Enraptured (22 page)

“I could sing to you.”

He cut her another glare. “I don’t think so.”

She laughed. “Okay, if I promise not to touch you or sing to you, will you come over here? You need rest. There’s no telling what we’ll find down there tomorrow, and if you’re right, if Hades has something in store for us, I’ll need you at your best.” She held up her hands. “I promise I’ll be good.”

Her eyes glittered with mischief, but the concern in her voice drew him over. He eased down on the blanket next to her, rested his back against the rocks behind him. Even though they weren’t close enough to touch, he could feel the heat radiating from her body. Could smell the honeysuckle scent of her skin.

“Better?” she asked.

No, not better. Just being close to her made him hard. And when he got hard, he thought of what sex with her had been like. Hot and consuming in that apartment in Washington. Mind-blowingly erotic in that tower at the colony.

They sat in silence for several minutes. In the hot, humid air, he was aware of every breath she took, of the way her breasts rose and fell under her shirt, of the droplet of perspiration running down her neck to disappear beneath her collar.

Man, this wasn’t going to work. He should be plotting strategy for tomorrow. Mapping their route. Not sitting here lusting after the Siren who’d been sent to kill him.

Gods, he was a fool for bringing her here. Why the hell couldn’t he think straight when she was around?

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she said, her tempting voice cutting through the quiet.

Will
you
have
sex
with
me
again?

Why
yes, yes I will. Where do you want me?

His skin grew hot, the air around him stifling.

“What?” he snapped.

“How is it you’re Argonaut, Medean,
and
daemon? Those three don’t seem to go together.”

Relief rippled over him. As long as the topic steered clear of sex, he was good. “My father was an Argonaut. My mother a Medean witch. They met because he’d heard she and her coven knew where the Orb was hidden in the Aegis Mountains.”

Her gaze strayed to the earth element at his chest. “She’s the one who found it?”

“No. But her coven had found evidence of it. There were stories. He went to investigate.”

“Did they fall in love?”

Orpheus wasn’t sure he knew what love meant. Let alone what it felt like. “I don’t know. They hooked up. I was the result. But he didn’t bind himself to her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Because she was a witch?”

“Most likely. Witches aren’t popular in the human realm, but they’re even less popular in Argolea.”

“So what happened?”

“She raised me in the coven until I was five. Then she died. The other witches didn’t like the idea of an Argonaut’s offspring left to their care, so they sent me to him. But since I didn’t have the Argonaut markings…”

A lump formed in his throat. The same damn lump that always formed when he thought of his relationship with his father.

Except…
relationship
was too strong a word. They’d been strangers. Two people living in the same big house because of some warped sense of duty, barely speaking. Until the day his father had died.

“That must have been hard.”

Yeah, hard. He nearly scoffed. He was the son his father had never wanted. Gryphon was the son he’d been meant to sire. Orpheus had sure learned about rejection early on. Something that had saved him.

“And the daemon part of you?” she asked.

He shrugged again. “I was born with it. I figure my mother must have been part daemon. I don’t know, as I barely remember her.”

Except for her face. Smooth skin, chocolate eyes, silky brown hair he’d loved to play with. Even now he could conjure up her image if he tried. He couldn’t remember her voice or even the times he knew he’d spent with her, but he remembered her face.

Skyla tucked her legs under her, turned to face him, and eased her head against the rocks. “Daemon hybrids are rare, but they do exist and have for some time. But most we’ve come across have been the result of a human female and a male archdaemon mating. Regular daemons are impotent.”

Yeah, he’d heard that too. Still didn’t explain how or why he’d ended up part daemon. Unless you went with the “cursed” theory, which was the only one that made sense to him.

“Did your father know?” she asked. “About your daemon?”

He stared off into the distance. “No. After the backlash I got for my Medean gifts, I learned to keep that one secret. Gryphon doesn’t even know.”

“And how does Gryphon fit into all this? Is he Medean as well?”

Orpheus stretched his legs out, crossed his arms over his chest. “No. His mother was Argolean. Our father bound himself to her long after I’d moved out of the house. Gryphon’s quite a bit younger than me.”

