Entwined

Chapter Six

Max jerked awake, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking from head to toe.

The air caught in his lungs, stifling, stagnant. He sat up quickly, staring into the dark as his heart raced and his senses slowly righted themselves.

He was in his attic, on his pallet. Moonlight streamed through the high, dirty window on the far wall, illuminating the layer of dust on the barren floorboards until the room looked like it was covered in snow.

Not the training field. He glanced down. There was no blood on his hands. He hadn’t just killed in a rage like he’d seen in his dream.

A dream. Just another useless dream.

He took a deep breath. And another. Closed his eyes and worked to slow his racing pulse. The dream had come, just as it always did. And as always, he had trouble separating it from reality. In this one he’d seen his mother—again—looking for him. Only, when she saw what he’d become, what he’d done, a horrified expression had crossed her delicate features and she’d turned her back and fled.

Not reality. Just a dream. Just a stupid, stupid dream…

Feeling steadier, he opened his eyes and glanced around. As his pulse settled and his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized this dream must have been a doozy. The bread that had made up the dinner he hadn’t eaten was strewn across the floor, most of it smashed. The plate was broken into at least three pieces and his water was nothing more than a damp circle on the hard, cold wood.

Strange.

With a shrug he shook off the thought and lay back down. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but it must have been hours, judging by the light. Outside and down below, he could hear Atalanta back at work after the dinner break, training her daemons. Luckily, she’d left him alone to sleep, obviously too disgusted with his humanity to look at him. The clash of weapons, cries of defeat and Atalanta’s bellowing rage rang up through the air to pound at his brain.

He tossed his forearm over his eyes and tried to block out the sounds. Shivering, he wished for his blanket, though he knew how useless it was to wish for anything here. He wasn’t getting that back tonight, so he’d just have to get used to it and suffer.

To keep from thinking about the cold, he rolled to his side, drew his knees to his chest and pictured his mother’s face again. He breathed deep. If he focused hard enough, he was almost sure he could feel the warmth of the glass in his hands earlier.

The glass.

He sat bolt upright, very much awake now, his heart racing once more. Only this time it wasn’t a dream that haunted him, it was reality.

He jumped to his feet, dropped back to his knees, searched every inch of his pallet for the glass, only to come up empty. His hands shook, and tears blurred his eyes. Why hadn’t he hidden it again before falling asleep? Stupid, stupid Max! Where was it?

His hands rushed over the pallet again and again, more frantic with each pass as he searched, but when his fingers finally caught something small and round and metal, he froze.

He lifted the coin into the moonlight so he could see it. Then went cold all over as he stared at the letter A stamped into the gold.

Atalanta’s coin. Her marker. She’d been in his room. She’d seen him with the glass. And now it was gone. The ruined food, the spilled water, the broken plate…it all made sense now.

He was on his feet before he could stop himself, fueled by some building rage he’d never experienced. He backtracked down the ladder, hit the fourth floor and raced down the back stairs toward the kitchen, his temper and anger growing with each step he took.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He ignored the kitchen workers and their growls of warning as he raced through the room. A blast of frigid air hit his face when he thrust the kitchen door open, but he ignored that too. Out across the training field he caught sight of the group of daemons huddled around Atalanta and one of her minions.

“Weak!” Atalanta bellowed. “If I wanted spineless maggots in my army, I’d replace the daemons with humans. Put your back into it!”

Max’s feet moved with their own purpose. His vision blurred and darkened. Before he knew it he was pushing his way through the crowd and stopping in the center of the ring.

Atalanta caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. The daemon she was fighting—Phobi?—took the opportunity to get the upper hand. But she was quicker than he was and a thousand times more deadly.

Her sword arced out just before Phobi struck, and with a scream that echoed through the frigid night air, his head flew from his body and thumped hard across the frozen ground. His body fell seconds later.

It was a sight Max had witnessed a hundred times before, and every other time a part of him had cried. Death was death, no matter the creature. But this time, he didn’t even care. All he saw in his line of sight was Atalanta and his last breaking point.

“Maximus,” she said as she wiped the dripping blade against her bloodred skirt. “How nice of you to join us.”

“I didn’t come to join you,” he barked as he threw the coin at her. “I came for what you stole.”

