Enslaved

Chapter Twenty-two

Gryphon sat crouched in the trees outside Atalanta’s new stronghold, a stone fortress set deep in the Scandinavian Mountains of Sweden. Scanning the compound, he took stock of the daemons on patrol around the property, the sharp-rising ridge to the west, the river to the east, and the lake not far beyond.

Snow littered the ground, but spring was trying hard to make itself known this late in May, though nothing—not even the sun trying to peek through the trees—could cut the chill in Gryphon’s soul. The darkness inside vibrated with too much intensity this close to its source. And the voice was all but screaming to draw him the rest of the way in.

He ground his teeth, blinked hard, and shook his head to fight off the urge. He’d let the voice and darkness pull him this far, but he needed to think. To regroup. To figure out how he was going to get inside without being caught. Everything hinged on that. On staying focused now more than ever. If only he had Maelea with him…

I didn’t take it. I promise. I didn’t make that deal.

Her words outside the castle spiraled back through his mind. And with it, the conviction in her voice when she’d added, I wouldn’t use you like that.

The way he’d used her?

Skata, he didn’t know what was real and what was a lie. He wanted to believe her, knew he’d jumped to conclusions without giving her any chance to explain, but he’d been duped before. By that warlock who’d sent his soul to Tartarus. By Atalanta, when she’d offered him freedom from his suffering. By Hera, with that damn soul-mate curse. He didn’t want to be the fool again.

This…it’s sudden and crazy, but…for the first time in my life, everything feels right.

Warmth slid through his veins when he remembered the way she’d looked at him, encircled his heart, squeezed until he could barely breathe. Being with her felt right to him too. In a way nothing else had ever felt right, even before the Underworld.

That was real. The way she made him feel, the connection they shared, the emotions he’d heard in her voice when she told him she loved him, the way she’d held him that night in her beach house when he told her about his time in the Underworld…that was all real. No matter what she’d arranged with her mother before their week together, he knew in the bottom of his heart what she’d said outside the castle in Tiyrns was true.

His pulse beat hard as he scanned the compound again. Skata, he was an idiot. So sure she had to be as dark as her mother, he’d ignored what he knew to be true in his heart. And now he’d probably lost her because he’d let that fear control him. Just as he’d let Atalanta control him for far too long.

Urgency pushed at him. He was done living in fear. Done letting others manipulate him. He still had just over three months before his deadline with Krónos. He could come back. He could bring Orpheus and some of the other Argonauts to help him. Demetrius, Zander, even Titus…they’d all relish a go at Atalanta. And thanks to the darkness inside him, he could lead them back to her. He could—maybe—be the key to finally bringing her down once and for all.

Dooouuulas…come to me.

The screaming voice, the darkness…they pulled at the center of his chest, drawing him in, but he knew now he could fight it. Thanks to Maelea and her faith in him, he knew he could fight anything.

He backed away from the compound, into the darkness of the trees, intent on getting far enough away so he could open a portal back to Argolea without drawing attention, but froze when a portal popped open not far from him, and five daemons stepped through.

“Atalanta will be most pleased with our catch,” the one in front said, staring down at something in his hand.

The one on the right chuckled. “Maybe she’ll make all of us archdaemons. Screw that sonofabitch Naberus.”

Gryphon narrowed his eyes to see what they held. The middle daemon in the back of the pack carried something that wiggled and turned as if trying to get away.

“Put me down! I can walk, you morons!”

Gryphon’s blood ran cold when he recognized Max’s voice.

Shit. Shit! Had the kid followed him? How would he even know how to get here?

He scanned the area. The daemons were marching for the front gate of the compound. If Gryphon didn’t do something right now, the kid was toast.

He grasped his blade at his back and stepped out of the trees into the daemons’ line of sight. “Looks like you boys found something that doesn’t belong to you.”

The daemon in front, the one holding something in his gloved hand, drew in a long whiff, then growled, “Argonaut.”

“He’s alone,” another said, sniffing the air, moving up next to the first. “And he’s the one we’ve been looking for.”

The remaining daemons stepped into line with the first two. The fifth hovered at the back of the group with Max in his arms. Max’s eyes grew wide but he didn’t speak. Didn’t even move.

Four—make that five, if the one in the back dropped Max and joined the fight—against one. Not great odds, but Gryphon had faced worse. However, he needed to take these fuckers down quietly and quickly or else they’d have an army of daemons on top of them within seconds.

“Max,” he called, ignoring the growls from the daemons already inching toward him. “Remember how you got away before?”

“Yeah,” Max called back before the daemon could stop him from answering.

“Do it again.”

The daemon in front chuckled. “That boy’s not going anywhere but to Atalanta.”

Gryphon closed his eyes, drew on his forefather Perseus’s power from deep in his core. Energy radiated up from the soles of his feet, through his body, and out his limbs. And when he opened his eyes and fixed them on the daemons in front of him, their gasps of surprise as their muscles stopped working and their bodies stilled was like music to his ears.

A thwack, followed by a grunt, echoed ahead. Gryphon stumbled back a step as his energy waned, then slowly slumped to the ground. He watched through hazy vision as Max scrambled up from the snow where the daemon had dropped him when he stopped midstep, and grasped the beast’s sword. Then he knocked the monster to the ground with his boot and decapitated him.

Minutes later, all that remained were steaming bodies and the kid—looking and acting more like Zander’s son with every passing second—wiping the bloody blade on his pants. He leaned over, picked something up from the ground, then stalked toward Gryphon. “Are you okay?”

Gryphon blinked several times. Tried to get up. Couldn’t. “No…that…drains me. I’ll be…okay. In a while.”

