Bound (12 page)

“Um, look.” He tugged on the restraints. “I’m flattered, really, but I think you’ve got the wrong idea here.”

The queen turned away as if he hadn’t even spoken; then she held up her hands. A hush fell over the crowd. “The gods have seen fit to send us a prize. Tonight we thank them for their generosity.”

The gods? Not even. The gods didn’t give a rip about anyone but themselves. Before Titus could point that out, the rock at his back moved, and a loud scraping sound echoed through the night. The entire slab shifted. His feet left the ground. His eyes widened. The motion stopped abruptly, leaving him lying flat on his back, staring up at the starry sky.

Skata
. His situation had not improved. This wasn’t just a stage. It was an altar. And, holy
fuck
, he was the sacrifice.

He pulled hard on the restrains. “Hold on—”

The queen climbed up on stone slab and stood with her bare feet on each side of his thighs. He tensed, but thankfully, the fabric of his pants prevented any kind of emotional transfer. Then she looked down, and her eyes locked on his. Hard amber eyes. Eyes that glowed as if she were possessed.

Titus’s adrenaline lurched. He struggled harder on the cuffs, twisted his wrists, then caught sight of the jeweled dagger she held in both hands high over her head.

Every muscle inside him froze.

“For all those who came before,” the queen announced in a loud and confident voice, “and for all those who will come after because of this sacrifice, we give thanks.”

She lowered to her knees, sat back on his lap, and grinned. But her eyes were clouded, distant, possessed. And Titus had the ominous feeling she wasn’t looking at him, but through him. To something…he didn’t want to see.

“And when his seed is finally spent,” she finished, her glowing eyes growing wider, “then, my sisters, we shall feast.”

Chapter Eight

Natasa’s fingers were still smoking when she sneaked out of her tent. She could barely believe that had worked, but the singed ropes proved it hadn’t been a fluke. Power rushed through her, infusing her with confidence. If she could direct it, maybe—just maybe—she could beat this thing before it killed her.

Chants rose up in the air, followed by a voice, singing some kind of garbled song to the beat of multiple drums. The sounds were coming from the amphitheater.

She stayed in the shadows, darting around tents and tree trunks as she crossed the city. When she reached the crowd, she couldn’t see anything besides the golden glow off torches and the backs of spectators gathered for a show.

She spotted a tree with limbs low enough to climb, wrapped her hand around the first branch, and pulled herself up. In seconds, she was above the crowd, with a clear view of the stage.

Her breath caught, and sickness rolled through her belly. Titus was shackled to the altar. He was still wearing his pants, but Aella straddled his lap, a dagger held high above, and her naked body was swaying and grinding against him, moving to the beat of the drums and like she was gearing up to fuck his brains out. But the wide-eyed
holy shit
look on his face wasn’t one of arousal. And the way he was yanking on those ropes told Natasa he wasn’t enjoying a single second of this.

Mine.
Some deep-seated possessiveness bubbled up from inside, rolled through every part of her, and spurred her into action.

Frantic, she glanced around the crowd. She was seriously outnumbered and the measly dagger she had left wasn’t going to save Titus. Aella’s guards blocked the stage, armed to the hilt, preventing anyone from interfering with the ceremony. She looked down and around, but didn’t see anything that would help. Then she noticed a child’s bow and arrow set leaning against the side of a tent. The kind the Amazons used to train their women.

An idea hit. She looked at her fingers. She didn’t know if it would work. But if she didn’t try, he was going to die.

For reasons she didn’t understand, she wasn’t ready to lose him. At least not like this.

* * *

Never had Titus been thankful for his curse until this moment.

Not only were the Amazon queen’s eyes freakin’ glowing, she was shaking and rubbing against him like something was trying to claw its way free from her body.

He was never going to look at jiggling breasts the same way. This was not a turn-on. It was a major-ass turn-
off
. And shit, he did not want those things touching him.

He swallowed hard and jerked against the bindings. He couldn’t move them even a centimeter. The only consolation was that as soon as she did touch him, he’d be in too much pain to pay attention to what she was doing to his body.

And
skata,
do not even think about what she’s going to do to your body
.