The coin landed with a soft thud against the earth at her feet. She glanced down, but not even a flicker of recognition passed across her face. Her features remained as cold and blank as always.

She looked at him, stuck the tip of her blade into the ground so the weapon stood straight and without so much as flinching extracted the glass from the pocket of her robe.

Max’s breath caught when he saw his treasure in her hands. Fear pushed its way up his throat. He knew without even asking what she wanted. For him to beg. To show his weakness in front of the others. And he would. For that glass and his one connection to his mother, he’d do anything.

“Is this what you want?” she asked in a sickeningly sweet tone. “This…trinket?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Words lodged in his throat.

She turned the glass slowly in her hands, but her eyes never wavered from his. “It’s so pretty, Maximus. I wonder…Wherever did you get it?”

He knew better than to tell her a lie. The way she was staring at him, it was obvious she already suspected it had come from the gods. But he also knew better than to tell her the truth too.

She gripped the glass in her hand and tossed it to her right. Max gasped, his gaze following the glass as it hurtled through the air. Twisted and gnarled fingers caught it before it smashed to the ground. Zelus chuckled with amusement.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it, Zelus?” Atalanta asked, still staring at Max.

“Yes, my queen,” he growled.

A slow smile spread across her features. “It’s yours, then.”

Zelus lifted it over his head.

“No!” Max screamed, every muscle in his body coiling tight.

Zelus’s arms moved so fast, Max barely tracked them, but his heart lurched in his throat, and when the glass shattered against the frozen ground with nothing more than a soft, tinkling sound, every one of his dreams shattered with it.

She’d never be able to find him. Not now. Not ever.

Max’s vision turned red, and he charged without thinking. His hand darted out, and he snagged Atalanta’s blade before she could kick it from his grasp. A roar echoed across the training field, but he didn’t look to see where it had come from, didn’t even realize it had erupted from him. He felt something strike his face, but he ignored it. The blade in his hand swiped out, connecting with Zelus’s flesh, dug into bone. The daemon howled, tried to fight back, but Max was too quick. He darted close and away before Zelus could react, and when Zelus was finally on his knees, Max didn’t even hesitate.

Behind him he heard Atalanta whisper, “Yes.”

His blade pulled back. The need to destroy overrode every one of his senses. Even that of morality.

A slicing sound echoed in the wake of his swipe. Zelus’s head rolled across the ground to land next to Phobi’s. His body landed with a thud seconds later.

Long, rolling, female laughter erupted behind him. “Yes, Maximus. Yes!” Atalanta clapped her hands together and then slapped them against his upper arms, jostling him in exuberance.

Sweaty, breathing hard and staring at his carnage, Max expected to feel remorse. But he didn’t. Not a thread. This time what he felt was victory. And instead of the decapitated daemon what he saw was every one of his stupid and useless hopes and dreams ripped apart at his feet.

He let her pull him back to hug him against her body. Didn’t fight her touch or tense like he normally did. “I knew you had it in you!”

She let go as quickly as she’d grabbed him and gestured to the others. “Hybris, quick. Go tell the cooks to prepare a feast. Tonight we celebrate my yios’s victory!”

Hybris rushed off toward the lodge. The other daemons broke up, heading toward their barracks across the field at the edge of the woods, grumbling words Max couldn’t hear and didn’t care to know. He still didn’t move.

Feel something.

But he didn’t. He didn’t feel anything. Only a whole lot of…nothing.

Atalanta stepped in front of him. Her robe blocked his view of the headless daemon, but he didn’t need to see the destruction to remember. He could call it up in his mind anytime he wanted.

She knelt until they were at eye level and stared at him with irises the color of coal. The kind that could spawn diamonds. If only it wanted to.

“You have just taken your first step toward me, yios, and I know how hard that is for you. I was once like you. Fighting what I was meant to do and be.” Her voice was soft, not condescending as it usually was. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, he found himself listening, falling into the lilt of her words. “You and I, Maximus, together we have the power to do anything. Together, we’re strong enough to rule the world.”

The metal disk she always wore around her neck slipped free of her robe to hang in front of him. He’d seen it before, but tonight it glowed as bright as the moon.

She cupped her hand against his cheek. “You do believe me, don’t you, Maximus?”

He stared at the disk with its four empty chambers and tried to remember what he’d heard Thanatos, the archdaemon, tell the others about it. ’Tis the key that opens the doors of the world. Forged by the gods. Stolen by her.

