Tempted (4 page)

“They have no need for our services.” She started back into the pavilion, but Orpheus caught her by the arm.

“We’re looking for one I brought through here days ago. The blond. You remember her?”

She studied him closely. “The princess?”

“Yes. Did she pass here in the last day?”

“None crossed the portal as of late.”

“What about the other portals?” Demetrius asked in a low voice.

The witch’s gaze snapped his way and held. Knowledge passed over her eyes. Tension gathered in the air around them and anxiety pricked the edge of Demetrius’s control.

She
knows.
The words reverberated in his head. There was a reason he steered clear of witches. They were too perceptive. And they recognized their kind with ease.

“All requests come through me,” the witch finally said. “If the other portals had been crossed, I would know.”

When she looked back at Orpheus, Demetrius let out the breath he’d been holding. But his relief was short-lived when she added, “Why do you come to me?”

Orpheus held up the bracelet Gryphon had brought with them. “This was found in her room.”

The witch muttered in Medean, but the words were too quiet for Demetrius to make out. Her gaze darted up. “Come.” She gestured with her hand. “Come inside.”

Her urgency set off a tingling in Demetrius’s skin. He followed Orpheus and Gryphon as they ducked beneath the tent flap. The inside of the pavilion was set up as a gathering area, with a circle formed in the center, chairs and rugs scattered around the perimeter. A few females looked up from their conversation on the far side of the circle and went silent.

Magick hung in the air, as did the scents of incense, herbs, and oils. A primitive part of Demetrius reacted to the scents, but he pushed it down as he focused on the witch again. She stopped near the circle, turned, and wrung her hands together. “That bracelet belongs to an apprentice of mine. I made it myself. But I fear she may have given it to her sister.”

“Does this sister have a name?” Orpheus asked.

“The sister…” The witch paused. “She’s just a young girl. She works at the castle during the day. Her name is Saphira.”

Foreboding slid down Demetrius’s spine.

“The princess’s handmaiden is called Saphira,” Gryphon said.

“I know.” The witch swallowed, ran a hand over her brow. “Oh, dear. I think we may have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Demetrius ground out. “What would your witch want with the princess?”

The witch looked back to Orpheus. “Isis has gone missing as well. I thought perhaps she’d gone into Tiyrns to see her sister, but now I fear that’s not the case.”

“Who in Hades is Isis?” Gryphon asked.

“The witch who took Isadora across the portal days ago.” Orpheus focused on the witch. “Where did they take her, Delia?”

Unease passed over Delia’s face. “It’s the eve of the full moon, and the feast of Hecate draws close. This time of year the dark powers will do anything to break free of their bonds. I cast a binding spell on the Horae when you were here with them so others wouldn’t see what they were, but if Isis recognized them—”

“Shit,” Orpheus muttered.

Demetrius didn’t like the direction of the conversation, and that tingle in his skin was now a roaring vibration.

“What?” Gryphon asked. “Man, I am having so much trouble following this conversation.”

“The witch has taken her to Apophis,” Orpheus said from between clenched teeth.

“The warlock?” Gryphon’s eyes grew wide.

“Yeah, dammit.” Orpheus looked back at his brother. “There’s good and evil in this world, little brother, even among witches.” He turned back to the witch. “What do you know about their plans, Delia?”

Delia wrung her hands together. “The word we’re hearing is that Apophis has banded forces with Atalanta.”

Demetrius stiffened and the blackness inside jerked.

“Son of a bitch,” Orpheus muttered. “They’re going to hand her over in exchange for freedom from their prison. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes,” Delia said with a pained expression.

“How?” Gryphon asked. “And what prison?”

Delia looked his way. “Apophis was once an
ándras
like any other male in our region. But two thousand years ago he discovered a way to harness the black arts and used them to fuel his immortality. As his strength in this realm grew, the covens knew the horror he would unleash if he was free to roam Argolea. They united their powers to confine him to Mount Parnithia. Trapped there, he constructed Thrace Castle around him, but he’s been recruiting those from our race to his side for years, and he’s never stopped searching for a way out.”

Demetrius clenched his jaw. That was all they needed. A fucking warlock with godlike powers, set free in their realm to wreak havoc. And now he was working with Atalanta? Holy Hades.

