TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) (7 page)

But the cold was quickly replaced by heat. Surprised, he looked down to see her kneeling in front of him, much like the nymphs yesterday. But unlike them, she wasn’t teasing. Her soft fingers carefully removed a bandage from around his thigh, one he didn’t remember receiving. And every brush of her hand against his leg sent awareness spiraling all through his limbs.
 

She pulled the cloth away, then her warm, electric touch skimmed the outside of a jagged, already healing incision.

“Hmm.” She moved away, and chill air swept over him again, but then she was back, kneeling in front of him once more, her body inches from his, her heated touch sending another shiver down his spine, this one not from the temperature.

Blood rushed into his cock, proving he wasn’t as sick as he thought. He fought back his body’s reaction as her warm breath tickled his skin, bringing the hairs along his leg to attention. She smoothed some kind of ointment over the incision, and he sucked in air when warm tingles spread through his skin and permeated his muscles. But they didn’t shoot straight to his groin as they had yesterday. This was a healing warmth, not an arousing one. At least the balm was. She was another matter entirely.

He was quiet while she wiped her hands on a rag, then reached for fresh bandages from a bag near her feet. Her blonde hair hung past her shoulders, one thick blue streak brushing her temple as she looked down at her work. Her skin was shades darker than his, like warm, gooey caramel, and he found himself fascinated at the contrast. Fascinated again by her—who she was, how she’d come to be in a hellhole like this, and what she was doing with a sick fuck like Zagreus.

“You smell like him,” he muttered.

“And you smell like sweat,” she answered, not looking up. “Neither of us are getting any awards for how we smell.”

For some reason, that eased the knot growing in the pit of his stomach. Then he saw the marks on her wrists. Cuts and bruises he knew all too well, because he lived with them daily thanks to the restraints. Cuts and bruises that hadn’t been on her skin earlier.

“What happened to your wrists?”

Her fingers faltered on the bandage, then she resumed wrapping and secured the end. “Nothing.”

Bullshit it was nothing. His gaze traveled up her arms, to the collar of the long-sleeved, too-big T-shirt she wore. The neck gaped open, showing just a hint of skin above her breasts. Skin that also looked inflamed. Reaching out with his cuffed hands, he hooked his finger in the collar and tugged so he could see better.

She’d been struck there, with a whip or flogger, he couldn’t tell which.

She jerked back and slapped a hand over her chest, pressing the shirt closed. Disbelief flashed in her eyes, followed by a quick burst of horror she masked quickly.

She pushed to her feet and glared down at him. “I could have you beaten for that.”

“You already have.” And suddenly, a beating was the least of his concerns. His gaze skipped to her wrists. “What did he do to you?”

She grasped her supplies from the floor and shoved them back into the bag, averting her eyes, moving quickly now to get away from him. “Nothing I didn’t ask him to do.”

He’d hit a nerve. There was more she wasn’t saying. A lot more. That feeling that she was as much a prisoner in this hell as he slammed into Nick again.
 

“Your infection is down,” she said, still not looking his way. “You’ll be fine in another day.”

She grasped the bag, crossed to the door, and slid a key into the lock from the inside. Nick wanted to ask what, exactly, they were healing him for, but then his gaze rolled over her. Over her frazzled appearance, the dark circles under her eyes, and her unkempt hair. And he realized she was exhausted. She obviously hadn’t slept much, and it had to be morning. She’d come to him sometime in the night and stayed.
 

He wanted to ask why. Why it had been her, why she hadn’t sent someone else, why she even cared if he lived or died. But he couldn’t. Because part of him didn’t want to hear the answer. And another part—the dark part—didn’t want to give her any reason never to come back.

Metal scraped metal, the hinges creaked, and then the thick steel door swung inward. She took one step into the corridor.

“Cynna.”

Her feet stilled, but she didn’t turn. And in the silence, Nick’s pulse shot up. It was the first time he’d said her name, and he liked the sound of it. Liked the way it rolled off his tongue. Liked—more than anything—that she reacted. And suddenly wanted to hear her say his name back in that sinful voice of hers. Just once.

His throat grew thick, and desire seared all through his body. A desire he now knew was focused solely on her. “Thank you.”

She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect her to. But his body was hot and tight regardless. And as the cell door clanged shut in her wake, a bitter truth rang out.

He wanted her. He wanted her naked and spread before him, crying out in that sexy, dominatrix voice. He wanted her on her knees, driving him wild with her sinful mouth, wanted her bound and bent over, shaking from his deep thrusts. He wanted her even knowing it was twisted in every way imaginable and that she should be the one person he hated above all others. But he couldn’t stop himself from wanting. Because wanting her gave him something to focus on.

And because for the first time in he didn’t know how long, he wanted someone other than his soul mate.

CHAPTER FIVE

“T
hat is not the answer I was hoping to hear.”

 
Standing across Zagreus’s palatial office, Hades, the god-king of the Underworld and Zagreus’s pain-in-the-ass father, turned from the underwater-glass view he’d been staring at and pinned his son with a scathing look.

Zagreus fought from rolling his eyes and kicked back in his chair. “These things take time. You brought him here for a reason. You can’t rush perfection.”

Hades turned fully to face him. “You’ve had six months. His strength is growing—I can feel it—but you’ve yet to break him. If you cannot do so soon, I’ll be forced to take him back.”