It didn’t look like much of a key to him, but what did he know?

“Maximus?” One red-tipped fingernail tilted his face up toward hers.

“Yes?” he whispered, refocusing on her irises. Circles. Just like the medal at her chest.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, matéras.” The word was so ingrained, he didn’t even hesitate to say it anymore. Or maybe he was just finally willing to accept it.

She smiled then—a real smile, one he’d never seen before—and her startling beauty stole his breath. “Tonight, I am proud to call you son. Come, and celebrate with me. And when it is time for bed, you shall sleep on the softest feathers surrounded by nothing but luxury. For with me, you will never want again.”

Somewhere in the back of his head a tiny voice screamed, No! But the sound was so faint, so muffled, he barely heard it.

She stood and held her hand out to him. “Come, yios.”

He glanced at her long fingers in the moonlight. Along the ground behind her, he could just make out the shattered glass beneath her feet. Surrounded by blood and death.

This is your reality. The rest…it was never real. Just a dream…

He dropped his sword. And as he slid his fingers into hers, he let go of the fantasy he’d held on to for so long. Of his mother, of his father, of the silly notion someone would come and rescue him. They wouldn’t. Not now, not ever. Because Atalanta was right. He was just like her. A killer. An outcast. Nothing more than an unwanted hero…

His eyes flicked to the markings on his forearms standing out in dark contrast to her pale flesh. He focused on the ancient text as her fingers tightened around his, on the lines and swirls branded into his skin and missing from hers. And staring at their joined hands he saw then what he’d missed so many times before. They might be one and the same, but unlike her, he was blessed by the gods. Even in this place of horror.

His heart started to pound. Slowly at first, and then with more ardor as the realization sank in. And as he lifted his eyes to hers a new dream took the place of the old. Only this one wasn’t warm and safe, it was dangerous and electrifying and all-powerful. It churned and swirled and exploded in his head until he was no longer numb. Until that part of him that had been fueled by rage only moments before became all he could see and feel and know.

“Yes, matéras,” he whispered. He glanced back at the metal disk, for the first time in his young life believing what she said was true. With her, he could have anything he wanted. And through her, he could rule the world.

Her smile widened, though she had no idea what he was thinking. But one day soon, she’d know.

One day, she’d regret what she’d just created.

Callia sat in the chair behind her desk in the corner office of the clinic and stared out at the steadily fading image of the Aegis Mountains in the distance. As Argolean seasons coincided with those in the human realm, they were now deep in autumn, and today a low layer of clouds had descended on the valley that housed the city of Tiyrns. Those clouds were moving quickly now, blocking her view of the majestic purple spires and snowcapped peaks that were so often Callia’s only source of peace.

There was an old myth that said the gods had long ago hidden something of great value in the Aegis Mountains when they’d bestowed Argolea upon her people. Something no one could keep in their possession for fear of one using it to the detriment of all. Callia had heard the story hundreds of times as a child. Had often looked out at this same view and wondered just what that something was. But today the myth was nothing but a flicker in her mind. Something of great value? She’d already lost everything she’d ever truly valued. And now—even though she hadn’t quite believed she’d been holding on to him somewhere in her heart—she’d lost Zander too.

A knock sounded at her open door, just before a familiar voice called, “Callia?”

Her father, Lord Simon, second highest ranking member of the Council of Elders, stuck his head inside her office. “Am I disturbing you?”

She shook her hair back, adjusted in her seat. Any other day, she wouldn’t relish his company, but today wasn’t exactly a normal day, and anything that kept her from thinking about Zander was probably a good thing. “No. I was just mulling over a case. What are you doing here? I thought you had Council business today.”

“I do.” He stepped into the room, wearing perfectly tailored slacks and a traditional Argolean crisp white shirt buttoned up to his throat with a long collar that looped from one side around his neck to drape over the opposite shoulder. He was close to four hundred years old, but he didn’t look a day over forty. Tall and trim, she’d always thought he was handsome, with those green eyes and that black hair. She liked to think her mother had thought so too, and that it was part of the reason she’d bound herself to him. Not because she’d been forced to.

Inwardly, she shook her head as she took in his appearance. Conservative for their race, but relatively modern. Most half-breeds, or Misos, thought Argoleans ran around in Greek togas with grape-leaf wreaths in their hair. They had no idea how similar their worlds were.

