He still couldn’t pick up any signals from her, and he wasn’t sure how to read her strange question. But he could already feel the heat from her hand washing over his flesh, and for reasons he didn’t understand, he wanted her to touch him. Ached for it in a way he’d never ached for another’s touch. Ever. “I guess.”
Her palm and fingertips grazed the markings on his skin. Warmth and electricity immediately zinged up his arm and into his chest.
His gaze shot to hers. The lantern she’d lit was already dimming, but in her light blue eyes he saw sparks of excitement. Of heat. Of a hunger that couldn’t be sated by bread and water.
The same hunger suddenly consuming him.
She moved her hand up his arm, to his biceps, then across his shoulder where her palm finally stilled against his chest. His stomach tightened as she drew close. Closer than she’d been only moments ago. So close she straddled his lap and the warmth of her breath tickled his lips.
“What is your name?” she whispered as the light continued to fade.
“M-Maximus.” He lifted his hand and covered hers against his chest, no longer caring about food. Wanting only to taste her. Her skin was as soft as velvet, and her sexy jasmine scent—dear gods, it was making him high. “My name is Maximus.”
“Maximus.” Her gaze held his, hypnotizing him with the clear blue of her eyes. “That means greatest. Tell me, Maximus, are you the greatest?”
For her, he suddenly wanted to be. “I-I don’t know.”
“Tell you what.” A seductive smile curled her lips, and her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Since we’re trapped down here together for the time being, why don’t we find out?”
The lantern went out, dousing the room in darkness once more. But Max didn’t care. Because her lips were suddenly on his, her kiss giving him strength, giving him life, giving him a reason to fight. Telling him with one taste that being captured by these satyrs, being thrown in this cell had not been a matter of chance.
It was fate. His fate.
And she was the key to everything.
Chapter Eleven
Talisa didn’t remember bathing or dressing. She did both in record time. She didn’t even look at her reflection as she tugged the loose cotton nightgown over her head and finger-combed her damp hair.
Flames crackled in the giant fireplace when she stepped into the bedroom, casting everything in an eerie orange light, especially Zagreus, lying still in the center of the massive bed. The blankets were pulled up to his waist, his shirt missing, his injuries covered with damp white cloths that left the whole room smelling of lavender.
Rustling sounded. Talisa glanced to her left and spotted Rhen standing quietly in the shadows. He caught her eye, nodded slightly, then slipped into the hallway and closed the heavy wood door softly behind him.
Alone with Zagreus, she looked back at the bed and drew a deep breath, then slowly stepped toward the mattress.
His eyes were closed, his head tipped her way on the pillow, his thick dark hair in stark contrast to the crisp white sheets. Her gaze skipped over the bandage on the left side of his forehead, to the long red scratch marring his cheek, down the small nicks and cuts on his throat, then across the bandages covering most of his torso and arms. The bandages tinged pink and covering wounds she knew were worse than the ones she could see.
She swallowed hard, watching his chest to make sure it was still rising and falling. Relief pulsed through her when she caught the slight movement. Not deep breaths, but enough to tell her he was still with her.
Still with her…
Those words echoed in her head as she carefully sat on the mattress beside him.
Was he with her? He shouldn’t be. None of this should even be possible. She knew this was her chance to run. That the nymphs could take care of him. Yet, no matter how many times she told herself to leave, she just… couldn’t.
Her hand trembled as she gently lifted it from the sheet and covered his, lying still on the mattress at his side. His skin was rougher than hers. A full shade darker. But warm where they touched, and she held on to that one small thing because it was real.
“I… I don’t know what’s happening here,” she said softly, staring down at her hand over his. “I don’t know why you did that back there with those satyrs or why you’re not fighting to get better right now, but…”
She lifted her gaze to his face, his features not tense as she’d seen them before, but relaxed, his skin smooth. In sleep, the lines disappeared from around his eyes and mouth, making him look younger than before. Handsome instead of intimidating. More angelic than devilish.
Her heart skipped. “There are a lot of people in this castle—in this kingdom—depending on you, Zagreus. They need you to fight. And”—she tightened her fingers around his and swallowed again because the words felt foreign on her tongue but also right, in a bizarre sort of way she didn’t want to analyze just yet—“and so do I. I’m not going to be the reason you die. Not when I know you did that to save me. Not when I…” Her throat grew thick again. “Not when I still don’t understand any of this.”
He didn’t open his eyes. Didn’t speak. Didn’t even move a single muscle to tell her he’d heard her words.
“You owe me an explanation.” Her eyes grew hot all over again, and she blinked several times, fighting to hold back the hitch in her voice. “About what I’m doing here and why I feel this way.” She squeezed his hand. “About why you called me mono mia. Just open your eyes and talk to me. Please.”
Still, he didn’t move. The only sign he was alive the shallow movements of his chest as he breathed.
“It seems some things don’t change,” a voice said softly at Talisa’s back. “Our Ziggy was never one for conversation.”
Shocked because she hadn’t heard a door open, Talisa whipped around and blinked at the female standing behind her.
No, not standing, floating. In a diaphanous white robe that fell past her feet and dangled above the hardwood.
Talisa tightened her hold on Zagreus’s hand, a new sense of fear rushing through her.
The female was tiny, even hovering a foot above the floor, with long white hair that fell past her shoulders and wrinkled skin that showed her age. Her nose was small, her lips the slightest shade of pink, but her eyes… They were laser focused and so light blue, they almost glowed.
“Do you know who I am, paidí?”
“I… Y-yes.” Talisa’s heart raced, and her mouth was so dry, she could barely form words. “You’re a Fate.”
Please don’t be Atropos…
The Fate smiled. “Your father obviously prepared you.”
“N-not my father. My mother.”
The Fate chuckled. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised by that. Your father is not my biggest fan.”
Her smile faded as she floated closer to the bed. Her eerie gaze skipped over Zagreus, hovering on the slow movement of his chest. “It won’t be long now, I’m afraid.”
“You didn’t come here to take him?”
“No. The choice is his. It always was.”
Talisa stared at the Fate as she continued to hold Zagreus’s hand, a new feeling welling inside her. One she recognized as anger. “So, what…? You’re here to gloat?”