Elisabeth Naughton - Tempted

“Will you help us?” Gryphon asked.

Orpheus’s eyebrows lifted. “You’re asking, not ordering?”

“Yeah. This time I am.”

Orpheus nodded at Demetrius. “And what about that one?”

“He wants to find her as much as the rest of us do.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Something tells me he has other, contradictory motives where your princess is concerned.”

Demetrius had sensed Orpheus and the princess had some kind of connection in the past. Knew it now by the way Orpheus glared at him. What was she to him? And what was he to her?

The dark mist churned and boiled inside Demetrius as he imagined the two of them alone together. This was her choice? This piece-of-shit, rat-bastard, scheming nothing ?

Orpheus’s eyes slid back to Gryphon. “I’ll take you to the portal where I took the girls. But if she already went through—”

“We know,” Gryphon said. “There’s no telling where she could be by now.”

Orpheus grabbed a cloak from a nearby closet, led them outside, gave them a location in the Aegis Mountains, and disappeared in a flash of light. With no other choice, Demetrius followed. He cleared his mind and imagined the location, then he was flying, flashing from the sidewalk on Corinth Avenue to a wooded area at the base of Mount Parnithia.

Orpheus was already there waiting when Demetrius opened his eyes. Seconds later, Gryphon arrived. They followed Orpheus up a hill toward a small tent city made up of colorful fabrics. Flags flew in the wind, streamers of greens, reds, golds. A large pavilion with three flags marked with sun symbols took up the center area. As Demetrius glanced around, he counted twenty, thirty, maybe fifty witches in this gathering alone.

Fifty witches. The darkness inside condensed even as disgust roiled through him.

Faces turned their way as they moved into the camp. Voices died down and movement stopped. At his side, Demetrius saw Gryphon ease his hand toward the blade he kept strapped to his thigh. Even he didn’t completely trust his brother. Not when he’d led them into the center of a witch’s brew.

Orpheus spoke in Medean to a young female standing near the pavilion’s door. Her eyes grew wide. She nodded and disappeared inside. Seconds later she came back with an older female, this one with long, straight, snow-white hair, a youthful face, and piercing blue eyes. The witch looked only about thirty, but Demetrius sensed she was much, much older.

The witch’s eyes narrowed, passed from one to the next, and swept back to Orpheus. “These are not the Horae.”

“No.”

“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.”