“The chosen son,” she said softly. “And yet you still love him.”

He frowned at her. “You conjure things that aren’t there. Are you sure
you’re
not a witch?”

She smiled. “I hear the truth you work hard to keep hidden. No man ventures into the Underworld for a brother he doesn’t love. Why didn’t you ever tell him about your daemon?”

Orpheus’s chest tightened. The Siren was mistaken. It wasn’t love that had brought him here. It was guilt. A hell of a lot of guilt. Guilt for thinking he could play hero. Guilt for getting Gryphon hurt in that warlock’s castle. Guilt for never telling his only sibling he was sorry for being such a shitty brother.

Guilt shifted to emptiness, opened that hole inside him all over again. Then was replaced with an anger he’d learned was the only emotion that could fill the void. “Because he’s an Argonaut, and for a daemon, a
witch
-daemon, that means enemy. And in case you haven’t figured it out yet, Siren, that damn hero gene in Gryphon is a major conflict to my interests. Look around you. We wouldn’t be here now if Gryphon hadn’t tried to save my fucking soul. Something I don’t even have.”

His frustration with the entire situation welled inside him, threatened to bubble over. His dumbass brother would never listen, not to the truth, even when it all but smacked him in the face. Because Gryphon was the real deal. A hero to the core. One who instinctively overlooked the bad and zeroed in on the good.

Except in Orpheus’s case, Gryphon had been wrong. There was no good in him, no matter how much Gryphon wanted to believe there was.

“What makes you think you don’t have a soul?” Skyla asked quietly.

Reality
. That emptiness widened in the center of Orpheus’s chest, dousing the anger with pain. A black hole of nothingness waiting to suck him in. “The energy that sent Gryphon’s soul here should have done the same to me. We were both hit by the same power source that day. Except I survived and he didn’t.”

Because
I
don’t have a soul to destroy.

“Maybe your daemon strength stopped it.”

“Maybe you’re naïve.”

She smiled. “You have a soul, Orpheus.”

He tipped his head her way. “I have a daemon, Siren, as you oh so eloquently like to remind me.”

“Your daemon hasn’t been very reliable lately.”

No, it hadn’t. Which pissed Orpheus off more than this entire conversation. Down here, the beast could be a real asset, but Orpheus knew it wasn’t about to come out and play. Even now he could feel his daemon simmering beneath his skin, but it made no effort to unleash itself. Aside from a tremor now and then, it was as if the daemon barely existed.

“Whatever.” He didn’t have time to worry about what was happening to him. He had to figure out how to find Gryphon. “Doesn’t change the facts. And facts don’t lie. As a Siren you know that better than most.”

She didn’t answer, and silence settled between them. A silence that left him more edgy than before. To distract himself, he focused on the red-orange glow in the distance that was dimming but didn’t completely go away, as if not even night could blanket the pain and suffering with comfort.

Skyla yawned, eased down to her side, tucked her hands under her face. Even though he fought it, Orpheus’s gaze drifted her way and he watched the tendrils of damp hair blow gently against her skin.

“We’ll find him, you know,” she whispered.

His chest filled all over again as he watched her eyes drift close. She had a way of taming that emptiness inside him as no one had done before. Not even his brother. He wanted to chalk up her concern to the Orb, but the longer they were together, the harder that was to do. Logic told him she should have taken the Orb as soon as they’d immobilized that warlock. Or she could have let him venture into the Underworld alone and then stolen it when he wasn’t looking.

But she hadn’t done either of those things. She was here with him now, where she didn’t need to be. Risking her life for someone she didn’t even know.

Risking her life for him.

He leaned down until he was close to her ear, until her scent filled his senses and tempted him to take one simple taste. “Why do you care, Siren?”

She yawned. But instead of opening her eyes and looking up as he expected, she reached out and wrapped her fingers his. Fingers that were warm and soft and oh,so comforting in a way nothing else had ever comforted him before.

