Enslaved

Chapter Three

“Don’t move. Don’t even make a sound.”

Maelea’s heart raced beneath her breast and her adrenaline jumped into the stratosphere. She didn’t know who held her, but if she didn’t get away from him soon—like now—her one shot at freedom would shrivel and die.

She’d never been good with weapons, but over the last few months she’d participated in self-defense classes taught by the colony’s guards. She still wasn’t any real threat, but she knew enough to defend herself—something she’d never known before.

Her hand slinked down the outside of the black pants, and her fingers found the snap on the holster at her thigh. Even through the pack strapped to her back, she could feel the push and pull of air in his lungs against her spine. The beat of his heart thumped through the canvas, strong, steady, nowhere near as fast as hers. As voices echoed around the front of the tower, her hand trembled, but she flipped the snap anyway and wrapped her fingers around the handle of the blade.

The voices drifted away, and near her ear, the man whispered, “They’re leaving.”

He seemed relieved. Was he not one of the guards? She didn’t care. Whoever he was, he was still an obstacle between her and freedom.

The hand over her mouth dropped, and as soon as he loosed his grip on her waist, she pulled the knife and whipped around, ready to strike out. But there was just enough moonlight to make out his face. Light hair, a long, straight nose, rugged jawline, and piercing blue eyes. Unfriendly, searching eyes she’d seen peering down at her from a high window too many times to count.

Gryphon. Orpheus’s brother. The guardian who’d mutilated those daemons today, who’d nearly killed one of his own in the process. The guardian, rumor ran in the colony, who was psychotic.

Fear burst in the center of her chest. Arm outstretched, she moved backward, her boots echoing off rocks as she stumbled into the moonlight. The blade in her hand shook, and every instinct in her body said run, but she couldn’t turn her back on him. This close, she was afraid that if she did, she’d never even reach the trees. She wasn’t immortal like her parents, only ageless. And because she’d been cursed by Hades at birth, there was no afterlife for her. If she died now—before finding her way to Olympus—she’d simply cease to exist. No one to even remember who or what she’d been.

“Don’t…don’t come near me,” she managed.

He didn’t move a muscle, just stared at her with those haunted eyes, watching her as he’d done for months now from the isolation of his room. Except this time his brow was furrowed as he studied her, and a perplexed expression grew slowly across his features the longer he watched her.

Her heart rate picked up speed. Was he going to kill her? Would she even see him move? Her puny knife was nothing against a warrior as skilled as he was.

Voices grew louder toward the front of the tower again. As he turned to look, she knew it was her only shot. She tore off toward the darkness of the trees and ran with everything she had in her. If she could reach the passageway she’d found before he did, she could bar the door. She could still get away.

Twenty yards into the darkness of the orchard, he slammed into her from behind, knocking her off her feet. The air whooshed out of her lungs. Her backpack went sailing. The knife flew from her fingers. She hit the ground on her side, her shoulder and hip taking the brunt of the impact. A grunt left her mouth. But even before pain registered, she scrambled to her feet, tried to push herself up, the flight instinct roaring in her blood. He flipped her to her back before she could find her footing, though, and pinned her hands easily with one of his. Then he slapped his free hand over her mouth and used his weight to still her struggling.

“Stop moving, dammit,” he whispered. “They’ll hear you.”

He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, and this close, she could feel the corded muscles beneath the thin, long-sleeved shirt he wore. He was warm where she felt cold, hard where she was soft, and his breath, mere millimeters from her ear, heated the skin of her neck and sent shivers of fear racing down her spine.

And yet…the darkness inside her that was a result of her link to the Underworld vibrated with excitement. It pulled on something in her chest, drew her toward him—a pull she’d felt before but resisted because she didn’t understand it.

Now she did. Now, the reasons he watched her made sense. Still to be radiating darkness like this, here in the human realm, he had to have been cursed.

Hades had already tried to kill her numerous times. He could very well have let Gryphon free to finish the job. Her need to get away from him shot into the stratosphere.

Her mind was a blur of frenetic activity. But when she realized he was listening to what was happening around them, she tuned in to her surroundings.

The voices had separated. One seemed to be coming from her left, another from her right. From far off in the distance more shouts echoed, more voices heading this way.

There were more than the two tower guards out here. Earlier, when she was with Skyla, she’d heard Nick say Gryphon was locked in his room, under armed guard. They had to be looking for him, not her.

