Elisabeth Naughton - Enslaved

With shaking hands he unzipped his jacket, was just about to pull the Orb from under his shirt when a growl echoed close.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Slowly, he turned and peered up at the five daemons moving toward him from the shadows.

“He’s an Argonaut,” the one on the right said, drawing in a deep whiff.

“He’s Atalanta’s son,” the one in front said, a sinister smile twisting his gruesome lips. “We’ve been looking for you, boy.”

Max dropped his hand from his shirt. Zipped his coat. Tried to quell his racing pulse. But it didn’t work. Because this increase in tempo wasn’t from fear. It was from excitement. And the promise of retribution yet to come.

This time, he had no intention of running.

“Really?” he said in a voice that was calmer than he expected. “Well, here I am, dog-breath. What are you waiting for?”

Gryphon sat crouched in the trees outside Atalanta’s new stronghold, a stone fortress set deep in the Scandinavian Mountains of Sweden. Scanning the compound, he took stock of the daemons on patrol around the property, the sharp-rising ridge to the west, the river to the east, and the lake not far beyond.

Snow littered the ground, but spring was trying hard to make itself known this late in May, though nothing—not even the sun trying to peek through the trees—could cut the chill in Gryphon’s soul. The darkness inside vibrated with too much intensity this close to its source. And the voice was all but screaming to draw him the rest of the way in.

He ground his teeth, blinked hard, and shook his head to fight off the urge. He’d let the voice and darkness pull him this far, but he needed to think. To regroup. To figure out how he was going to get inside without being caught. Everything hinged on that. On staying focused now more than ever. If only he had Maelea with him…

I didn’t take it. I promise. I didn’t make that deal.

Her words outside the castle spiraled back through his mind. And with it, the conviction in her voice when she’d added, I wouldn’t use you like that .

The way he’d used her?

Skata , he didn’t know what was real and what was a lie. He wanted to believe her, knew he’d jumped to conclusions without giving her any chance to explain, but he’d been duped before. By that warlock who’d sent his soul to Tartarus. By Atalanta, when she’d offered him freedom from his suffering. By Hera, with that damn soul-mate curse. He didn’t want to be the fool again.

This…it’s sudden and crazy, but…for the first time in my life, everything feels right.

Warmth slid through his veins when he remembered the way she’d looked at him, encircled his heart, squeezed until he could barely breathe. Being with her felt right to him too. In a way nothing else had ever felt right, even before the Underworld.

That was real. The way she made him feel, the connection they shared, the emotions he’d heard in her voice when she told him she loved him, the way she’d held him that night in her beach house when he told her about his time in the Underworld…that was all real. No matter what she’d arranged with her mother before their week together, he knew in the bottom of his heart what she’d said outside the castle in Tiyrns was true.

His pulse beat hard as he scanned the compound again. Skata , he was an idiot. So sure she had to be as dark as her mother, he’d ignored what he knew to be true in his heart. And now he’d probably lost her because he’d let that fear control him. Just as he’d let Atalanta control him for far too long.

Urgency pushed at him. He was done living in fear. Done letting others manipulate him. He still had just over three months before his deadline with Krónos. He could come back. He could bring Orpheus and some of the other Argonauts to help him. Demetrius, Zander, even Titus…they’d all relish a go at Atalanta. And thanks to the darkness inside him, he could lead them back to her. He could—maybe—be the key to finally bringing her down once and for all.

Dooouuulas…come to me.

The screaming voice, the darkness…they pulled at the center of his chest, drawing him in, but he knew now he could fight it. Thanks to Maelea and her faith in him, he knew he could fight anything.

He backed away from the compound, into the darkness of the trees, intent on getting far enough away so he could open a portal back to Argolea without drawing attention, but froze when a portal popped open not far from him, and five daemons stepped through.

“Atalanta will be most pleased with our catch,” the one in front said, staring down at something in his hand.

The one on the right chuckled. “Maybe she’ll make all of us archdaemons. Screw that sonofabitch Naberus.”

Gryphon narrowed his eyes to see what they held. The middle daemon in the back of the pack carried something that wiggled and turned as if trying to get away.

“Put me down! I can walk, you morons!”

Gryphon’s blood ran cold when he recognized Max’s voice.

Shit. Shit! Had the kid followed him? How would he even know how to get here?

He scanned the area. The daemons were marching for the front gate of the compound. If Gryphon didn’t do something right now, the kid was toast.

He grasped his blade at his back and stepped out of the trees into the daemons’ line of sight. “Looks like you boys found something that doesn’t belong to you.”

The daemon in front, the one holding something in his gloved hand, drew in a long whiff, then growled, “Argonaut.”

“He’s alone,” another said, sniffing the air, moving up next to the first. “And he’s the one we’ve been looking for.”

The remaining daemons stepped into line with the first two. The fifth hovered at the back of the group with Max in his arms. Max’s eyes grew wide but he didn’t speak. Didn’t even move.

Four—make that five, if the one in the back dropped Max and joined the fight—against one. Not great odds, but Gryphon had faced worse. However, he needed to take these fuckers down quietly and quickly or else they’d have an army of daemons on top of them within seconds.

“Max,” he called, ignoring the growls from the daemons already inching toward him. “Remember how you got away before?”

“Yeah,” Max called back before the daemon could stop him from answering.

“Do it again.”

The daemon in front chuckled. “That boy’s not going anywhere but to Atalanta.”

Gryphon closed his eyes, drew on his forefather Perseus’s power from deep in his core. Energy radiated up from the soles of his feet, through his body, and out his limbs. And when he opened his eyes and fixed them on the daemons in front of him, their gasps of surprise as their muscles stopped working and their bodies stilled was like music to his ears.

A thwack, followed by a grunt, echoed ahead. Gryphon stumbled back a step as his energy waned, then slowly slumped to the ground. He watched through hazy vision as Max scrambled up from the snow where the daemon had dropped him when he stopped midstep, and grasped the beast’s sword. Then he knocked the monster to the ground with his boot and decapitated him.

Minutes later, all that remained were steaming bodies and the kid—looking and acting more like Zander’s son with every passing second—wiping the bloody blade on his pants. He leaned over, picked something up from the ground, then stalked toward Gryphon. “Are you okay?”

Gryphon blinked several times. Tried to get up. Couldn’t. “No…that…drains me. I’ll be…okay. In a while.”

A smile slinked across Max’s face. “That was way cool. I wish I—”