“Whatever happens to him now is his choice, not yours. You have to let him make it. Just as we have to let you make yours.”
The Fate’s words echoed in her head as she watched him. She didn’t know if she was destined for something great as the Fate wanted her to believe or if her life was all just bullshit in some grand immortal fuckstorm. And she didn’t know if she could trust what the Fate had said about Zagreus.
He was still Hades’s son. His satyr army was responsible for killing hundreds of her people. She couldn’t just overlook that.
And yet…
If he was that malicious, that wicked, wouldn’t he still be commanding those satyrs? Wouldn’t he have imprisoned the nymphs and silens in this kingdom?
Her mind searched for an answer—for an explanation as to why he would be fooling everyone now—but came up empty. All she could think about were the Argonauts back home who’d lived through horrific things. First, Ari, who’d become so unhinged after his soul mate was murdered, he’d gone on a fifty-year killing spree that had resulted in his banishment from the Argonauts. Then, Gryphon, who’d been so fucked up after being trapped in the Underworld for three months, he still struggled.
Both Ari’s and Gryphon’s suffering had been short in comparison to Zagreus’s. If either of them had been tortured and punished as long or as often as he had, would they have been able to survive? Would they have had the strength to return to the mortal realm and do the right thing? Or would they care only about themselves—about power and revenge and hate?
Would any of the Argonauts? Would she?
Her heart beat hard and fast as she stared at Zagreus. And out of nowhere, Nysa’s voice, when she’d told Talisa there was nothing she could do to help him, echoed in her head.
“Maybe the darkness is too strong in him now. Maybe he sensed you were too different. Or maybe, when you ran, he realized that this is his chance to break the cycle. To let you finally live and for him to be the one to die.”
“No,” she whispered as she moved around the bed and carefully sat next to him. “No, I don’t believe that.” With a hand that shook more than she liked, she brushed the dark hair back from his forehead, amazed at how soft the locks felt against her skin.
The marking on her hip tingled and warmed.
“I don’t believe the darkness is too strong.” Her fingertips skimmed the bandage on his forehead. “I don’t know how I know that, I just… I just do.” She let her fingers slip down his temple and carefully graze the scrape across his cheek. “And I don’t care what everyone back home thinks or even what that Fate said. You’re not a lost cause, and I’m not going to let you make this choice because of me.”
She leaned close to his face and brushed her knuckles over the soft stubble on his square jaw. “Do you hear me, dios? Don’t give up on me, because I’m not giving up on you.”
That nickname—dios—fell from her lips before she even realized she’d said it. It was an old word, meant from the light, and she’d never used it for anyone before. Yet for reasons she couldn’t rationalize just yet, it fit. And the warmth spreading outward from the center of her chest, the rightness of it, told her she’d called him that a very long time ago.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t move. And fear—a fear she still didn’t completely understand—tightened her throat.
As the fire burned low, causing the room to grow darker, she stretched out on her side next to him on the bed and continued to skim her fingertips over his face, his throat, his shoulders—any part of him that wasn’t covered with bandages. And as she rested her head on the pillow next to his and watched him, she breathed in the scent of lavender and prayed.
She prayed she really was as strong as everyone said. And that somehow—in some way—that strength would be enough to save them both.
Chapter Twelve
He was dreaming.
A gentle voice somewhere close hummed the notes of a song Zagreus recognized but couldn’t quite make out. Against his skin, a whisper-soft caress traveled the length of his arm, across his shoulder, up his throat and over his jaw and cheek.
No, he wasn’t dreaming. He never dreamt. Barely even slept these days. This trippy hallucination had to be the last of his brainwaves fizzling out. A flickering fantasy. Delirium as he ceased to exist.
Still…
That delicate brush against his flesh felt pretty damn good. And the voice… That female voice was almost a purr, lulling him into a state of relaxation he hadn’t felt in… Hell, hundreds of years.
Slowly, he became aware of the unique scents of cinnamon, vanilla, and orange blossom. Also familiar, but new. And he realized something else. There was warmth in that gentle touch. A spreading heat that lit up his skin wherever it moved.
The tantalizing touch stilled in his hair. The humming quieted. A rustling sounded, almost like fabric brushing. “Dios?”
Dios…
He knew that nickname. Knew it well. And was certain now his brainwaves were fading because the last time he’d heard it had been way longer than five hundred years. It had been thousands of years ago. Before he’d fucked up the very first time.
A dark fog closed in around him. Filled with shadows and mist he’d been fighting his whole damn life. Immortality wasn’t a blessing as the gods all thought. It was a curse. And he was tired of bearing it.
“Dios?”
Pressure grazed his cheek again. Then his neck, his arm—but it wasn’t soft this time. It was insistent, jostling his body. And it too was fading.
“Skata. Don’t do this to me. Not now.”
Something pushed against his left hip, then his right. Heat slid along his entire body as more pressure sank against one shoulder, then the other.
He didn’t know what was happening. Was on the verge of no longer caring. Then that pressure moved to his forehead, drawing his attention to that spot. To the warm breath washing over his nose, his lips, his chin. Followed by that whisper-soft brush against his jaw once more.
“You said my being here wasn’t a coincidence,” the voice whispered. The sweet, familiar voice. “It was destiny. You said I found you, not the other way around. I… I didn’t believe you before, but I do now. You were right. I was looking for you. I’ve been looking for you for a very long time, I just didn’t know it.”
That tantalizing touch grazed his jaw, and something warm and wet slid down his cheek.
“You’re not what everyone thinks you are. You’re not a monster. Do you hear me, dios?” A gentle touch grazed the corner of his mouth. “I’m not letting you give up. Stay.” Tingles rushed across his lips. “Stay right here. With me.”
Those tingles turned to a pressure he couldn’t ignore, and he opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t form words. Then he didn’t care because there was suddenly heat. And wetness. And life. All sliding between his lips and into his mouth. Infusing him with strength. With vitality. With a power that wrestled through the shadows until he sensed the flickering light.
She—the dream, fantasy, delusion—was kissing him, her tongue moving slowly against his at first, then with more vigor. And holy hell, the taste of her…