Hope resurged. If she could get away from him, if she could signal the guards as to his location, they’d forget all about her. He’d be locked up and she could still escape in the resulting chaos.

Dogs barked in the distance, and another voice—a voice Maelea recognized as Nick’s—boomed from the direction of the castle. “Fucking find him. He couldn’t have gotten far.”

Gryphon lurched to his feet and hauled her up next to him. “Run.”

“But my pack,” she started, pulling on the hand wrapped around her bicep, hoping it would be enough to get him to take off without her.

“Forget the damn pack. I said run!”

Maelea gasped as he dragged her forward, a death grip on her arm. Her feet went out from under her, but he yanked her close to his side, kept her from falling. As she found her footing, she tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let go. His legs were longer than hers, and she struggled to keep up with his pace. Her adrenaline surged. Her muscles screamed in protest. She couldn’t see a damn thing out here in the darkness of the orchard, only the lights of the towering castle fading in the distance.

He jerked them to a stop and finally released his hold. Maelea’s lungs blazed as she bent over, and even though instinct said to keep running, to get as far from him as possible, she couldn’t. She needed a second to suck back air.

Hinges groaned.

“Through here,” Gryphon said. “Quick.”

Hands braced on her knees, Maelea looked up only to realize he’d found her exit, a door hidden behind twisting vines that led into the hillside behind the armory. Hope dropped like a cement block into the bottom of her stomach.

“Go, dammit!” Gryphon pushed her inside the darkened tunnel that led straight down.

“But—”

She stumbled. Her hands slammed into the rock wall of the tunnel. The heavy steel door clanged shut behind them, followed by the groaning of metal against metal and then nothing at all as the tunnel was blanketed in utter darkness.

Fear leaped in Maelea’s throat, followed by a heavy weight pressing in from every direction. She twisted around, could hear the dim voices in the orchard and the barking dogs, searching for their trail. She opened her mouth to cry out, but Gryphon’s big hand covered her lips, and then his enormous body pressed against hers, pushing her spine into the cold rock wall at her back.

“Don’t you dare make a sound,” he whispered near her ear.

She froze, unable to see anything but the whites of his eyes. But she heard everything—the pounding of her heart, the rapid pace of his, the push and draw of air from his lungs so close to her own, and the muffled voices in the orchard, the orders being shouted right and left, the boots clomping over soft spring earth.

Tears burned her eyes. There was an army of men searching just beyond that door. An army ready to bring Gryphon down. An army that didn’t know she was with him.

A scratching sound echoed against the metal door. Gryphon turned his head, his lips brushing Maelea’s cheek as he twisted. Realizing his face was closer than she’d expected, shards of heat—heat she didn’t want—ricocheted through her body, followed by a resurgence of the darkness inside her, and finally a jolt of fear that paralyzed her limbs.

“Here!” A muffled voice called from beyond the door.

Gryphon pressed harder against her mouth with his hand.

“Open it!” another said.

“I can’t. It’s bolted from the inside.”

“Sonofabitch.” That was Nick’s voice. Maybe there was still a chance… “This entrance leads into the tunnels, right?”

“Yeah,” someone else said. “I don’t know where, though.”

“Well, fucking find out,” Nick hollered. “Get me blueprints of this damn castle. Keep working on that door. And someone wake up Theron and Orpheus. I want this sonofabitch caught before he gets outside the colony’s borders.”

Gryphon’s free hand gripped Maelea’s wrist. Without letting loose of her mouth, he pulled her away from the wall and shifted her around so her back was plastered to his front and his big, hard body was pushing her forward.

“Walk,” he said in her ear. Hot breath ran under the collar of her jacket. “I know you’ve been in here before. I’ve seen you when no one else is watching. You know exactly where this tunnel lets out. We’ve got minutes before they figure it out too. If you want to live, you’ll get me the hell out of here. And you’ll do it fast.”

Orpheus jolted from the erotically charged dream involving him, Skyla, and a vat of JELL-O he’d just as soon have continued exploring.

Glancing toward the clock on the nightstand, he caught the time. Just after two a.m. Against his chest, Skyla lay softly snoring, her heat warming him where she’d passed out after they’d made love for the third time.

His chest pinched. Gods, he did not want to leave her in the morning. But there was no way around it. Nick wouldn’t let Gryphon stay—not after what he’d done—and Orpheus wasn’t abandoning his brother to the outside. He ran his fingers through Skyla’s long blond hair and remembered the way she’d stood up for him, even knowing all the dumb shit he’d done in this life and the previous one. If Orpheus could be saved, then there had to be hope for Gryphon.

