Entwined (8 page)

Isadora didn’t answer, but her blood pressure shot up at the mere mention of Demetrius’s name. For the first time in weeks—since returning from Hades, where she’d sacrificed her soul and a great deal more to save Casey—she felt something other than numb. Bitter hatred burned in her veins. The kind she thought she’d been saving only for Hades himself for what he’d put her through in the hours she’d been in his realm. But no, this burst of emotion was centered directly on Demetrius.

“I’m sure you would not choose Demetrius if you could,” Zander went on. “But if there’s another Argonaut…one of the others, whom you’d rather have fill this place…I’d like you to tell me now.”

Isadora’s eyes narrowed. “You do not want to marry me either.”

“No,” Zander said quickly. “It’s not that. I do. I mean…I wouldn’t have volunteered if I didn’t. I…” He shifted his feet, rested his hands on his hips and blew out a breath. “I just think you should have a choice in this matter. A female should always be able to choose who she wants to be with.”

This was not a conversation Isadora had ever expected to be having. Not with him. Not with anyone. He was offering her a choice. Him or one of the others. Unlike her father, he wasn’t going to force her to marry him. And though she had a feeling binding himself to her was not his first choice either, for whatever reason, he’d committed to this. And yet…he was leaving the final decision up to her.

She thought about him. What little she knew of him. Years ago he’d had the reputation of being a player, but lately that had waned, for reasons she didn’t quite understand. It was rumored his tastes ran more toward human women, and he hadn’t been seen with any Argolean
gynaíka
, at least not that she knew of. And she was usually kept up to speed on what the Argonauts were up to, at least personally, because Saphira and her horde of friends liked to gossip. But he was always polite. He didn’t seem to care much about the Council or their rumblings, and he was a fierce guardian. One who, rumor had it, couldn’t be killed.

Those were good traits to pass to a child.

She thought about the other Argonauts. Cerek, with his friendly smile and stormy eyes that hinted of secrets she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. Titus, who she’d never seen look anything but stoic and whose knowing glances put her on edge whenever he came near the castle. Gryphon’s piercing light eyes that screamed of conquests near and far—and several inside this very castle. And Phineus, Mr. Adventure, rebel without a cause, the one rumored to breathe fire.

She definitely didn’t want to wake up charred in her own bed. Or know the
gynaíka
who served her at the castle had
also served her spouse in private. Or have her own secrets pulled from her mind without permission. And she definitely didn’t want to be privy to the darkness her spouse held that could threaten to drag her deeper into an abyss she already wasn’t sure how to crawl out of.

She looked back at Zander. And knew he was the best of the worst. At least, for her sake, she hoped he was. “I choose…you.”

For a heartbeat, he didn’t say anything. And then, he motioned with his hand. “Come to me.”

She pulled the towel tighter around her breasts. Slowly, she crossed the floor, her bare feet silent as she stepped from carpet to solid wood. When she was a foot from him she stopped and had to tip her head back to look up. He was taller than she’d realized. And bigger. Everywhere. In fact, from her vantage point he seemed…downright huge.

He closed the distance between them. Heat from his body encircled her where she stood. She smelled sandalwood and something citrusy. And though her pulse kicked up at his nearness, there was no excitement rushing through her veins. Not even a flicker of arousal.

He tipped her chin up with his finger. Warmth flowed from his hand into her cold skin. “I will never intentionally hurt you, Isadora. If you are honest with me, I will be honest with you in return. Do you understand?”

She nodded once.

“Trust is all that I ask of you. Nod so I know you believe me.”

She did.

“Good.” His gaze ran over her face. “Now, kiss me and show me you are as committed to this binding as I am.”

She didn’t move. But neither did she fight him. Not even when he lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers.

The sensation was…soft. His lips were supple, yet firm, and when he skimmed them over hers again, she felt herself respond. Felt her mouth move beneath, not in approval but in…acquiescence.

It was over quickly. He eased back and stared down at her. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. There was no heat burning in his eyes. No flash of desire. He didn’t appear to be holding back his passion, and, she supposed, that was a good thing. Because that kiss hadn’t done anything for her except check off a box in the life column of things she’d never done.