Zagreus huffed. Hades would never take Nick to the Underworld. The closer Nick was to Krónos, the more likely the elder god would find out and send one of his minions from Tartarus to abduct him. Then all hell—literally—would break loose. No, Hades wouldn’t risk losing his prize to his father, which meant Nick was Zagreus’s until the job was done.

“I don’t have to take him to the Underworld,” Hades said, reading his son’s mind. “I could let your mother finish what you started.”

Oh no. No way in hell. Zagreus sat forward and slapped his hand against the stone desk, hating more than anything that his father was reading his mind and conjuring powers so Zagreus couldn’t block him. He wasn’t handing Nick over to Persephone, the Queen of the Dead. She was as power hungry as Hades and would double-cross them all in a heartbeat to gain access to Krónos’s powers. “She’ll not touch him. He’s mine.”

Hades crossed the floor in a wisp of black and slammed his palms on the desk, towering over his son in a fury of darkness. “No, he is
mine
. And you’ll not soon forget that fact, or I will tear away from you the one thing you care most about in this world.”

Zagreus stared up at his father, a mixture of malice and hatred coursing through his veins. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Push me, and you’ll discover exactly what I dare.”

Zagreus wanted nothing but to push his fucking father right out of this world for good, but until he broke Nick and harnessed the demigod’s unused powers for himself, he would never be able to do that. Hades was too strong, and even though Zagreus was a god, he couldn’t beat his father. Not in ability, at least. In cunning, though, he’d learned from the master and was determined to win this game.

He relaxed back into his seat, feigning indifference. “I care not what happens to the demigod. I simply do not want to see Mother sink her claws into him. There’s no telling what she would unleash.”

“Nor do I,” Hades said, straightening. “Your mother is my last choice, which is why I brought him to you first. We have a deal, my son. Don’t make me remind you.”

A deal that was heavily weighted on Hades’s side. “
Serve me or I will decimate everything you have built.
” Who in their right mind would say no to that?

Zagreus drummed his fingers along the stone table, fighting back his contempt. “I’ve not forgotten the deal. And I’m living up to my end of it. He will break soon.”

“You have a month,” Hades announced. “A month to finish what I started, or I will come and claim him. I’ll know the moment his powers are unleashed, so do not try to screw me on this.”

Hades knew his son well, but Zagreus wasn’t planning to double-cross the god for the reasons his father expected. He didn’t give a shit about the human realm, the land Hades and his two brothers, Zeus and Poseidon, were each clamoring for. No, he wanted a kingdom more perfect. A world more enticing. A race way more responsive than those simpering humans the gods loved to toy with. He wanted Argolea all to himself.
 

Hades moved for the door, but stopped before he reached the threshold and looked back. “For you own good, son, you should rid yourself of the female.”

A fury Zagreus only barely held back whipped through him with the force of a tornado. “You’ll not touch her.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Unless you fuck with me. But mark my words. You’ve grown soft where she is concerned. If you keep her, she will be your undoing.”

“Like Mother Dearest is yours?”

A wicked, evil grin twisted the god-king of the Underworld’s lips. “Your mother is strength reincarnated. The female you’ve attached yourself to is nothing but destruction. Find another to fuck and rid yourself of her before she ruins you for all eternity.”

Hades poofed into the ether as quickly as he’d arrived. And alone, Zagreus looked across the dim room, flickering with a blue-green light from the underwater window.

His father was wrong. Cynna was not any sort of destruction. She was his way out. The one shining beacon of hope in his endless fucking life of misery. And she would never dare stand against him. He made sure of that on a continual basis.

But even as he tried to convince himself of that fact, his mind skipped back to the fight yesterday in the ring. To the way she’d been watching the prisoner below. To the look that had been in her eyes. A look he’d noticed but hadn’t thought much about until right this minute.

Fear.

Worry.

Compassion.

The first two didn’t concern him. But the last caused an odd tightness to condense in his chest.

The dark energy inside—the energy that kept him powerful—welled like a living, breathing creature in the pit of his soul, wrapping gnarled tentacles around his thoughts, spurring his actions. He pushed out of his chair before he could stop himself and stalked through the caverns until he found the stairs, then skipped steps to get to her floor.
 

He didn’t knock when he reached her room, simply turned the doorknob and stepped inside. The lights were off, the only illumination the same eerie blue-green light from an underwater window much like the one in his office. He looked around, that dark energy snarling and swirling every second he didn’t see her. And then he spotted her, sound asleep on her stomach in the middle of the bed, her head tipped his way on the pillow, her blonde hair spilling over her back and partially blocking her perfect face.

Crossing to the bed, he sat on the edge of the mattress and brushed a blue-streaked lock away from her temple. She’d taken off her boots but nothing else. She’d been so exhausted after she’d left his bedchamber last night, she hadn’t even bothered to climb under the covers. His gaze slid over her body, over the short skirt that showed off her wicked legs and his long-sleeved T-shirt that was three sizes too big for her. A burst of relief stole through him as he took in every delectable inch of her.

Remind her who’s in control. Make sure she never forgets…

Thoughts spun out of control. Dark, warped, angry thoughts that were fueled by the shadow energy churning inside, the energy that was rooted to the Underworld and which fed his powers. His fingers tangled in the ends of her hair, and he squeezed his hand into a tight fist, a blinding urge to yank on her scalp, to wake her with pain consuming him. But he struggled against it. Giving in to that energy kept him strong, but he hated the outcome. Hated what it made him do. Especially to her.