She wanted to go with them, but no matter what, he wasn’t letting Gryphon anywhere near her. She’d tried to argue about it last night, but he’d successfully distracted her with his mouth and hands and the rest of his body—several times. In the morning she’d likely try again, and she’d be pissed when she found out he wasn’t relenting, but he’d rather have her alive and pissed than dead.

He’d meant it when he said he wasn’t losing her. Not again.

A pounding echoed through the room, and lifting his head from the pillow, he realized that was the sound that had woken him.

As he pushed up on his elbows, Skyla stirred. Grunting once, she lifted sleepy, sexy eyes his way. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He slid out of bed, pulled on the jeans he’d tossed on the floor earlier, and crossed the room toward the glass door. Embers still burned red in the fireplace, and shards of moonlight shone through the windows on four sides of the hexagonal room in one of the highest towers of the castle. Beyond the glass door, a male figure loomed. A figure Orpheus recognized as one of Nick’s men.

Skata. Please tell me Gryphon didn’t attack someone else.

Orpheus pulled the door open. The guard’s face was flushed from running, and he drew a breath before saying, “He’s gone. Tower guards spotted him crossing the courtyard, heading for the orchard. If he gets to the tunnels—”

“How in the bloody hell did he get out?” Skyla asked from across the room, already standing near the bed, the sheet wrapped around her luscious body, her hair a wild tangle around her worried face.

The guard glanced toward her, then looked quickly away when he realized she was all but naked. “We think he went out the window and scaled the building.”

“Son of a bitch,” Orpheus said. “Where’s Nick?”

“Already searching. He requested you and Theron join him.”

“I’ll be right down.”

The guard nodded. As he left, Orpheus shut the door and searched for his boots. Near the bed, Skyla dropped the sheet and shimmied into her own clothes. “He can’t have gotten far,” she said.

It wasn’t how far Gryphon could get that worried Orpheus. It was what his brother would do to anyone who got in his way that sent fear racing down his spine. And what Nick’s sentries would do if they found him first.

They dressed in record time and made it down to the main hall just as Theron, the leader of the Argonauts, Zander, and Demetrius were stepping off the elevator. With Titus’s injury yesterday, all the Argonauts had gathered in a show of solidarity. All except Gryphon, who’d been locked in his room.

“Where are the others?” Orpheus asked.

“Cerek and Phin already went down to start looking,” Theron said.

“What about the girls?” Skyla asked. She was dressed in black pants, a black long-sleeved top, and her signature goth boots, which Orpheus knew housed her weapon of choice: a bow and arrow that would expand to full size when used, one patterned after the bow she’d carried when she was a Siren. “They might be able to tell us where he’s at.”

“The girls” were the queen of Argolea—Isadora—who was also Demetrius’s new mate, and her two sisters, Callia and Casey. As all three shared the same father, the late king, and were descended from the Horae, the ancient Greek goddesses of balance and order, they had the ability to channel their gifts and see into the present. Maybe even see where Gryphon was right this moment.

“I already sent word to Argolea for Acacia and Isadora to join us,” Theron said. “Callia’s in the clinic seeing to Titus. When they get here, I’ll call her up.”

Acacia, or Casey as everyone but Theron called her, was Theron’s mate, a half-breed, and Callia was Zander’s mate, a healer who tended to the queen and the Argonauts when needed. Since Atalanta was hunting the Horae, it was never smart for them to be in the human realm, but in this instance Skyla was right—they might be the Argonauts’ best chance at finding Gryphon before Nick’s sentries did.

“Zander, D,” Theron said, turning toward the guardians, “head down to the tunnels, see what you can find out. Orpheus, Skyla.” Theron looked their way as Zander and Demetrius both headed back for the elevator that would take them down. “Why don’t you two hit the orchard. Nick’s men have probably already messed with Gryphon’s trail, but maybe you can use some of those super Siren tracking skills Skyla has left and see what you can find. I’ll go try to talk some sense into Nick before one of his men kills Gryphon. He’s pissed about what happened yesterday, and in his mood I don’t think he’d stop them if they tried.”

Orpheus’s gut hitched at that thought, but it warmed at the fact that even with the incident yesterday, the Argonauts weren’t abandoning his brother. There was a bond there, among all of them, one that couldn’t be broken even by the Underworld.