Closing his eyes, he imagined Natasa’s fire-red hair and those mesmerizing green eyes to distract him from that first touch of skin against skin. Wondered—again—why she’d pulled away from him back in her tent. She’d wanted him. He’d known it even if he couldn’t feel the emotions from her.

A whir echoed through the air. The queen jerked against his legs. A scream rose in the night.

His eyes shot open. The queen lurched to her feet on the stone slab, standing over him and batting at her head. The feathers in her headdress were smoking and burning. She knocked the heavy metal adornment from her scalp. It cracked against the slab, then dropped to the wood decking with a thud.

Gasps rose up from the audience. Furious, the queen whipped toward the crowd to see where the arrow had come from.

Another whir cut through the silence. The queen flinched. This time the banner just to the right of her head ignited in flames.

“Guards!”

Screams echoed.

Titus lifted his head to see what the hell was going on. Nymphs and Amazons rushed in every direction. The guards scrambled, armor clinking. Another whir echoed through the air, then the queen’s robe, lying where she’d dropped it on the stage, bust into flames.

“Natasa,” the queen growled. She pointed toward the trees on the far side of the crowd. “Find her!”

Excitement flooded Titus. She’d come for him, even after she’d been so freaked out in her tent. He pulled against the bonds and searched for her in the sea of faces.

The queen leapt off the altar and lurched into the crowd.

Another whir. Another banner caught fire. Titus pulled and wrestled with the bindings. If he could just break free… If he could get to her...

“There!” A voice rang out clear.

Before Titus could track where the guard was pointing, an entire tree exploded.

A thud echoed to his right. He strained to look behind him. Natasa pushed to her feet yards away, her eyes as intense as he’d ever seen them, her face illuminated by the flames around her, making her look like a fire-goddess.

Relief and hope and excitement shot through his entire body. Then quickly shifted to bone-chilling fear. At her back, closing in fast, an Amazon raced toward her with sword held high.

“Behind you!”

Natasa dropped the bow in her hand and reached back for her dagger. Panic overwhelming him, Titus strained against the cuffs with every ounce of strength left. She didn’t have time to react. She—

The chain anchoring one wrist gave with a snap. The other burst free. He bolted upright, kicked out at the shackles around his ankles. Couldn’t take his eyes off Natasa.

She whipped around. The Amazon knocked the dagger from her hand, and it went flying. Natasa stumbled and hit the end of the stone slab with a grunt. Titus’s heart lurched into his throat, and he reached for her but she was too far away.

“Natasa!”

The Amazon pulled her blade back, but before it could slice deep into Natasa’s flesh, the warrior jerked. Her blade cracked against the stone slab, hit the wood decking, and slid down the steps of the stage. Then her body slumped to the ground with a thud. A black arrow stuck out of her side. Blood pooled all around her body.

Natasa’s eyes grew side. She scrambled back. More shouts echoed from deeper in the city, and her head whipped that direction just as Titus’s did. Blood-curdling screams reached his ears, followed by hooves pounding the earth and male voices rising in the night sky.

Natasa lurched to the railing and looked down. Shock raced over her features. She stumbled back, turned, grabbed her dagger from the ground, and raced toward Titus.

“What the hell’s happening?” He fumbled with the bindings on his right ankle. That arrow hadn’t come from her. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t an Amazon weapon. Which meant it had to have come from someone or some
thing
else.

Natasa sheathed her blade, then unstrapped his other leg. “Zagreus’s army found us.”

“Zagreus…
as in Hades’s fucking son
?”

Her hand closed over his upper arm, and she pulled him from the altar. “I don’t know how, but be thankful. I wasn’t going to be able to distract Aella’s guards for long with my flaming arrows.”

Heat built in his veins and shot straight to his belly.

She tugged him out of the torchlight and into the shadows of a tent. As soon as they were covered by darkness, he closed his hand over her wrist, yanked her close, and captured her mouth with his own.

She gasped in surprise, but he didn’t let it slow him. He dipped into her mouth, slid his tongue along hers, and reveled in the warm, wet taste of her. That and the fact he couldn’t feel anything other than the heat of her body, the silkiness of her skin, and the pulse in her veins that indicated she was alive.

