Entwined (38 page)

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and tried to smile, even though she knew it probably did no good. She was filthy, covered in blood, and death surrounded them. But she’d dreamed of this moment for ten long years.

“Do you know who we are?” she asked softly.

Max looked from her to Zander and back again. Caution filled his wary gaze, but slowly, he nodded. “The old lady in white…She showed me. I…” He glanced between them again, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I didn’t think you were real.”

A flood of emotions burst through the dam Callia had erected around her heart. “Oh, we’re real. And we’ve been looking for you.”

“You have?” Max’s eyebrows lifted, and hope rushed across his face.

She nodded, and her smile grew. One—this time—she didn’t have to force.

“Yeah,” Zander said, his own voice choked with emotion. “We have.”

Zander drew a calming breath as he stood on the porch of Callia’s father’s house in the hills on the outskirts of Tiyrns. Correction—Callia’s house now. His nerves had always hit the big time whenever he’d come here to see her. Almost eleven years later, and that fact hadn’t changed a bit. Everything else though? Yeah, everything else was a thousand times different. And right now, about as bad as he could imagine.

He lifted his hand. Knocked. Leaves danced on the light breeze and drifted to the ground out on the grass. The house was huge, built like a Tudor mansion in the human realm. Much bigger than they ever needed, and he hoped Callia wasn’t attached to it, because where they were headed, this house definitely couldn’t follow.

The door pulled open, and Callia stood on the other side. She didn’t smile, but her eyes brightened when she saw him, and he figured, considering everything she’d been through the last forty-eight hours, that was as good a greeting as he was going to get.

“Come in out of the cold.” Her hand landed on his forearm and heat gathered beneath her touch to warm the cold spaces inside him left from his conversation with the king. All that pent-up anxiety he’d amassed in the last hour seemed to slide right out of his body. Being close to her calmed him in a way nothing else ever could.

She closed the door at his back and rubbed her arms while he wiped his boots on the rug in her entryway. “Where’s Max?” he asked.

“Sleeping.” She led him into the formal living area, with
its high-backed chairs and uncomfortable couches. “He’s been so tired. I guess that’s not a surprise, but…” She glanced toward the stairs that led up to the second floor. “I worry.”

“He’s fine,” he said, moving toward her and resting his hands on her upper arms to warm her himself. “You checked him out. You had another healer check him out. Physically, he’s fine.”

“It’s mentally I’m worried about.”

“Something tells me he’s tougher than either of us realizes,
thea
.”

A wary look passed over her eyes just before she pulled out of his grasp and moved to stand in front of the fireplace. “I take it your conversation with the king didn’t go so well.”

Zander clenched his jaw. The king. Her
biological
father. The one who didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself. Even now, when he knew Callia was his daughter and Max was his grandson. The heir to the throne of Argolea and the one who would never be recognized. “He’s frickin’ senile.”

“Yeah,” she said on a breath, staring into the flames. “Sounds like it went very well.”

She knew what the king had said. He didn’t even need to tell her.

“Look.” Zander moved toward her. “Screw him. If he wants to act like nothing’s changed, that’s fine with me. But I won’t be his patsy. Pack up only the things you and Max really need. We can be out of here by nightfall, before anyone even knows we’re gone.”

She turned to face him, and the brightness he’d seen in her eyes when he’d walked in the door was long gone. “We’re not going with you.”

His eyebrows snapped together. “What?”

“Oh, wow.” She brought her hands up to her cheeks, breathed deeply. “This is harder than I thought it would be.” She dropped her arms, focused on him. “We’re not going with you, Zander. I’ve thought about this a lot over the last twenty-four hours and I…It won’t work.”

“What are you talking about?” A sliver of panic wedged its way into his chest, and he tried to read her emotions but couldn’t.

“You, me…us.” She waved her hands between them. “I think there’s a point at which it’s either meant to be or it’s not. And we passed that point. Too much has changed, and I…I don’t want to go back. There will always be a place in my heart for you, but I have to focus on Max now. He has to be the center of my world. No one else.”