A smile slinked across Max’s face. “That was way cool. I wish I—”

A rumble sounded from inside the walls of the compound.

Max’s smile faded. He shot a look over his shoulder then handed Gryphon the object he’d picked up. “We might not have a while. Here, use this. It’ll help you regain your strength faster.”

Max shoved a metal disk into Gryphon’s hand. And only when power radiated through his chest to warm him from the outside in did Gryphon realize the kid had given him the Orb of Krónos.

Gryphon’s eyes shot to the glowing disk pressed against his chest, then up to Max’s face. “You took it?”

Nervousness crept over Max’s face. “I wasn’t going to give it to Atalanta, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just needed the extra power. So I could open a portal. So I could get here and win.”

“Holy shit,” Gryphon breathed, already feeling better from the Orb’s power. “Your dad’s probably busting a few thousand blood vessels right now wondering where the hell you went. And your mom—”

“My dad doesn’t care. He treats me like a baby. And I’m not. A baby couldn’t kill those daemons.”

Max’s eyes leveled on Gryphon’s. Eyes, Gryphon noticed, that were the exact same shape and color and intensity as his father’s when Zander was angry. And he heard his own thoughts ricochet through his head. Thinking no one cared about him. That no one missed him. He’d been so wrong. Just as Max was wrong.

He knew they needed to move, that they didn’t have time for this powwow, but this was important enough to take a moment for.

“Your dad loves you, Max. It’s just not always easy for us Argonauts to show it. He did everything he could to find you when you were with Atalanta. He’d die for you. He’d do anything for you. If he’s protective, it’s because he wants to make sure nothing happens to you again. And because he can’t stand the thought of losing you again. I know because my brother’s done the same thing to me. We have to cut them some slack.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “Maybe, but he thinks—”

A roar echoed near the main gate.

Max turned to look. Though he still wasn’t back to 100 percent yet, Gryphon struggled to his feet. Looping the Orb’s chain over his head and tucking the medallion under his shirt, he grasped his parazonium from the ground and tugged on Max’s arm. “Come on. We’ll finish this later. Right now we need to hustle.”

As he hobbled into the trees after Max, he fought the shrieking voice calling to him and tried to calculate how far they needed to get before they could open a portal home. If they were too close, they’d—

His feet skidded to a stop when the voice dimmed. He whipped around, looked through the forest around him. Light replaced the darkness hovering inside his soul.

“Maelea,” he whispered.

Max jogged back to him, his small chest rising and falling under his open jacket with his breaths. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Maelea’s here,” Gryphon said louder.

Oh shit, she was here. That was the only reason the voice would be dimmed, the only reason he’d be feeling that light. He scanned the forest again, searching for her. How had she gotten here? How had she—?

There. On the far side of the compound. She was looking for him. She was…

He took off running in that direction, his only thought to get to her before Atalanta did. At his back, Max yelled, “Gryphon? Wait!”

His boots crunched on snow and downed limbs. When he reached a small brook, he ran right through the ankle-deep, freezing water, only barely registering the cold liquid seeping into his boots. Urgency pushed at every side of him. Whatever commotion was happening at the main gate couldn’t be good. He had to get to Maelea. He had to find her…

Blood pounded in his ears. His heart thumped hard against his ribs. He threaded through a cluster of trees only to skid to a stop at the opening of a small meadow.

Atalanta appeared not more than ten feet in front of him, her blood-red robe brushing the ground, her jet-black hair waving in the wind at her back as he remembered from the Underworld. A wicked smile turned her lips as her onyx eyes focused on his. And being this close to her, that darkness resurged deep inside his soul. “Doulas. I felt you close. I knew you’d come to me, eventually.”

Footsteps pounded at Gryphon’s back. And too late he remembered Max had been chasing after him.

Atalanta’s gaze shot past him to the trees, then narrowed and held as Max skidded to a stop too. “Maximus,” she whispered.

Her gaze shot back to Gryphon, and her smile widened. This one a malevolent, victorious grin that curled his insides, even as the darkness inside twisted and urged him to give in. “I knew I could count on you, doulas.”

“Run,” Gryphon whispered to Max as he stepped in front of the boy and lifted his blade, fighting her pull with every bit of strength he had left inside. “You can’t have him,” he said to Atalanta. Then, “Max, run!”

Atalanta chuckled. “You can’t fight me, doulas. I’m your master.” She extended her hand, and an invisible force arced out, ripping the blade from Gryphon’s hand. The metal flew through the air, over her head, to land on the frozen ground at her back. Then she moved forward with all the empty, dead hatred he remembered from his time with her in Tartarus and extended both arms toward him. The darkness inside him surged to life, forcing his feet forward, forcing him toward her, even though he tried to stop it. “Come to me. Come to your destiny.”

It was taking him. The darkness overwhelmed Gryphon. Panic surged again. Atalanta was going to win. And thanks to him she was going to wind up with not only him but with the Orb and with Max, a descendent of the Horae, whom she needed to wield the Orb’s powers.

No, no, no. He fought, struggled, tried to see through the darkening haze, but knew he was slipping. Even with the Orb’s power, the Underworld darkness was too strong. Her lure too great. And because of his weakness, because Maelea had come here trying to save him, he’d led her to her death too.

She had to get away. She had to survive. Why the hell hadn’t he taught her to fight like she’d wanted at the beach hou—

“Gryphon!”

The haze cleared, and the pull inside dimmed. He looked past Atalanta, toward a body rushing close. Toward Maelea at a dead run. And behind her, Theron, Zander, Orpheus, Titus, and Skyla.

Atalanta whipped around, and growled as she extended her hands toward Maelea.

Everything inside Gryphon lurched in fear. “No!”