“Okay,” Skyla mumbled, already in Siren mode, heading for the hallway and the stairwell that would lead out to the courtyard.

Before Orpheus took two steps to follow her, Theron grasped his sleeve. “O, wait.”

When Orpheus turned to face the leader of the Argonauts, Theron glanced toward the elevator doors that were closing, then toward the hallway where Skyla had already disappeared. “I didn’t want to say anything to the others, but there’s something else.”

Orpheus’s nerves jumped another notch. “What?”

“Maelea’s missing.”

“What do you mean, missing?”

“No one’s seen her since she retired for bed last night, and she’s not in her room.”

“That’s nothing new. She likes to wander at night.”

“Right,” Theron said, “and that’s my concern. If she happened to come across Gryphon while wandering…”

Oh, shit.

“Gryphon’s not thinking clearly,” Theron went on. “There’s no telling if he’d see her as a threat or bargaining chip if he found her while trying to escape. And it’s no secret none of us even know what he has planned…even you.”

Dread welled in the bottom of Orpheus’s stomach. He’d dragged Maelea into all of this. He’d gone looking for her because, with her ability to sense energy shifts on earth, she’d been the one person who could tell him where the Orb of Krónos was being used, which he’d needed to reunite Gryphon’s soul with his body after he rescued Gryphon from the Underworld. Hades already hated her simply because she was Persephone’s daughter. And now Hades knew she’d helped the Argonauts find the Orb, that she’d played a hand in rescuing Gryphon from Tartarus. Outside these castle walls—if she made it that far—Gryphon wasn’t the only threat to her safety.

Guilt seeped in to mingle with the dread. Because of Orpheus, she’d lost her home and her freedom. And because of him, she could very well lose her life now too.

Urgency pushed at Orpheus from all sides as he headed for the doorway at the end of the hall. “We’ll find her. We’ll find them both.”

“Let’s just pray they’re not together,” Theron mumbled at his back.

As Gryphon guided Maelea forward, her spine pressed against his chest and her ass bumped into his groin every time she hesitated in the darkness. She was smaller than he’d originally thought, but the baggy clothes he’d seen her wear from his window had hid muscles he didn’t know were there. Dressed in the slim black pants and long-sleeved shirt so no one would see her making her escape, and plastered tight against him in the dark tunnel, he also realized how many curves she’d kept hidden under all that fabric.

“Which way?” he growled in her ear when she hesitated at the fork in the tunnel. He’d let go of her mouth so she could breathe, but he kept a firm hold around her waist, not for a second risking the chance that she would bolt.

“I…I’m not sure. I—”

Her words cut off and she sucked in a breath as he pressed his fingers into her hip. “Don’t lie to me, female. Which way?”

“Right,” she managed. “To the right.”

He released his hold on her hip, steered her in that direction. “This will go a whole lot smoother if you don’t fight me.”

She didn’t answer as they moved ahead through the tunnel, but he could feel the anger and fear radiating from her. That and the light. The same weird light that had drawn him to the window each and every time she’d been in the courtyard. The same light that had told him she was out tonight, that she might be his ticket out of this place.

A voice echoed from ahead, deeper in the cave. She hitched in a breath. Wrapping his free hand around her mouth, he pulled her back against the cave wall and held her still. The voice grew louder. His adrenaline jumped. Taking a step back the way they’d come, his spine slid from solid rock to air, then rock again, and he realized the wall opened here. Not much, a gap really, but if he turned sideways, enough to squeeze through. As the voice continued to grow in intensity, he knew it was his only shot. He twisted Maelea, shoved her through the gap, then shimmied in after her.

She grunted under his hand. The gap turned to the left. When his body came up flush against hers, he realized she’d reached the end.

“Shh,” he whispered, not letting go of her mouth. She’d shifted around so her face was mere millimeters from his. His arm snaked down to her hip to hold her still, his leg pressed between both of hers, and he used his weight to push her into the wall and keep her quiet. They’d been walking for a good ten minutes. They had to be close to the main intersection. In the central space deep below ground, tunnels extended in various directions, several of which would lead him to freedom. He just had to figure out which ones.

Her heart raced beneath her breast, so loud in the quiet he was afraid the guards might hear it. But the thump, thump, thump was drowned out by the heat from her body, circling around him in the confined space, and the scent of…jasmine.