“The question isn’t why I care, daemon,” she murmured as she drifted to sleep. “The question is how long have I cared?”

Morning in Tartarus wasn’t much different from night. The air was oppressive and suffocating. The heat sent sweat to every part of Skyla’s skin. And the closer they ventured to Tartarus, the worse the moans and screams and cries for mercy grew in the distance.

She watched Orpheus carefully as they made their way down the jagged rocks. The scowl he’d taken on when they’d crossed the threshold into Hades’s realm had deepened with every passing hour. Athena had told Skyla he didn’t remember his past life, but she couldn’t be sure he didn’t remember the Underworld. More than once over the last day she’d seen the look of déjà vu on his face as he’d turned a slow circle and taken it all in.

For the first time, she thought of telling him about his past. About who he was, how they’d met, why she was with him now. But then she dismissed it. It would do no good. He wouldn’t remember, and what was the point of bringing it all up now, when they were close to finding his brother?

Maybe if—
when
—they got out of this, she’d find a way to tell him. But even as the thought hit, something in her chest pinched. A warning that no good could come from a truth that was nothing but ancient history. He was not the same man he’d been then, even if the soul was similar.

They stopped at the base of the mountain, where rolling hills of death and decay lay before them like grass on a knoll. She took a deep drink of her water, passed it to Orpheus. He sipped, then handed the bottle back to her. Their fingers brushed and heat raced over her skin. But when she looked at his face, he showed no response.

She capped the water and replaced it in her pack. “Where to now?”

He rested his hands on his hips where his jeans hung low, looked out in the distance. A layer of sweat glistened on his bare chest, ran down to his strong six-pack abs. The earth element lay against his heart, the mark of the Titans stamped deeply into the diamond, but it wasn’t the element that captured her attention. With the hot air rushing past his face to ruffle his hair and the determined look in his gray eyes, all she could think was that he looked like a god. Like a sexy, muscular, all-powerful god. The only thing he lacked was cruelty.

“A hero’s soul is valuable, right?” he asked, eyes fixed on the far off marshes. “I’m guessing Hades will have sent him for the cruelest sort of punishment. Close to the heart of the Underworld, where he can draw the most energy from Gryphon’s suffering. I say we head there and see what we find.”

Her heart expanded. When she didn’t answer, he turned to look at her, his brow wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

The thump, thump, thump against her ribs echoed in her ears. And his revelation from last night—that he didn’t have a soul—revolved in her mind.

Second
chances.

Athena had told her he’d been given a second chance. That a Fate had made a deal with Hades for him to come back. What if his daemon was part of that deal? A way to ensure he wouldn’t redeem himself? Except…except his daemon was fading. She was certain now he could no longer shift, and his eyes didn’t even change anymore when he was irritated. Every time he did something good, like protect Maelea or help those people on that train or come to Skyla’s rescue, his daemon seemed to grow weaker. And he did have a soul. She was sure of that. A soulless being would never do the things he’d done. A soulless being wouldn’t care. Which meant…if the daemon inside him was nearly gone, that soul he was so sure he didn’t have might be taking its place.

She stepped to him, brushed her hand against his granite jaw, let her gaze skip over his features. His tanned and weathered skin, the long slope of his nose she knew now really was linked to royalty, the deep gray depths of his eyes, and his dark eyebrows, cinched low as he stared at her as if she’d sprouted a second head. Then to his lips. Masculine. Hard. Yet so soft when they pressed against hers, when they opened to take her in.

She eased up on her toes.

He sucked in a breath. “What are you doing?”

“Kissing you.”

His eyes grew wide. “Why?”

“Because, silly daemon, you are irresistible.”

She grazed her mouth against his, just the slightest breath of skin against skin, heat against heat. He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for her. And as she slid her hands over his muscular shoulders and ran her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, then tipped her head to kiss him again, she smiled. Smiled because the circumstances of who they were and why and how they’d come to be here together in the middle of hell didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was him.