“I took a break to bring you a surprise,” her father said. “Thought you could use one. You’ve been preoccupied with work lately.” The disapproval in his voice when he said the word work was more than clear, but she ignored it, as she always did.

When he glanced toward the door, her gaze followed. What was he was up to?

Seconds later another head appeared, only this one she most definitely hadn’t wanted to see today of all days.

Loukas smiled, gleaming white teeth flashing against his tanned skin as he straightened and stepped into the office as if he owned it. “Surprise, Callie.”

Callia rose slowly out of her chair, stiffened, though she tried not to show her reaction. She’d always hated the way he took the liberty of calling her Callie, as if he didn’t approve of her real name and was trying to make her into something of his own. “Loukas. What are you doing here?”

His amber eyes flicked over her attire with disapproval; he didn’t like the fact she wore pants. A lock of sandy brown hair fell over his forehead. As far as males went, he was attractive. Average height, fairly good shape, sharp features—but physically or emotionally he’d never done anything for her. And seeing as how she was betrothed to the ándras, that wasn’t exactly great news.

He was also dressed in the same conservative chison as her father, but then, being as he would soon be Lord Lou-kas, the newest elected member of the Council, that wasn’t a surprise either. “I came to invite you to dinner. Tonight. Your cleansing period is almost up. I—” Her father cleared his throat, and Loukas glanced his way. “We thought it might be a nice treat for you.”

Callia couldn’t speak. Had it really been ten years already? Mentally, she ticked through time and realized—oh, gods—it had been. Ten years next month. Her stomach tightened. “I…” She cast a quick look at her father, then back to Loukas. “I have a few more weeks, I believe.”

“We know,” her father said, drawing her attention once more. “But it’s been long enough.” He nodded toward Loukas and smiled with pride. “And Loukas happens to have the ear of the Council Leader. Lucian has agreed to this, so long as your binding ceremony doesn’t take place until after the full cleansing cycle is complete.”

Her stomach rolled as she slowly shifted her gaze back to Loukas, standing before her desk looking smug and victorious. He’d been rightly pissed at her after everything that had happened all those years ago, hadn’t really said more than a handful of words to her since the cleansing ceremony and all during the cycle. And secretly she’d hoped maybe he’d decided another gynaíka was better suited for him. But that obviously wasn’t the case now. Because here he was, swooping back in to claim his prize. As if she were nothing but a trophy. Exactly as the Council expected Ar-golean females to be. His by right, not by merit.

“So, dinner tonight, Callie,” he said as if it had all been decided. “Seven o’clock. My house. We have a lot to discuss. Plans to make.” He glanced around her office and didn’t hide his disgust. “I’m sure you’re as eager as I am to get on with the future. Don’t keep me waiting.”

He didn’t even wait for an answer, simply left the room. And what little bit of independence she’d gained these last ten years seemed to drift out with him.

“Lucian is very excited about your upcoming binding,” her father said with eagerness as Callia sank into her chair and tried to breathe. “He’s planning a big celebration.” Simon glanced toward the still-open door and the empty hallway beyond. “Between you and me, I think Lucian’s going to announce his retirement from the Council shortly thereafter and appoint Loukas as his replacement. Loukas has a head full of good ideas. I can’t even begin to tell you how beneficial this will be for our people.”

Callia’s stomach rolled. Yeah. Good ideas. She knew all about Loukas’s ideas. Like pushing females into the Dark Ages, taking away their independence, their jobs, stressing that a gynaíka’s only worth was to serve the ándras in guardianship over her and to produce offspring to populate their race.

“Callia? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I…”

Tell him no, Isadora. Stand up for yourself. Prove him wrong. Prove them all wrong.

Callia’s temple throbbed as her own words from earlier ran back through her mind. Gods, she’d given Isadora advice about the king? What a joke. Callia couldn’t even stand up to her own father.

She closed her eyes, braced both elbows on her desk and rubbed her forehead. She didn’t want to bind herself to Loukas. Didn’t want to bind herself to anyone, for that matter. The only one she’d ever wanted didn’t want her back. And the thought of being intimate with Loukas…Oh, gods, she couldn’t do it.