Orpheus looked back at Delia. “Did you know Isis had joined Apophis’s horde?”

“No, I didn’t. But looking back…” She wrung her hands again. “She was acting strangely after you and the Horae went through the portal.”

“Shit,” Orpheus muttered. “How long do we have?”

“Not long. The feast of Hecate is all but upon us. At the full moon’s crest, Apophis and his band of witches will be able to open their own portal and send the princess across undetected. Once she’s there, Atalanta can then open the portal for the rest of them, if she so chooses.”

“We need directions to Thrace Castle,” Gryphon said.

“It’s protected by black magick. You’ll not get close.”

“We’ll get in,” Demetrius growled. “How many man the gates?”

Delia finally looked his way again. “At least fifty. But take heed, Guardian. Those in service to Apophis are not only of our kind. They’ve traded what’s left of their humanity to him in exchange for enhanced powers. And he uses that humanity to strengthen his immortality. Though his followers may look like common witches, they are not.”

She glanced over her shoulder. A witch near the far wall came running. “Selene will take you as far as the outer wall. Her powers can mask you that far, but no farther. From there, it’ll be up to you. We can’t go in with you. Apophis will sense us. But I don’t have to tell you, if he and his minions are set free in the human realm…”

Then
Atalanta
won’t be the only immortal being roaming the world with a major-ass case of pissed-off.

“Understood.” Orpheus looked toward Gryphon again. “You might want to use that fancy medallion of yours and call your guardians. Three against fifty isn’t gonna cut it.”

Gryphon reached for the Argos medallion that hung around his neck and worked like a GPS between the Argonauts. And as he did, Demetrius pictured Isadora behind the dark castle walls with that
thing
, doing who the hell knew what right this very minute. His stomach clenched. The female couldn’t stay out of trouble for five fucking minutes. And just like every other time she’d gotten herself in a bind, the Argonauts were being sent in to save her. He was sick to death of playing royal baby-sitter. At what point was he going to be free of her for good?

Never.

As that blackness simmered and churned inside of him, Demetrius made himself a promise. If she wasn’t dead yet, he just might kill her himself.

Chapter 3

Somewhere close, Isadora heard the crash of waves, felt the gentle push and pull of the water. The sounds were relaxing, the tide freeing. And the tingle in her skin was as intoxicating as the strongest wine in all of Argolea.

Something brushed her calf. Sparks of electricity zinged along her nerve endings. She drew in a breath, relaxed as the touch crept up her leg, over her hip to her abdomen. Warmth gathered there, teased her, pushed up to the undersides of her breasts. A thick heaviness pulled on her body, called to her from a place outside herself. Unfulfilled need puckered her nipples. Her blood warmed, beat in her veins, slid lower inch by inch, until she had to press her thighs together to keep from moaning.

You
like
that, don’t you, Princess?

Excitement leaped in her chest. The voice was male, deep, and sinfully sultry. A hint of darkness hovered along the sexy edges, calling to someplace deep inside her. Her mind struggled to make the connection she knew was on the tip of her memory, but awareness eluded her.

She rolled to her back. Arched. Needed…something more, though she wasn’t sure what. More of his touch. More of those strokes that were making the blood pound in her ears. More of him.

He chuckled low, near her ear. Hot breath fanned the sensitive skin of her neck, sent delicious shivers up and down her spine.
Tell
me, Princess. Are you wet?

This time she did moan. Because his barely there caress, those erotic words, and that wicked voice all condensed until a fire ignited in the center of her core.

Hands pushed between her legs, spread her thighs. Flames licked at her center even before she felt the first contact.

Open
your
eyes, little one. Look up at me. It’s time.

Her body blazed with white-hot desire and scorching flames filled with need. Slowly, she peeled her eyelids open and stared up at the blurry image above. Short dark hair framed a rugged face, onyx eyes, and a strong square jaw, with the slightest dent right in the middle of his chin.

Demetrius.

Alarm rang through her head like a bell being tolled, and yet still her body arched toward his, toward his lustful gaze and that decadent promise of ecstasy hovering in his dark eyes. But it was wrong. He was cruel. And she
had
never
wanted and
should
never
want him like this.

Her mind protested as she tried to move. A groan tore from her chest. She rolled onto her side, sucked air, and tried to break his wicked pull even as her body continued to hum with unfulfilled cravings.