Orpheus…

Ironic that Orpheus the legendary musician had been the one to tame the Sirens with his lyre when he’d sailed with the Argonauts on Jason’s quest for the Golden Fleece. Though this Orpheus was no musician, he’d tamed her just the same. Awakened her. Shown her there was life beyond the order. Cynurus had stirred the need for a home, a family, a future inside her, but Orpheus was the one who’d stoked those cold embers and brought them back to life.

She slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, coaxing him to let her in. Used her strength to draw her body close until they were chest to chest, hip to hip, soul to soul. His hands settled at her hips. His fingers fisted in the damp fabric of her shirt. And just when she was sure he was going to let her in, he pushed back from her mouth and frowned down at her.

“I did take that arousal spell off you, didn’t I?’

She laughed, eased in closer. Felt the warmth of the earth element between them. “You did. But haven’t you figured out I don’t need an arousal spell to want you?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re seducing me.”

“No, daemon. I’m enjoying you. The two are very different. When I seduce, trust me, I don’t enjoy.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t speak. Just stared at her. Then he muttered “
Skata
” and brought his hands up to frame her face, drawing her lips back to his and kissing her with all the passion she’d been missing this last day.

She opened for him, drew his tongue into her mouth and savored that smoky, wet, dangerous taste on her tongue. The one that ignited fire in her blood and called to her on the most basic level.

His hands slid down her shoulders, over her sides, back to her hips again, dragging her closer to his erection. He took a step back, leaned against an outcrop of rock, and pushed one thigh between her legs, grasping her hips and dragging her close until she was rubbing up against him, growing breathless and sweaty all over again.

“Skyla, Skyla, Skyla,” he murmured against her lips, then dipped in for another taste that drove her a little more mad. “You’re going to be the death of me, Siren.”

This time, she eased away from his mouth. “No, I’m not. I believe in you, Orpheus.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I can’t help it. You keep doing things that prove to me you are not at all what you think you are.”

“Don’t put too much faith in me. I never live up to it.”

She trailed her hand down his chest and laid it over the element resting against his heart, warm from a power that didn’t come from his skin or hers. It came from within. Just like the strength that was hidden in him but which he couldn’t see.

“Even a Fate can’t see the heart of a person, and free will reigns in all men, you included. But something tells me your part in all of this doesn’t end here.”

His piercing gaze held hers, and though her need for him right here and now was great, it wasn’t as great as her need for him to believe in himself. The only way she knew for him to do that was to find his brother and set right a wrong he felt responsible for.

She eased out of his arms but captured his hand in hers and smiled as she tugged him with her. His fingers closed around hers—strong, steady, alive. “Come on. We still have at least half a day’s journey. And that’s assuming we don’t run into any problems. I want to get this done and get back to the human realm, where we can pick up where we left off.”

He frowned but followed, his boots kicking up dust, his hand never leaving hers. “Where we left off was me being mad at you for pushing your way along on this trip.”

She laughed. “Okay, then we’ll skip ahead to the part where you’re not mad and are thankful I came along.”

“Am I?”

“You will be. Trust me.”

***

“They’ve entered Tartarus, my lord.” Orcus bowed his head in that subservient way that made Hades want to praise the disgusting creature by backhanding him across the room.

“And my wife?”

“Waiting.”

Of course. Waiting for Orpheus to reach the Cursed Marshes. His wife would attack then. When the hero and Siren would be disoriented and unable to run. It was a good plan. A plan Hades himself would have come up with…if, that is, he only wanted the Orb.

But now, knowing the Siren was with the no-good hero, and knowing what Atalanta and Krónos had planned, the Orb wasn’t enough. He wanted them all. The souls of two Argonauts, a Siren,
and
Atalanta. His power would surge with the blessed souls of the first three, and the last…well, he just wanted to see that bitch Atalanta suffer.

His father he’d deal with later.

“Bring me my wife.”

“She will be most displeased, my lord.”

A wicked smile turned up Hades’s lips and he clasped his hands behind his back as he rocked on his heels and stared out at the swirling red sky. “I’m counting on it.

“Oh, and Orcus,” he called over his shoulder.

