Every muscle in Max’s body coiled tight, ready for a fight. He let go of Ana, stepped back, and paced the length of the round room, working like hell to keep from giving into the rage boiling up inside.
He’d heard all the stories about Zagreus and the sick things the bastard was into. If he hurt Talisa… “I have to go after her now. I can’t wait.”
“You can’t. Not on your own. Even with your gifts you’re no match for Zagreus. He’s a god.”
Max knew that. But if he could get close enough, he could use Zagreus’s powers against him.
“You’ll never get close to him,” Ana said in the darkness. “He has too many sentries. He’s trained the silens to fight for him.”
Max paused and glanced her way, realizing she’d read his mind. “How do you know—?”
“What you’re thinking? Because I know you.”
She did, he realized. Because she’d felt their soul mate connection, too.
Max’s mind spun. If he couldn’t go after Zagreus on his own, he’d need help. He’d have to get the Argonauts.
Shuffling sounded, then Ana’s fingertips grazed his arm, and her heat and sultry scent of jasmine surrounded him, making him lightheaded all over again. “You don’t need them.”
He stared down at her in the dark. “Who?”
“The Argonauts. You’re not really one of them. If you were, they would have been here already. They would have rescued you from the satyrs by now. They probably think you led Talisa to Zagreus.”
Something hard gathered in his chest. Something cold and familiar. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true. You were raised in the Underworld. Zagreus is from the Underworld. You know they’ve never truly trusted you. It’s why you’re not already a full-fledged Argonaut. Why you’re still in training. They know you’re more powerful than all of them combined. They’re afraid of you. They’re afraid of what you will become. That’s why they’ve kept you on the fringe of their group. Close enough to control, but not close enough to truly belong.”
Her words reeked of truth. He’d been busting his ass for the Argonauts for over twenty years. By his age, most had already been inducted into the Order, but they kept brushing him off. It didn’t matter how hard he worked or how many times he proved himself. Their answer was always the same—your time will come. Even his father, the one person who was supposed to be his champion, kept putting Max off.
They were afraid of him, he realized. They were all terrified of what he could do.
Ana’s other hand brushed his arm, her heat sinking deep into his flesh. “You don’t need them. There’s an army waiting at your fingertips.”
His eyes narrowed. “What army?”
“The satyrs. Upstairs. They’re nothing more than stupid fools. All you have to do is lead them. That’s why they’re here. They’ve been trying to lure Zagreus back to lead them, but he’s moved on. They could be yours though, Max.”
She pressed her naked body against his, and in the dark, his blood pumped hot as her breasts grazed his chest and the softness of her hips brushed his own. His head grew light all over again as if she had some kind of magickal power over him.
“With the satyrs,” she whispered, “you could overthrow Zagreus and take Ehrendia for yourself. You could be king. And I could be your queen.” She pushed to her toes and nipped at his jaw. “And together we could rule however we want. Without having to answer to anyone ever again—the Argonauts included.”
Her voice was like a drug, overwhelming his senses. One he couldn’t ignore. Lowering his mouth, he kissed her hard, his body hot and aching to feel her consume him again. And as he lowered her to the ground and she drew him into her heat once more, he thought…
Yes.
She was right.
He was strong. He was powerful. He could lead his own army. He could become king.
He could do it all without those miserable Argonauts who’d lied and cheated and cast him aside for way too long. He could do it all with her.
Because she was his soul mate. His destiny. The only person in the world who mattered now.
Chapter Thirteen
Metal clanging.
No, not just any metal. Blades. Muffled blades, striking against each other. Somewhere close.
He shouldn’t be able to hear them. He shouldn’t be able to hear anything.
The unmistakable hiss and whir and clash of swords continued to echo nearby, but Zagreus heard something else now, too.
Laughter. Feminine laughter. Just as muffled.
He struggled to make sense of the sounds. As he did, he slowly realized he was lying on something soft. Heavy blankets pressed down on his body. A pillow was tucked behind his head.
Except… That couldn’t be right, either. He’d made his choice. There was no afterlife for him.
That sweet feminine laughter rang out again. That sweet familiar feminine laughter. Followed by a male’s surprised voice. Then a thud. And a grunt.
He managed to pry his eyes open. Darkness surrounded him, but he had a giant what the fuck? moment when he recognized the outline of the gothic, four-poster bed, the ginormous stone fireplace against the far wall, the velvet furnishings, dark red walls, cathedral ceiling, and the iron chandelier hanging from the peak of the room.
His bedchamber.
In Ehrendia.
Only… That wasn’t possi—
His gaze shot down his body. He pushed the blanket to his hips, blinking at the wounds that were no longer open and oozing on his torso as he remembered. Wounds that were now nothing but thin red lines that would likely disappear by tomorrow.
He should be dead. Completely gone. His hand moved to his abdomen, and he ran his palm over a wound he remembered opening all the way to his ribs.
Disjointed memories—or were they hallucinations?—echoed in his head. He’d put the amulet around Talisa’s neck before the satyrs had attacked. He’d freed her. She’d returned to her realm.
But other images pushed in. Her, wielding two blades. Spinning in the moonlight. Striking out. Slashing through satyr after satyr like a seasoned warrior. Battling her way closer.
Then her silky dark hair falling around his face. Her, tugging a white cotton garment over her head. And her lush lips pressing against his, her tongue claiming his mouth, her taste overwhelming every one of his senses.
Tingles rushed outward from the marking on his hip, causing his skin to warm. Those images had to be part of a dream. Delirium. They couldn’t be real. There was no reason she would ever kiss him.
She didn’t even like him.
But as the thought circled, he had another vision. Of her drawing back from his lips. Staring down with wanton violet eyes. And this time he heard the faintest whisper—in her voice—say, “It’ll never be too late, dios. Not for you and me.”
His heart—a heart that shouldn’t still be beating—kicked up in his chest.
The muffled sound of weapons clanging echoed close again. Twisting his head, he realized they were coming from the courtyard beneath his window.
He rolled, dropped his legs over the side of the bed, and pushed up to sitting. Then groaned.
Motherfucker. He was definitely still healing because that hurt like a bitch. Drawing several deep breaths so he wouldn’t pass out, he glanced down and realized he was naked.