She dropped her hands, looked up at her father and opened her mouth to tell him just that. Then stopped short.

He was staring at her with those green eyes that had seen so much and expected even more. Her mother’s death had wounded him badly, and he’d never remarried. Callia’s affair with Zander—and everything that had come after—had nearly broken him. He’d put his reputation with the Council on the line for her. He’d tended her broken body when no one else would. He’d made sure she didn’t die on that Greek mountain. And when it was over, when she had nothing else to live for, he’d arranged a way for her to come home to Argolea. So she could be protected from the daemons in the human world, so she could work at the clinic she’d always loved, so she could have some sort of purpose and life, even if most days she didn’t understand what that purpose was anymore.

He could have turned his back on her like everyone else—Loukas included—but he hadn’t. He’d stayed with her. And ultimately, that was why she’d stayed with him all these long years as well.

A true leader sets aside his personal wants for the good of the whole. And he makes sacrifices. Ones that, in the end, justify all that came before.

The king’s words hit her hard, making sense in a way she’d never expected.

“Callia?” her father asked again. “What’s happened? You looked distraught when I walked in here. Did you come from the castle?”

She nodded, unable to lie to him, at least about this. “Yes. The king called a meeting while I was there. He…”

“What?”

She faltered, unsure she should tell him, then figured, what did it matter? He’d find out on his own soon enough. “He announced the princess’s engagement.”

His mouth closed, and darkness crept over his eyes as realization dawned. “Another Argonaut.” Disgust filled his voice. “Which one this time? Demetrius?”

She shook her head, glanced down at her hands. “No. Isadora is marrying…Zander.”

His silence finally pulled her gaze up. Surprise lit his features as dusk settled over the room.

“I see,” he said finally.

A lump formed in her throat. One she couldn’t get rid of no matter what she tried. “I thought the news would please you.”

He took her hands and pulled her from her chair. Warmth flowed into her arms and the familiar scent of sandalwood assailed her senses. “Nothing that causes you pain pleases me, Callia. Contrary to what you might think, my biggest objection to your relationship with Zander was not simply that he was an Argonaut, but that he used you.”

She blinked as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shocked he was finally discussing Zander with her after all these years, even more shocked he was touching her. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched her. Not since…not since Greece.

“You may not want to hear it, but the Argonauts will do anything to undermine the workings of the Council. And you, my daughter, were a way to do just that.”

“That’s not true. Zander would never—”

“He would. And he did. I don’t for a minute doubt that was the motivation behind his seducing you. It worked too, didn’t it? Your…situation…drew attention away from the important social issues the Council had been working on at the time. They had to deal with you and the Argonauts, me and the fallout. Even the king’s sudden interest in Council workings. It’s taken years for them to regain the headway they lost because of your scandal.”

The king had known? The blood drained from Callia’s cheeks. He’d never said a word to her about it. All these years, she thought her history with Zander had been private.

“But besides all that,” her father went on, his voice softening just a touch. “Even if Zander’s intentions had been honorable, which they were not, he could never appreciate you for what you are, because he does not come from the same background you do. It’s in his genetics not to care about females or family. His own parents didn’t want him, for gods’ sakes. All he knows is fighting. And doing what he damn well pleases. You can’t fight bloodlines, Callia. His are too strong. His link to the gods too close. He never needed you. Not really. And I never wanted you to fall victim to the rage that’s from his line. I suppose for Isadora, he’s a good match, but not for you. I want more for you.”

Tears burned Callia’s eyes. Tears she definitely didn’t need today on top of everything else. Why did he have to sound so damn rational when what he wanted was so wrong?

“Loukas,” he went on, “now, he understands where you come from. He understands our history and he’s dedicated to rebuilding Argolea into what it once was. He will cherish you in the way you should be cherished. This binding with Loukas, it’s a good thing for you. It’s a good thing for us. You know that, don’t you?”

As her father waited and his words sank in, the scars on her back tingled. The ones she didn’t think of most days because their pain had faded so far in her memory. But now they stood out in stark contrast to the rest of her skin. And she remembered why she had them. How she’d gotten them. And what they represented.

Sacrifices. That’s what life came down to. Not happiness. Not completion. Not love. Life kept going because there were those in the world willing to sacrifice their wants and needs for the good of the rest.

I am not a leader, your majesty.