“Callia, wait. If this is about what the king said—”

“No, Zander,” she said softly. “This is about me. And what I want and don’t want. All my life people have been telling me what to do, and I’m done with it. It’s time for me to make my own decisions. And right now…” She drew in a steadying breath. “Right now I want to stay right here.”

His chest pinched. And through the link he shared with her, he tried to find the lie he knew had to be hidden in her words. But he came up empty. Was she blocking him from her feelings, or…was she finally telling him the truth?

“You don’t…” He could barely think the words, let alone say them. “Want me?”

“I think—no, I know—that going to the human realm with you would be a mistake.” Her voice softened. “I want you to bind yourself to Isadora, Zander. It’s the right thing for you to do.”

That pain pierced his chest. And his heart, the one she’d thawed and softened and brought back to life burst into a thousand pieces right there in her father’s stuffy living room.

Days ago, he’d stood on that cliff with Titus, looking down at the ravine below, and he’d wanted to die. But then at least he’d been numb. So used to feeling nothing, he’d thought death would be a welcome respite. Now he knew what true pain was. And not even death could save him from this torture.

Everything he’d confessed to her at the colony rushed through his head. And this time he didn’t miss the fact she’d never once told him she loved him back or talked about a
future with him past finding their son. Could he have been a bigger fool? She hadn’t wanted him then. Not in the same way he’d wanted her. He’d let his wants and needs consume him and override the signals he should have picked up from the first through his link to her.

He waited for the rage to overtake him. Craved it. But it was nowhere to be found. And wasn’t that just fucking ironic? The one time he needed it to keep him sane, it was long gone.

“Zander. Wait—”

He couldn’t. He moved for the door and freedom. Outside he stopped on the front walk and shakily breathed in the crisp air.

He’d waited eight hundred–plus years for her and finally found his humanity. And in the end all he had to show for it was a son who didn’t know him and a fiancée he didn’t want. The only consolation was at least he knew he wasn’t immortal anymore. Now he just had to wait for Callia to die of old age so he could finally die too.

Isadora ran her hands through her short hair and stared at her reflection in the vanity of her suite. The long-sleeved white wedding gown was heavy and itchy, and it reminded her of the gowns she used to wear. So much had happened and yet nothing was different. Here she was, the same cloistered female she’d been weeks ago, before Casey had come into her life, before she’d discovered Callia was her half-sister. In a matter of hours she’d be bound, property no longer belonging to her father, but to Zander.

Her soul screamed for freedom. She felt like crawling out of her skin. When the panic built to explosive levels, she clamped her hands on the vanity and stared at her reflection.

But she didn’t see her face. The mirror faded in and out, and an image appeared. Fuzzy at first, but growing clearer. Her features came into view. She was lying down. Not on the bed in her suite, but somewhere else, surrounded by
flickering light and rugged stone. Her skin was tanned, her face flushed. Someone—warmth rushed through her veins when the image panned back and sharpened—was kissing her neck, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. A male. She couldn’t see his face, but his muscular back was bare, his ass tight, his body thrusting against hers as candlelight flickered over them.

Isadora swallowed hard as she watched, transfixed by the scene in front of her. Her body writhed underneath the massive male’s, and the moan of pleasure that rang in her ears told her loud and clear that she was enjoying every single thing he was doing to her.

Heat gathered in her veins, slid low until she ached. She pressed her thighs together, bit back her own moan. Her eyes grew wider as she leaned closer to the mirror, trying to see his face. Knowing now how Zander felt about Callia, she couldn’t possibly be enjoying his touch this much. It was wrong. It was…

And then the male lifted his head. Just as the image of her in the mirror reached the peak and she threw her hair back and groaned in ecstasy.

Isadora gasped and scrambled away from the mirror. Her chair fell back on the hard floor with a clank. Terror clawed its way up her throat as her body shook. No. It couldn’t be. Something…something was very wrong. The first vision of the future she’d had in over a month couldn’t be right. Because there was no way in this realm or the next that she would ever be alone with Demetrius like that.

“Took you long enough.”