“I’ll return in six days for the binding ceremony.” He left the room quietly, the door clicking softly at his back.

Alone, Isadora walked to the vanity and sank onto the plush-covered stool to stare at her reflection. That numb feeling had washed back over her sometime during her conversation with Zander. In a matter of days she’d be his
syzygos.
His wife. And that kiss? It was only a hint of what he would do to her when they were husband and wife.

No excitement, apprehension, not even worry ran through her at that thought. She let the towel fall to her waist. Slid her fingers through her long blonde hair from root to tip. The thick mass hung to the middle of her back. As heir to the throne, and female, she was held to the traditions many Ar-goleans had given up long ago, much to the disapproval of the Council. Her hair was to remain long, she was to wear only full-length gowns that covered her limbs in their entirety and she was to be untouched. In every sense of the word.

Was that still true?

She dropped her hair. Pushed away memories from her time in the Underworld that tried to creep in. Tried to settle the unrest that grew deep in her soul with each passing day. She would be two hundred years old in a few months. Two hundred years and never been kissed. Until now.

With hands steadier than she expected, she pulled open the drawer of the vanity and fished around until she found scissors. They glimmered in the early evening light as she thought about who she had been before and who she was now.

Her father expected her to bind herself to Zander and
produce an heir. To cement the monarchy so the Council could not overthrow her reign once he was gone. And she would do exactly what he commanded, because her life, now, was sacrificed. But that’s where it ended. There would be no follow-up “spare.” No matter how nice or agreeable or handsome Zander was, she would not take him into her bed again once her pregnancy was confirmed. And oh, she would rule. Much to the dismay of the Argonauts, and the Council, and most of all, her father.

She had five hundred years before she passed from this life into the next. And once she did, her soul no longer belonged to her, but to Hades. It was way past time she stopped living for everyone else and finally started living for herself.

She opened the blades of the scissors and captured a clump of hair near her temple. Then, without hesitation, she sliced.

Zander paused on the other side of Isadora’s closed bedroom door, took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his brow. He wasn’t sweating. If anything, his skin was cold and clammy, much like Isadora’s had been.

Not important.
He headed out of the anteroom toward the grand marble staircase. Walking in on a very naked Isadora had not been what he’d expected. Or planned. Or,
skata
, wanted. But now that he had, he couldn’t get the memory of her out of his mind. Bare as the day she was born. As perfectly formed as any Argolean male hoped. The female that would very soon be his for the taking. And why the hell that didn’t excite him, he didn’t know.

Before he could stop himself, his thoughts were skipping back, comparing Isadora’s body to the heady fantasy of Cal-lia he’d conjured up in that damn study. Only one got his blood going. Only one shot his body temperature into the out-of-this-world range. Only one made him hard with just a thought.

Shit. He stopped with one hand on the banister. Forced out a breath, drew another one in.

Isadora is not the one.

His heart rate kicked up, but he worked to keep it steady. Told himself, okay, so his body wasn’t reacting the way his mind wanted, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still make this work. There were Argolean aphrodisiacs he could take that would help with his libido. And if those failed, he could always cross into the human realm, knock over a pharmacy and lift some Levitra or Viagra or Cialis. He’d used human drugs before. He knew they’d work in his system. He could use them again for the sake of his marriage and their people.

You never had to use them with your soul mate, dipshit.

“Whatever,” he muttered, picking up his pace again. “It’s just biology, dumbass.”

“Talking to yourself again, old man?”

Zander pulled up short at the base of the stairs on the second floor, one hand on the newel post, as he peered into the shadows.

Near the far wall, Titus stepped out from behind a column he’d obviously been leaning against, waiting. “I always suspected you were a little senile.”

“Hey,” Zander said. Because, yeah, this was awkward too. “What’s up?”

Titus crossed his arms over his broad chest. Stood with his legs shoulder width apart. The stance was defensive, but not aggressive, and Zander was glad. He wasn’t in the mood to get his ass handed to him anymore today.