The same scent he’d noticed in the orchard. Only this wasn’t from any tree or flower, it was coming from her. He looked down. Couldn’t see even an inch in front of his face. But she was there. Against his skin, her breasts pushed into his chest as she drew each labored breath, her lips hovered against the palm of his hand, and that intoxicating fragrance mixed with her body heat to leave him light-headed.

Footsteps pounded somewhere close. Gryphon turned his head to listen, held his breath. Against his hand, Maelea drew in a startled breath, the effort forcing her breasts tighter against his chest. Breasts, he couldn’t help notice, even now when they were about to be discovered, that were firm and plump and warm against his chilled skin.

Tingles raced over his flesh where they touched, fanning out to spread tiny tendrils of heat all across his body. It had been months since he’d been close to a female. Months since he’d let anyone touch him. Most days he couldn’t even stand the feel of cloth against his skin, but this—her body against his, soft where he was hard, warm where he felt frigid—this didn’t bother him. It relaxed him. Heat pooled in his stomach, trickled lower, brought every nerve ending to life.

“Nothing,” a voice said from the tunnel beyond. A male voice. One Gryphon didn’t recognize. “I don’t see any sign of them.”

“They had to have come this way,” another voice said.

Maelea sucked in another breath, held it. Her nipples pressed into his chest, stiff points hardening against the fabric of his shirt. His stomach tightened at the contact, and without thinking, he shifted his hand from her hip to her rib cage, then higher, to the edge of her bra.

A strangled sound echoed in the back of her throat.

“Did you hear that?” the first voice asked.

Gryphon’s hand froze. In the darkness his palms grew sweaty. He looked down at where he’d almost touched her, still couldn’t see shit.

Skata, what the hell was he doing? He wasn’t here to get hot and heavy with the female. He only needed her to get away. Dammit, he really was going bat-shit crazy if he was trying to feel her up out here in the dark, when they could be discovered at any moment.

He lowered his hand back to her hip. Knew if he didn’t do something right away, she’d ruin his chance to escape. She stiffened as he leaned close and his lips brushed her ear, but he ignored the reaction. And he fought the shards of heat touching her like this sent ricocheting to his belly when he said, “Make another sound like that and I’ll kill them both.”

Her body shook against his, a mixture of fear and hatred, but to her credit she didn’t utter another sound. And in the silence, he felt his control resolidify. Several seconds passed before the first voice said, “Whatever it was, it’s gone now. Let’s split up. You keep on going, I’ll double back.”

“Sounds good.”

Footsteps pounded away. Gryphon waited a good minute before his heart rate slowed enough so he could put some venom in his voice. “Don’t test me, female. I guarantee if you do, you’ll lose. All I need from you is to get me out of these tunnels and away from the colony. If you do that, no one will get hurt, you included. Do you understand? Nod once if you do.”

Silky hair brushed his cheek as her head bobbed. She drew in a breath through her nose, one that lifted her chest all over again and pressed those wicked breasts tighter to him, dimming all other sound until the beat of her heart was all he heard. A sound he was sure he could now pick out in a crowded room, even with drums and trumpets blaring.

It had been months since he’d heard anything as clear as this. The voice usually overrode everything. But right now, the voice was nothing but a dull buzz somewhere far off in the background.

He stepped away from Maelea, stared down at her in the darkness. He still couldn’t see her, but his other senses—smell, hearing, touch—were alive and vibrating with the need for…more. More of whatever the hell she was doing to him.

He had no fucking idea what was happening, but since returning from the Underworld, the only constant he’d grown to expect was that when weird shit happened in his head, it meant something bad was about to go down. Case in point: what he’d done to Titus and Nick out there in those woods.

Skata…he really was losing his shaky grasp on reality. Before that happened for good, he had to get out of these fucking caves. And he needed her to get him there.

He pulled her out of their hiding place and back into the tunnel, harder than necessary. A yelp slipped from her lips. He turned her around again so her back was once more plastered against his front and whispered, “Okay, nice and slow. Your fate and the fates of those in this tunnel are in your hands now. Understand?”

She nodded again, swallowed beneath his hand, then cautiously stepped forward.

And in the silence, he told himself that if he was too hard on her, if she was afraid, it was a good thing. Because she should be scared shitless. There was no telling what might set him off or what he’d do next.

Gods, please don’t let me kill her. Just let me get away.

“Good girl,” he managed, reassuring both of them at the same time. “This will be over soon, Maelea. Just do as you’re told and in a few minutes, we’ll both be free.”