Hands grasped her hips, and she cried out as they easily rolled her back. Warmth gathered in her center all over again. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want him. Why wasn’t her body listening?

“Wake up,
paidi
, it’s time.”

This time the voice wasn’t male and deep and sinfully erotic. This time it was female and clipped. And the hands hovering against her skin were small and cold.

Isadora blinked, shook her head, tried to see through the fog still hanging around her like a shroud. The room came into view. It was circular, made of stone. A chill spread down her spine when the temperature registered. An old iron chandelier hung from the high ceiling, shining light over the stone floor, over her. Over Isis standing at her side, smiling a sinister grin.

Isis. The witch. The scene from earlier raced through Isadora’s mind. She darted a quick look to her left, then her right. This room was not the same one she’d been in before. It looked like a bedroom chamber with high arching windows, a four-poster bed, a chest of drawers, and a large, cold, unused fireplace on the far wall filled with dead embers.

“It’s time,
paidi
,” Isis repeated. “We must ready you for your journey.”

“Wait—”

Hands gripped Isadora’s arms. She resisted, but they pulled her easily from the bed. The sheet fell to the stone floor, revealing her naked body. Desire still thrummed through Isadora’s body, combined with the chill air to tighten her breasts. Embarrassment washed over her, but the two witches with death grips on her arms barely seemed to notice. They dragged her across the room, lifted her as if she weighed nothing, and dropped her into a steaming bath set near the blackened fireplace.

She wanted to escape, needed to run, but the water was warm, the scent of roses soothing. Her body immediately relaxed and the hands pressing down on her shoulders kept her immobile.

Isis sprinkled some sort of oils into the water. She chanted in Medean, then sent Isadora a smug grin. “Atalanta wants you in peak condition when you cross the portal.”

Atalanta. Those alarm bells rang louder. Isadora didn’t have a clue what the hell Atalanta had planned for her, but whatever it was it couldn’t be good. Atalanta had been pissed at the Argoleans for millennia—ever since she’d been denied the rank of Argonaut herself. Until recently, she’d been living in the Underworld, gathering an army of daemons in her never-ending quest to destroy those who’d shunned her. And now that the Argonauts had stolen from her the one thing she needed in her quest for ultimate control, she was even more pissed than ever before.

Isadora’s mind churned and sputtered as the witches cleaned her. She blocked what they were doing and focused on what she knew. She was in some kind of castle. The stone walls and floors, the chill, the darkness, all were things she recognized. And this witch had just settled one of her fears—at least she was still in her own realm.

Panic edged its way into her chest, but she pushed it aside. Focused again. She couldn’t flash through walls, but if she could get clear of this castle, if she could just find her way outside, she could flash home. But first she had to summon enough strength to get the hell out of here.

The witches pulled their hands from the tub, motioned for Isadora to stand. She did, her mind plotting and planning as they dried her with towels. From a hook on the wall, one of the witches reached for a garment, turned back, and held it up against Isadora’s naked flesh.

“Yes, yes,” the other witch said with excitement. “Perfect, yes. Let’s get her into this. Quickly. Quickly.”

The first witch removed the thin black garment from the hanger and lifted it over Isadora’s head. Her arms slid through the long sleeves with apprehension; the hem fell at her bare feet. She looked down with horror as she realized the garment was sheer nearly everywhere, showcasing her skin, her left hip, her belly button, the swell of her breasts. The only places protected by diagonal strips of velvet were her nipples, the juncture of her thighs, and—she glanced over her back—thankfully, her ass.

Dear gods. This wasn’t a gown. It was a negligee. One that didn’t hide nearly enough and showed more than anyone had ever seen.

She couldn’t come up with one logical reason Atalanta would want her dressed like this. That panic clawed its way up her chest, wrapped itself around her throat until she wanted to scream. She glanced up and around, searched for the exit. Behind her, Isis chuckled.

“Relax,
paidi
. The spell is working. You will enjoy this.”

She had no idea what “this” was, but earlier she’d been dreaming about Demetrius. And though nothing about him could be good, anything that had to do with Atalanta was a thousand times worse.

“Bring her,” Isis said, starting for the door.

