TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) (5 page)

“I have no problem with the Misos choosing to congregate together outside the city,” Isadora said, “but not by force.”

“What are you proposing?” Theron asked, eyeing her cautiously.

What
was
she proposing? Something that would draw her guardians away from their search for Nick and the remaining element. Something she hated to do but which she couldn’t see another way around.

She turned to face the room. “I think the Council’s going to move on the Misos once they have them segregated. They destroyed the Kyrenia settlement once before because the witches inhabited it, and they wanted to prevent them from rising to power. They forced what remained to the fringes of society. As Skyla said, they see any bit of difference as a threat.”

“Fuckers,” Orpheus muttered.

Theron ignored his interjection and focused on Isadora. “Have you seen something to indicate this?”
 

Her gift of foresight wasn’t always reliable, especially when it related directly to her. And this definitely did. But what she had seen… Her stomach rolled all over again. She wasn’t ready to share that with anyone, because she was hoping like hell it wouldn't come true.

“No.” That was the truth. What she’d seen had nothing to do with the Misos. “But I feel it.”

“I think she’s right,” Casey said, her soft brown hair swaying as she turned to look up at her mate. “I read about what the Council did to the Kyrenia
settlement. A repeat of that would cut Isadora’s power at the knees and make her look weak to the inhabitants of Argolea.”

The burning of the Kyrenia settlement was a dark part of Argolea’s history. It hadn’t happened all that long ago, but Isadora remembered the stories about the suffering. Her father, the king, had granted the Council permission to eradicate what he deemed “a viable threat” from the witches, and though Isadora hadn’t been strong enough to stand up to him or the Council then, she was determined there would never be a repeat.
 

“All life has value here,” she said, “regardless of race, gender, or affiliation. And I’m not about to let Nick’s legacy be destroyed. Protecting his people is the least we can do after everything he’s done for us.”

Casey smiled at her sister, but Isadora didn’t have the strength to smile back. If the Council had their way, Casey would be segregated right along with the Misos. She was a true half–breed, but because she was the king’s illegitimate daughter and the mate now to the leader of the Argonauts, they turned a blind eye to her.

“You’re talking about pulling the monarchy’s private guards and stationing them at the Misos settlement,” Theron said.

“And Argonauts.”

“And Argonauts,” he muttered, clearly not approving of this plan. “That will leave the castle vulnerable.”

It would. But Isadora couldn’t see another way around it. “We tried keeping the Misos within the castle walls, but that didn’t work. I don’t blame them for wanting to get away from this place. Any kind of segregation is a prison, no matter how elaborate the facility may be. But if the Council gets their way and forces segregation, things are going to escalate quickly.”

When the leader of the Argonauts clenched his jaw, Isadora sighed. “The job of the Argonauts was never to protect the monarchy or this castle, Theron. The Argonauts were established to protect the human realm, and the Misos are part of that. You know I’m right.”

Theron didn’t answer, but a vein ticked in his temple. One that told her he wasn’t happy.
 

“Demetrius will never go along with this,” Casey warned.

“This isn’t Demetrius’s call,” Isadora said, looking at her sister. “It’s mine.” Demetrius was where he needed to be right now—looking for Nick—and it was time she did what she needed to do—take care of Nick’s people.

She focused on Theron once more. “Tomorrow, I want you to take however many soldiers and Argonauts you need and secure the Misos. The rest of the Argonauts I want split into two groups. One looking for the remaining water element, and the other helping Demetrius search for Nick.”

“My queen—” Theron started.

“That’s my decision,” she said firmly.

Shuffling sounded by the door before he could argue with her, and Isadora looked that direction. Max, her eleven-year-old nephew, stepped into the room carrying a smiling Elysia. Behind him, his mother and Isadora’s other sister, Callia, followed.

The baby cooed, and Isadora’s mood jumped at the sight of her happy daughter. Elysia was only six months old, but she was growing fast, and she looked huge in Max’s arms.

The baby wrapped her chubby little fingers around a fistful of Max’s shaggy blond hair, then pulled. The two had a special relationship. If Max was anywhere close, Elysia wanted to be near him.

“Ouch,” Max said. “She’s definitely got Argonaut genes. She’s getting stronger every day.”

Callia grinned behind him. “Babies tend to do that.”

Orpheus let go of Skyla and pushed from the couch before Isadora could reach for her daughter. “Gimme that kid.”

He swept Elysia up in his arms and moved over to the windows, bouncing the infant and talking to her in a singsongy sweet voice that sounded nothing like the smart-ass half witch who loved to antagonize the Council.

“Titus,” Callia said, “Natasa’s looking for you. I passed her in the library.”

Titus’s hazel eyes lit, and he quickly pushed away from Theron’s desk. “That means my job here is done.”

As he rushed out the door in search of his new mate, Skyla dropped onto the couch with a scowl. “Someone take that baby away from the lord of shits and giggles over there.”

Orpheus turned from the window and shot her a wicked hot look. “Scared, Siren?”

Skyla arched a brow his way. “Of a baby? No. Of you and your not-so-bright ideas? Absolutely. You’re not getting one, Daemon, so stop looking at me like that.”

Orpheus grinned and refocused on Elysia in his arms. “Don’t worry, my beautiful Lys. We’ll talk some sense into her.”

Skyla huffed. Elysia grabbed Orpheus’s nose with her little hand. Laughter rang out in the room. From everyone but Isadora and Theron.

