone wanted the Orb too much to risk harming her or Gryphon, otherwise she wouldn’t have bothered to offer Maelea Olympus. And that meant, whatever this was, it was intended to give Maelea exactly what Persephone promised.

Before she could change her mind, Maelea popped the top and reached for Gryphon. She pressed a hand against his shoulder, pushed him back against the wall so he faced her. “Wait.”

Sweat slid down his brow. “We have…”

“Drink this.” She lifted the vial to his lips. “It’ll help.”

When he opened his mouth to protest, she poured half the contents over his tongue. His mouth closed. His face scrunched up tight, but, thankfully, he swallowed. “What…?”

She capped the vial and slid it back into her pocket. Waited to see what would happen.

His pupils dilated. The muscles in his face contracted, then relaxed. Then finally his eyes locked on hers. And as they stared at each other, something passed between them. An arc of heat. An emotion she couldn’t define. Something totally unrelated to the Underworld darkness that dwelt inside each of them. It burned in the very center of her. Ignited in a rush of flame. And in the silence that remained, it lit off currents of heat that pulsed all through her body.

His eyes rolled back. His body slumped. Maelea gasped and wrapped her arms around his torso, pressing her body into his to try to hold him up. “Gryphon?” Oh, shit. “Gryphon?”

Panic swamped her chest. She braced her feet and tried to keep them both from going down. What the hell had she just done? Shit. Shit! She never should have trusted her mother. “Gryphon?”

His hands landed on her arms. His head fell forward to bump into her shoulder. “Wh-what?”

Oh, thank you, thank you. She hadn’t just killed him. But the relief was bittersweet when she realized he was even more deadweight now than he’d been before. “We need to get outside. Can you help me?”

“Sure.” He turned his head so his cheek brushed her shoulder. Drew in a deep breath. Let it out. “Whatever you want. Gods, you smell good.”

He blew out another long, sultry breath. Warmth slid along her neck, sent tingles all down her spine. His hands inched down her arms then landed on her waist. And as he tugged her closer with what little strength he had left, she recognized the stirrings of an erection pressing against her stomach.

“Have to help me, though,” he slurred. “Don’ know if I can get it up.”

Oh, good gods. That wasn’t a calming elixir in that vial, it was an aphrodisiac. Her blood warmed as he drew in another breath and nuzzled her neck. Why the hell hadn’t she expected that from her horn dog of a mother?

Okay, this entire situation was so fucked up it wasn’t even funny. They were standing in the middle of a gruesome murder scene, he was bleeding all over her, and she’d just drugged him with the ancient Greek equivalent of a bottle of Viagra. And now she was getting turned on by the fact he was turned on? They needed to get the hell out of here, right fucking now.

She shifted her weight, angled them toward the door, and pulled as hard as she could. “Come on. Let’s just get to the truck.”

He pressed forward. Stumbled. Banged into the wall with his shoulder. Didn’t even seem to notice. “Coming. Come…coooming. Would like to be coming.”

Holy hell. He was worse off than she thought. Her stomach tightened. She was thankful for the cool evening air when they stepped over the threshold and into the parking lot, which kept the heat burning in her belly from becoming a full-blown inferno as she slid her arm around his waist and he leaned into her side.

Somehow they made it to the truck. She pulled the passenger door open, helped him in, then dropped the backpack at his feet. His head fell against the headrest as she shut the door. A quick glance at the front of the small motel confirmed her fear. The office windows were smashed out, which meant those daemons had hit there first before coming after them.

She wanted to go check to see if anyone else was still alive. Wanted to know if the kid who’d checked them in had made it out, but knew they didn’t have time. There was no telling how many other daemons were in the area. Knowing that it was all she could do, she said a quick prayer for the kid, then swallowed the fear and ran for the motel room once more.

The stench hit her even before she stepped into the room. She covered her mouth with her hand. Grabbed towels from the bathroom and forced herself not to look around too much as she went back into the bedroom and grasped the sword. She didn’t breathe again until she was back in the parking lot, relieved to see Gryphon still sitting in the truck. His eyes were closed, his face pale, his body covered in blood and other things Maelea didn’t want to think about. Anyone walking by might think he was dead, but as she climbed into the driver’s seat, she saw his chest rising and falling with his even breaths. Relief spread through her all over again.

She placed a towel against his wounded abdomen, laid his hand over the terry cloth. “Hold this here until I can get you some bandages.”

His hand covered hers. Warm. Electric. So very alive. And he tipped his head her way on the seat back but didn’t open his eyes. “Like when you touch me, sotiria. Dreamed ’bout it for months.”

Her pulse picked up speed at the lazy way he called her his salvation. At the memory of the way he’d watched her from the window of his room when they were at the colony. At the slide of his skin over hers. And that connection she’d felt when he kissed her earlier, the one that had amplified when they stood in the hallway minutes ago, flared hot all over again.

She had to force herself to tug her hand away, so she wouldn’t be tempted to touch him anywhere else, and started the truck. Her heart raced against her ribs as she pulled out onto the highway. She didn’t know which direction they were going. All she knew was she had to get them both as far from this nightmare as she could.

That and the fact that things between them had dramatically changed tonight. And that her life—her future—might never be the same because of it.