The creature’s scuffling stopped. “Yes, my lord?”

“Send Tantalus to the Cursed Marshes to tell them where they can find the Argonaut’s soul. I’m ready to hurry this along.”

***

The air grew stagnant and thick, the moans and cries for help so loud they were a never-ending buzz in Orpheus’s ears.

As he followed Skyla across Tartarus, they stayed to the shadows as much as possible but found it impossible in places. They passed rivers of lava where souls were being thrown into the boiling streams, racks where souls were stretched and tortured with instruments that ranged from knives to scythes to chains. Everywhere, pain and torment rang out around them but none paid them any mind. They were allowed to pass as if they were invisible. Which just seemed…wrong.

As they walked by a particularly gruesome scene—a soul staked to the ground, being devoured by dogs—Skyla covered her mouth and looked away. “How does he decide who suffers what atrocity?”

“It’s different for each soul.”

Skyla turned his way. His feet stopped. Again that sense of déjà vu washed through him, the one that had grown stronger the deeper they’d delved into the Underworld. “I don’t know how I know that. I just do. At judgment, Hades determines what punishments fit the perpetrator and he sets them up on a cyclical pattern. A day of each until the soul is killed, only to suffer through a new scenario the next day.”

“That’s awful,” Skyla whispered.

It was. Horrendous. To know that day after day you’d be tortured until you died in different yet equally heinous ways, only to awaken and do it all again. An endless repetition of life, torture, and death.

Skyla slid her hand into his and tugged. “Come on.”

He focused on her familiar amethyst eyes. Eyes that also brought a sense of déjà vu. Eyes he knew he’d looked into long before that day at the concert. “Skyla…”

“Yes?”

His chest filled again with that warmth only she could bring. “I…”
Why
do
I
feel
like
I
know
you? What is this weird connection we have?
But he knew she wouldn’t answer his questions. He’d tried that before. Maybe he should just stop questioning and be thankful she was here with him. To be in this place alone…

A shiver ran down his spine even in the blistering heat.

He shook off the thought and stepped toward her. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They walked another few hours until the barren ground shifted to wet, seeping marshes where all five rivers of the Underworld converged in a murky, bubbling, swampy mire. Souls could be seen floating amidst the muck, struggling to break free, but the surface was as impenetrable as glass, and the muffled screams echoed in the air.

Please
don’t let Gryphon be down there.

Orpheus had no idea how they’d get him out if he was.

A shout echoed to their left. On instinct, Orpheus pushed Skyla behind him and turned that way. She grunted and stepped free of his protection, then reached for her bow.

The voice grew stronger, and then a body came into view. A real body, not a soul like every other person they’d encountered. How Orpheus knew that he couldn’t be sure. The souls looked real down here, but there was something about them that struck him as not complete.

The man, being,
whatever
, stepped out of the scraggly trees and stopped a few feet from them. He was dressed all in white, with dark hair, and two scars that ran down his cheeks. But he was definitely real. And very,
very
familiar. “You seek the Argonaut’s soul.”

Orpheus slanted Skyla a look. She had her bow up and ready to strike. “How do you know what we’re here for?”

“Souls have ears,” the male answered. “And secrets waft on the wind.” His voice lowered. “Do not be so naïve as to think you were anything but allowed to venture this far amongst the dead. The Argonaut you seek is not among the Cursed Marshes. He’s on the plains, over the ridge to the west.”

Orpheus’s gaze followed the sweep of the male’s hand. “Why are you telling us this?”

The male stepped closer. “Because I’ve been told to.” He slid a small teardrop-shaped vial of liquid into Orpheus’s hand and whispered, “Even here, in the land of the forgotten, hope remains. Watch for the unexpected. They’ll strike when you think you are free.”

He turned and headed back the way he’d come.

“Hey!”

The man stopped. Glanced over his shoulder.

“Do I know you?” Orpheus asked.

“You did. Once.”

Why that left Orpheus more uneasy than the fact this guy had approached them, he didn’t know. He raised the vial. “What’s in here?”