“Theron told me to wait for you. He got a message from Nick. Daemons hit a village somewhere near the North American colony. Seems there was a mix of half-breeds and humans living there. Nick’s asked for help locating survivors. Theron already sent the others out. He wants you ready to roll.”

Excitement pricked Zander’s skin. Theron was letting him fight? He’d expected to be sidelined from now until
the time Isadora produced an heir. But maybe since they weren’t officially bound yet, Theron was giving him one last job. “Yeah. Sure. I just need to grab some weaponry. Then we can go.”

“One thing first.” Titus stepped in front of Zander, blocking his path to the next set of stairs, and Zander’s back tightened in anticipation of what would come next. Retribution was a bitch, but Zander had it coming.

“What you did before…in the king’s chamber. That was…” Titus lifted his hand, looked at it. Seemed to debate whether he was going to reach out and touch Zander’s shoulder or plow his fist into Zander’s abdomen. Zander stiffened, but then Titus dropped his arm. “That was heroic, Z. I just want you to know all of us…especially Demetrius…we won’t forget this.”

That pride returned, swift and consuming, to smack Zander in the chest all over again. And yeah, he may be fighting his own personal demons where Isadora and Callia were concerned, but this was why he was making the sacrifice. For Titus, who couldn’t touch anyone except in anger; for Demetrius, who was so screwed up no one knew what the hell was wrong with him; for Cerek, who kept his distance from all females. He was doing it for all his guardian brothers who couldn’t make the same sacrifice for a thousand different reasons.

“Demetrius forgets everything. Guarantee by next week he won’t give a shit about the whole thing.”

A smile cracked Titus’s usually somber expression. Or at least, what could be considered a smile for Titus. One corner of his mouth quirked. “Probably. That, or he’ll come up with a reason you did this to screw the rest of us over somehow.”

Zander shook his head. Smiled himself and followed Titus as the other guardian turned and headed for the stairs.

“And just so we’re clear on something else,” Titus said as he walked. “No way in hell I’m gonna start calling you Your Royal Highness just because you’re binding yourself to Isadora. Your Royal Heinie, maybe.”

Zander’s smile widened as they turned the corner and headed for the Undercroft, the room on the lowest level of the castle where the Argonauts stored weaponry and any other gear they might need. This was more like the Titus he knew.

“Or Your Majesty,” Titus went on. “More like Your Major Dumbass. Ooh, wait. Better yet. You know how the Council always addresses the king as His Most Faithful Serene Highness? We’ll call you His Most Fucked-up Sperm-donating Heinie.” Titus seemed pleased with his own joke. “Yeah, that one fits.”

Zander’s smile faded as Titus pushed the heavy door to the Undercroft open with his shoulder. Yeah, that one totally fit, didn’t it? His future had just been summed up in one lame-ass title.

He grabbed a new scabbard and parazonium, draped the strap across his chest and positioned the weapon at his back, then slid into his jacket and pushed all thoughts of the king, Isadora and, especially, Callia out of his head. “Let’s make tracks, Titus. No sense letting Demetrius have all the fun.”

“That’s the best plan I’ve heard all day.” Titus grabbed his own gear and nodded toward the door. “I’m ready to kick some daemon ass.”

So was Zander. In a way Titus or any of the other Argonauts would never understand.

Max jerked awake, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking from head to toe.

The air caught in his lungs, stifling, stagnant. He sat up quickly, staring into the dark as his heart raced and his senses slowly righted themselves.

He was in his attic, on
his
pallet. Moonlight streamed through the high, dirty window on the far wall, illuminating the layer of dust on the barren floorboards until the room looked like it was covered in snow.

Not the training field. He glanced down. There was no blood on his hands. He hadn’t just killed in a rage like he’d seen in his dream.

A dream. Just another useless dream.

He took a deep breath. And another. Closed his eyes and worked to slow his racing pulse. The dream had come, just as it always did. And as always, he had trouble separating it from reality. In this one he’d seen his mother—again—looking for him. Only, when she saw what he’d become, what he’d done, a horrified expression had crossed her delicate features and she’d turned her back and fled.