He pulled back and brushed his finger over her soft cheek. “You did it again. You saved me. You do care.”

“I…” A frown turned her lips. But he saw the desire in her eyes. And the heat. “I haven’t saved you yet. Save your thanks for someone who deserves it.”

He kissed her again. Quick. Safe. Chaste. Not at all like he wanted to kiss her. “I will. When we get out of here and are finally alone, I’ll thank you properly. That’s a promise.”

Something in her eyes warned that wasn’t a good idea, but he ignored it. She’d come back for him. That meant something.

He grasped her hand and led her around the other side of the tent. A sound that was oddly similar to a horse whinnying or a goat baying rose up from below. The clank of steel against steel echoed through the trees. He peeked over the railing and watched an Amazon lunge at a man dressed all in black with a thick beard, his head shaved and painted white with a black stripe down the middle.

“Zagreus, you said?” Titus asked in a whisper.

“His satyrs,” Natasa answered, her voice thick. “Evil satyrs who thrive in his pain palace. That’s why the nymphs are here. The Amazons protect any otherworldly females being hunted.”

Titus looked closer and realized the man—no, satyr—wasn’t wearing shoes. Where feet should be, hooves peeked out beneath his pants.

He turned to look at Natasa. Her gaze was fixed on the battle below, but when she lifted stormy eyes to his, he saw fear.

He squeezed her warm hand. “Zagreus isn’t going to catch you.”

“He’s not the one I’m afraid of.”

Emotions brewed in her eyes. Emotions he couldn’t feel in her skin or read with his mind. He wanted to ask what had spooked her. Wanted to know who and what she was hiding from. But this wasn’t the time or place. And when she glanced away and blinked several times like she was holding back tears, he told himself whatever happened, he had to keep her safe.

“Come on.”

He tugged her with him. Crouched low so they wouldn’t be spotted and moved behind another tent. The battle echoed from decking to their right. Zagreus’s army had reached the city.

Skata
, he needed a weapon. He scanned the area as they ducked from one shadow to another. Any kind of sword would suit him just fine right about now.

“We need to get to the ground,” he told her.

Natasa pulled back on his arm when he would have rounded another tree. “This way.”

He followed, thankful she hadn’t let go. She tugged him around another tent, then drew up short and gasped.

Titus hit her from the back, looked up, and realized why she’d stopped.

A satyr sniffed the air once, muttered, “Not a nymph,” then lifted the sword in his arm and swung.

“Get back!” Titus knocked Natasa out of the way and lunged for the beast.

Natasa screamed. Titus hit the goat man in the waist, and the two toppled to the decking.

Titus’s head swam. The satyr’s emotions pummeled him, but he fought against the emotional transfer. Pain ricocheted through his body, and in a rush he realized most of what the beast was conjuring was hate. He could funnel that. Like Atalanta’s daemons. He let the hate feed him.

His arm felt like dead weight, but Titus hauled back then plowed his fist into the satyr’s jaw. The beast’s head cracked against the decking. Titus did it again and again, until blood pooled from the creature’s mouth and his hairy arms went limp against the wood.

“Titus!

Natasa’s hand tugged at his shoulder. Warmth flowed into his bare skin, slid beneath his ribs, and condensed. He stumbled off the beast and swayed. Natasa turned him, wrapped both arms around his waist, and pulled his weight against her, keeping him from landing on his ass.

“Breathe. Gods, just breathe.”

The emotions receded, and slowly the haze cleared. Probably not any faster than they would have if he’d been alone, but man, he liked that worry in her eyes. Liked the panic in her voice. Liked the way she was holding him tight.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I—” He gave his head a shake. He needed to let go of her. They didn’t have time to screw around.

He didn’t want to let go, though. Man, when she got close, he swore he lost brain cells.

He looked down at the satyr at his feet and noticed the blade. Reluctantly, he eased out of her arms and knelt to pick it up. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” She turned, took a step, winced, and reached out for the trunk of a tree.

His gaze shot to her leg and the ripped black fabric against her thigh. “
Skata
, you’re hurt.”