Not yet. But maybe one day…

Her heart thumped hard in her chest as she thought about the road behind her and the one ahead. No, she didn’t want to bind herself to Loukas, but maybe the king was right. By doing so, perhaps she could figure out a way to help the females of their world. Or at the very least, find a way to keep Loukas from oppressing them the way she feared he would, with no one else to challenge him.

She looked up at her father. And knew she was doing the right thing, even if it hurt her heart. “I realize it’s…what must be done.”

A smile spread across Simon’s face, a victorious grin so like Loukas’s, it chilled her blood. He gripped both of her arms at the shoulders, squeezed gently. “Perfect. You’ll see, Callia. This is the start of a whole new life for you. With your cleansing period over, there’s no reason to even think about the past again.”

The singsong tones of his words seemed to hang in the air, even as he said good-bye and left the room. And alone, Callia turned to look out the window again toward the Aegis Mountains, which were now completely hidden by clouds.

Something of great value. The myth drifted into her mind again. That past her father was so ready for her to forget was the only thing left that she valued. That and the memory of a love she’d once known and the child she hadn’t. She could sacrifice a lot of things, herself included, but never the memory of either of those. And not her father, not Loukas, not even the reality that Zander was marrying another could ever convince her to do so.

“Holy fucking Hera.” The air seemed to leave Titus’s lungs on a gasp as he and Zander stood in the center of what used to be a small town high in the Cascade mountain range and stared at the destruction.

One dirt road led into the isolated settlement. No cars or vehicles could be heard through the trees. Around them everywhere, dead bodies littered the ground. But they weren’t just Misos. There were humans, half-eaten and mutilated, scattered throughout the carnage as well.

“Fuck me,” Zander said as he took it all in. The rotting carcasses, the blood-stained ground. The stench of death. This was much worse than any scene he’d come across in over eight hundred years.

Atalanta’s wrath was growing—and innocent lives were paying for it. When she’d still been confined to the Underworld, her daemons had hunted Misos to send their souls to Tartarus as payment to Hades for Atalanta’s immortality. But thanks to Casey and Isadora, Atalanta was no longer immortal. Now she was determined to create as much suffering as possible in her need for vengeance against the Argonauts. All because she’d been banned from the group millennia ago.

Zander thought the body near his feet had at one time been a human woman, but it was now nothing more than mangled flesh and organs. His stomach rolled. The daemons also killed to feed. Theron had warned that the daemons would become more aggressive and start hunting humans as well as Misos in their need to regain the strength they were no longer getting from the Underworld.

Now, as he looked out at the gruesome sight around him, Zander believed it. He also knew the war had shifted for good. For hundreds of years he’d roamed this earth thinking he was protecting humans. Now he was doing it for real.

Across the bloodied field, he spotted Theron talking with a man as big as he was, waving his hands and pointing off toward the tree line. Nick, Zander realized as he and Titus drew closer, the leader of the half-breed colony in this part of the world. Zander had met Nick before, a week ago, when he’d been sent to the Pacific Northwest with Titus to run patrol in these mountains. So far his interactions with the half-breed had been limited, but there was a whole lot about Nick that just didn’t add up.

His size, for one thing. He was bigger than all the other half-breeds, and definitely far more aggressive. He was never seen without fingerless gloves and he also had a long scar that ran down his left cheek and disappeared into the crease of his mouth. The jagged ridge wasn’t the result of a claw or even a blade like the daemons used. It had come from something else. Some kind of weapon Zander had never experienced before.

But that wasn’t the strangest thing about Nick. There was something about him that screamed human and Argonaut all at the same time, something not even Theron seemed to know how to explain. And since that combination was completely impossible, it made the situation that much weirder.

Theron motioned over Zander and Titus. Nick didn’t bother to glance up or acknowledge them, just smoothed a map out on what looked to be a door strung between two sawhorses. The muffled cries of Misos checking for survivors floated on the air. “There’s a path that runs through the mountains here. On the other side it opens to a canyon. A river cuts the terrain, but this time of year, with the rain we’ve had recently, they wouldn’t be able to cross.”

Theron skimmed his finger along the map until he came to a point farther downstream. “What’s on the other side of this river?”

“Another mountain range. Though the ones on that side have extensive cave systems that run for miles.”