Lowering herself into a chair, Isadora ran her fingers over her forehead and tried to ignore the disapproving looks coming from the leader of the Argonauts.
 

Theron was worried about her. But this was bigger than the monarchy and the Argonauts. It was something she wouldn’t back down from.

“Hey.” Callia leaned against the arm of her chair, her auburn hair swaying with the movement. “You okay? You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m just tired,” Isadora said. And missing Demetrius. And worried about Nick. And, based on that vision she’d had, hoping she wasn’t making a giant mistake by putting herself smack dab in the middle of his people.

Callia smiled. “Everything’s going to work out.”

“Will it?” Isadora looked up at her sister. “How can you be sure?”

“Because the Fates aren’t done with any of us. You just have to have faith.”

Faith wasn’t something Isadora put much stock in these days. Because she knew in the bottom of her heart that faith wasn’t going to save Nick or his people. Action would. She glanced toward her happy daughter smiling up at Orpheus, and wished they could all feel that kind of joy again, Nick especially.

But something told her not even faith was going to be enough to stop this impending doom she sensed was coming in the pit of her stomach.

CHAPTER FOUR

C
ynna pushed her way out from under Zagreus and stumbled from his giant platform bed. She didn’t worry about waking him. After one of his “sessions,” he slept like the dead, and tonight he’d been especially rough, which meant he was extremely tired.

Bastard.

She glared down at him, asleep on his stomach, completely naked, the blanket pushed to the floor. A serpent tattoo wrapped around his right shoulder and arm, and she could just see the edges of the scorpion on his left biceps. His body was all muscle, perfect in every way, but then, being a god, she expected nothing less. But never, not once in all the time she’d been here, had she ever felt anything for him besides resignation. Something she was surprised he’d never picked up on.

Her body ached—her back, her knees, her chest, her wrists—and though her stomach turned at the things she’d let him do to her, she knew she had no one to blame but herself. She never told him no. She never stood against him. Part of her rationalized it was because he was immortal, and it would do no good. But another part—a twisted part—knew it was because there was a place inside her that craved the darkness, even if she tried to rationalize she was simply using him as he was using her.

Disgusted with herself, she turned away, grabbed her clothes from the floor, crossed to his dresser and yanked the drawer open. She grasped the first shirt her hand closed around, slammed it shut, then stalked out of the room.

In the living area of his bedchamber, she jerked on his long-sleeved T-shirt, wincing at the ache in her shoulders, hating the smell and the way the cotton felt against her skin, but refusing to bind herself back up in that tight corset he made her parade around in. After tugging on her skirt, she slid on her boots, bent over to zip them closed, then caught sight of her wrists.

Bruises had already formed. Usually, he kept his “marks” where no one else could see them, but tonight he hadn’t cared, as if he’d wanted to brand her as his property. And that meant tomorrow she’d have to work extra hard to cover them so none of his satyrs saw and decided it was time to have a go at her.

Fucking idiot.
Her this time, not him. Because she wasn’t strong enough to put a stop to something she knew was wrong.

She tugged the sleeves down to cover the marks, and as she did, her mind skipped to the dungeons, and
her
scarred prisoner. That was what Zagreus called him. Hers. As if he were a gift rather than a living being. Nothing in this godforsaken place was hers, though, and neither would she want it, but a place deep in the recesses of her mind was starting to wonder if anything
outside
it would ever be hers either.
 

Her jaw clenched. She pushed upright and marched out of his bedchamber, not wanting to think too much about that just yet. Stone steps led downward. Zagreus’s lair was an underground tunnel compound in the cenote systems of the Yucatan. The god was so perverse, he actually got extra pleasure knowing humans were frolicking at resorts and vacation destinations directly above his torture chambers, and if a few “accidentally” stumbled across his lair thanks to morbid curiosity—as he claimed to the Olympians whenever he was caught with a human—well then, that wasn’t his fault, now was it?

Stalactites hung from the ceiling. She passed a porthole window alive with water and fish and coral but didn’t stop to appreciate the view. There was nothing to appreciate in this miserable place, and every day she wondered why the hell she’d sold herself to Zagreus in the first place.

For revenge. To see them pay.

Yeah, but if he wasn’t going to follow through on his end of the deal… Her stomach rolled, and a thought rippled through her mind, slowing her feet.

If he wasn’t going to follow through, then she’d be stuck here forever, repeating what she’d had to do today, reliving what she’d endured tonight.

Her spine tingled, but she refused to accept that reality as she pushed her feet onward. By the time she reached her floor and headed across the landing, all she wanted was a few hours of peace before Zagreus forced her to do it all again.

Halfway to the arch that opened to a cluster of rooms, hers included, a voice called, “Mistress?”

Fuck.

She looked toward the redheaded Nereid, standing near the stairs with a wary expression. She wasn’t a pleasure slave like the Maenads, the orgiastic nymphs trained by the god of ecstasy, Dionysus, which Zagreus had hauled back from the Amazons and whom he’d insisted on using on Nick earlier today. No, she was simply one of Zagreus’s many servants who existed on the fringes of this nightmare, trying hard to blend into the shadows. Something Cynna could never do. “What?”

The Nereid—Cynna couldn’t remember her name—took a hesitant step forward. “I’ve been looking for you. We have a…a problem.”

Cynna didn’t want to deal with any problems. It wasn’t her responsibility. She turned back for her room. “Find a satyr and have him take care of it.”