The witches wrapped their fingers around Isadora’s arms, and something inside Isadora screamed that if she went with them it would be the end for her.

“No. Stop.” She braced her bare feet on the stones, pulled back. “You can’t.”

“We haven’t much time,” the one to her left said.

“No. Please.” Isadora struggled as they pulled her out into the cold dank corridor and dragged her along. “Please!”

But her cries went unanswered. And the arms pulling her were too strong. Tears rolled down her cheeks when she realized she was trapped. For so many years she’d thought her father’s will and his intent to bind her to one of his Argonauts—even Demetrius—would be the worst thing she could imagine in this lifetime. Now she knew the truth. Nothing compared to the horror that waited for her somewhere in this castle.

***

Frigid air blew past Demetrius’s face as he stood with the rest of the guardians hidden in the dark forest to the southeast of Thrace Castle. A thick fog enveloped the stronghold built into the side of the towering mountain. Aside from the great wall that ran around the base of the fortress, the only sections of the castle that could be seen were the cold gray spires above the clouds, illuminated by the moon, nearly at its crest above.

Anticipation thrummed in Demetrius’s blood. Beside him, Theron ran through the layout of the castle one more time with the witch Selene, who’d guided them this far.

“Yes,” Selene said. “Once you get past the outer wall, you’ll have to be careful. The witches on guard will be scanning for anything out of the ordinary. If you can get through the inner wall, the princess will most likely be held in one of the four towers.”

Four towers. Demetrius glanced at the witch, shivering in her puffy black coat, then to the spires he could see rising above the shadows and mist. Eeny, meeny, miny, fucking moe. Just their luck Isadora wouldn’t be in any of them. And just their luck this castle was built for defense. Sheer rock wall on one side, drop to bone-jarring glacial water on the other. There was only one way in and out and that was through the main gate. Which was, no doubt, guarded by at least twenty witches.

“Apophis’s minions have the power to alter perception,” Selene went on. “So be careful. What you see may not be what’s actually real.”

Lovely. They were so screwed it wasn’t even funny.

Theron looked up from his map, swept a glance over each of his guardians. “Zander and I will distract the guards while the rest of you go in. Orpheus has agreed to help us out on this one. Demetrius, Gryphon, and Orpheus take the west side, Phin, Cerek, and Titus, the east. We need to make this short and sweet, boys. Once you find the princess, set off your medallion and the rest of us will clear the road so you can get her out. This is a rescue mission only, not an attack. Are we clear on that?”

Heads nodded in unison.

“And if any of you run into that warlock Apophis—”

“Bend over and kiss your ass good-bye,” Titus muttered.

Theron’s irritated gaze shot in Titus’s direction as he rolled up the map. “I was gonna say, get your ass out of there as fast as you can. You won’t last two minutes against the kind of power he wields.” He looked at the rest of the group, handed Selene the map. “The only advantage we have is that his powers can’t cross the castle walls. Don’t go until you hear our diversion. After that you’re all clear. Any questions?”

Energy vibrated around the group. Eyes darted from face to face. No one said a word.

Theron nodded once. He looked toward Zander standing to his left, dressed in the same fighting gear they all wore. “You ready to go tease some witches?”

A wide smile broke across Zander’s face. “You betcha. Just don’t tell Callia. Wouldn’t want her getting jealous or anything.”

Across the group, Titus huffed.

“Get moving, lover boy.” Theron swept a glance back toward the others. “The rest of you, don’t get dead.”

As Theron and Zander headed off toward the main castle gate, Selene held out her hands to the rest of them and muttered in Medean. Demetrius knew she was casting the last of her invisibility spell so they could reach the castle walls unseen, but a part of him prickled just the same. He avoided magick at all costs, any kind. And this was just one more thing he had to hold against Isadora. When he found the little vixen…

“D,” Gryphon said, “let’s go.”

Looking up, Demetrius realized the others had already left. He followed Orpheus and Gryphon as they made their way to the west side of the castle. The darkness of the forest opened up to brilliance as they reached the edge of the trees, the light of the near-full moon illuminating the area as if it were daylight. This close, Thrace Castle towered above, the stark peak of Mount Parnithia a black shadow, hovering. Gruesome gargoyles glared down from perches along the outer wall. Off in the distance, torches flickered near the castle’s main gates.