“Someplace they think they can hide,” Theron mumbled as he stared at the map. “This bridge. Is it usable?”

“Yeah,” Nick said, rubbing a gloved hand over the top of his close-shaved head. “Last time I was up there, at least. It’s a pretty far trek, though. We’re talking women and children. And that bridge wasn’t in the best of shape the last time I used it.” Unlike Theron, Nick didn’t seem to have on any protective gear aside from grimy jeans, a long-sleeved black Henley and work boots. He didn’t seem to notice the cold as he looked up and around what was left of the town; he was too juiced on endorphins to care. Strapped to his hips were two semiautomatic pistols and several blades of various sizes.

At least the half-breed came prepared.

“I’ve got men scouring the hillsides along with your guardians to see if they’re close by, in hiding,” Nick said. “Odds are good we’ll find—”

“They’re not here,” Theron cut in, his eyes never leaving the map. He pointed toward the canyon and the rickety bridge. “They’re heading here. Thinking it’s their best means of escape. And the motherfuckers are herding them.”

“Demetrius!” Theron motioned the other Argonaut from the far side of the devastation, where he’d been examining something on the ground. As Demetrius came over, Nick casually pushed away from the map, said something quietly to Theron and turned to leave, heading in the opposite direction toward a group of angry Misos searching a pile of rubble. He didn’t utter a single word of thanks to Zander or Titus for coming to his aid, didn’t even acknowledge that they were there. And he didn’t once look at Demetrius.

It was pretty obvious Nick had only asked the Argonauts for help as a last resort, and that several in this community were resistant to their presence. But still…

Zander refocused as Demetrius joined them.

“I want the three of you to head toward this canyon,” Theron said. “The daemons have got a four- or five-hour head start on us, so you’ll need to make tracks. The group that’s missing is made up of six females and fourteen young, ranging in age from two months to ten years.”

“Christ,” Titus said. “They’re about to get slaughtered.”

Not if Zander had anything to say about it. Didn’t matter if some in this village didn’t want their help. His blood pulsed as he listened to Theron rattle off the coordinates for what could be his last mission for quite some time.

“Take extra precautions,” Theron advised. “We need those survivors brought back alive so we can figure out how and why they hit this village and what Atalanta’s planning next.” He handed them each a satellite phone. “These are programmed for the colony. When you locate the survivors, use this and someone will come pick them up.”

As they each pocketed the phones, Theron glanced from Demetrius to Titus, then finally nodded Zander’s way. “And don’t let him get dead. Especially now.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” Zander grumbled.

“Too bad,” Theron tossed back. “You’ve got two.”

Titus clicked his teeth as Theron rolled up the map. “I got this homeboy’s back, pa. Don’t you worry none. We’ll kick some daemon ass and get him to the chapel on time. Guaranteed.”

Zander glared over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re a real comedian.”

“Just remember what you need to do,” Theron said, the seriousness of his tone reminding each of them this was no joking matter. “Do you have your transmitters?”

When they each nodded, Theron said, “Good. Now go with the power of the blessed heroes as your guide.”

They turned and headed for the trees, but Theron’s voice stopped them on the edge of the village. “Guardians,” he called. His tone was crisp and clear, and Zander had no doubt he used it now for a purpose. Sound ceased behind Theron in the ruined village. Several heads turned in their direction—Misos, Argolean and human alike, all working for one common cause now, regardless of how they felt about one another. Even Nick stopped what he was doing and looked up. “The Argonauts are these people’s last hope. The entire world’s last hope at this point, whether they want to believe it or not. You are needed now more than you or anyone else could ever know. Don’t any of you get dead.”

Theron headed back into the melee, and that, Zander realized as he watched his friend walk away, was the standard against which all leaders should be measured. Theron not only knew how to take a stand, but where and how to draw the line so others knew as well. He might not always want to lead, but he didn’t back down. Not from anything. Not even his destiny.

“Come on, Z,” Titus said. His eyes flared with the thrill of the battle that lay ahead. “Let’s hunt some daemon.”

Beside Titus, Demetrius grunted his approval.

As Zander followed his guardian brothers deep into the woods, he knew he wouldn’t back down from his destiny either. It was laid out before him now like a gleaming path. The only thing left to do was bloody the ground at the threshold with the bodies of a few daemons he was more than willing to send back to Tartarus for good.