Isadora whipped around and found herself staring at Persephone. The goddess of the Underworld wore a white gown tied at the waist with a gold sash and she sat on a plush chair in Isadora’s sitting area. Her long legs were crossed, one elegant foot swaying lightly. A gold sandal hung from her purple-painted toes. “I was about to level this city.” Persephone’s green eyes hardened. “I don’t like waiting, little queen. I spend my life waiting.”

Oh, shit. Their agreement. Isadora had nearly forgotten. “You’re here because—”

“Because you just got your powers back. And now, they belong to me. For one month. That”—Persephone nodded toward the mirror—“was hot, by the way. I can’t wait to see what happens next.”

“You can’t—”

Persephone rose to her full height, taller than the Argonauts and with more power in her pinky than any of them had in his entire body. Too late Isadora remembered the goddess could wipe her and this whole castle out if she wanted with nothing more than her breath. “I can. And I will. One month, little queen. You’ve lasted this long without your powers; one more month won’t kill you.”

In a poof, Persephone was gone. Isadora reached for the corner post of her massive bed before she collapsed. Outside, the bells began to ring, signaling her impending binding.

It felt like tiny knives were stabbing her from every angle. Her lungs seemed suddenly too small. She didn’t understand what she’d just seen, but some instinct deep inside said if she stayed here, it was going to come true. Whether she bound herself to Zander or not.

She couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t stay. She
wouldn’t
let Demetrius touch her like that.

She turned, frantic as she scanned her room and tried to come up with a plan. Every idea fizzled in her mind. Orpheus had taken his invisibility cloak back. She’d never get out of the castle without someone seeing her. And the orb…No one seemed to know what had happened to the orb after the encounter with Atalanta.

Oh, gods, oh, gods, oh, gods…

“My lady,” Saphira said, stepping into the room, holding a steaming mug in one hand and the dreaded gold veil that would shield her from Zander until the last possible second in the other. “They’re ready for you.”

Isadora’s chest rose and fell in short, labored breaths.
Clutching the bedpost, she lifted her eyes and tried to focus. Shock raced across Saphira’s delicate features when she realized Isadora was in the midst of a major panic attack.

Shock? Get in line.

The handmaiden dropped the veil in her hands and rushed close.

“Oh, my lady.” Still holding the mug in one hand, Saphira wrapped her other arm around Isadora and supported her weight. Isadora clutched onto the female’s thin shoulders. “Blast the king for doing this to you. It’s not right.”

“I…can’t…breathe.”

“Of course you can’t. No one could in your place.” Saphira led Isadora to the ottoman in the sitting area. Determination hardened her features. “You’re not doing this. I won’t let you.”

“You…you…cannot…stop it. No one…can.”
Oh, gods…

Saphira clenched her jaw and pushed the mug into Isadora’s hands. “Drink this.”

“I—”

“Drink it,” she said in a commanding voice, one Isadora had never heard from the female. “You’ll feel better once you do.”

Hand shaking, Isadora brought the cup to her lips. She smelled lavender and something else in the tea. Something vaguely familiar. The steaming liquid blazed a heated trail down Isadora’s throat and warmed her from the inside out. Her muscles slowly relaxed one by one.

Saphira knelt at Isadora’s feet. “There. Better?”

Slowly, Isadora nodded. Took another sip. The panic attack was waning. But if she thought too much about what had to happen next…

Saphira’s chilled hands gripped Isadora’s knees through the thin fabric of her gown. “I have friends who can help you.”

“H-how?”

“They can take you away from this until your father passes. Once he’s gone, they can bring you back.”

Isadora’s brow lowered. It couldn’t be that simple, could it? Something in the back of her head yelled,
No!
But she was having trouble listening. Her brain felt heavy and…foggy.

Saphira pushed the cup back to her lips. “Drink again.”

Right. Drink. That’s what she should do. It would make her feel better. But…

Her muscles didn’t seem to work. When Saphira tilted the cup, Isadora had no choice but to take another sip. As the warm liquid slid into her belly, she felt the last bit of stress slide right out of her body.

A feral smile swept across Saphira’s face. “Good. That’s good, Princess.”

Something in Saphira’s expression set off warning bells in Isadora’s mind, but they were drowned out by one thought. “C-Casey.” She couldn’t be away from her sister for long. It was part of their connection as the Chosen.