Elisabeth Naughton: Entwined

“Stop being such a pussy,” Zander tossed back. He felt like his shoulder might be broken. A rib or two. He’d lost quite a bit of blood, but he could already feel his body trying to heal, dammit. “You can save your own sorry ass anytime you want with that light show you just pulled.”

“That’s it.” Fury flashed in Titus’s eyes just before he yanked free of Demetrius’s hold. “Your ass is mine, you sick fuck.”

Zander’s adrenaline pulsed with the prospect of another fight. And that rage he worked so hard to keep a lid on boiled up to the top. He threw his arms out wide. “Bring it on, asshole.”

Titus moved like a flash of lightning, and he was nearly on top of Zander before Theron got hold of him from behind. “I said enough !”

The leader of the Argonauts threw Titus across the room as if he weighed nothing. Titus’s body hit a column on the far side, cracking stone and plaster with a deafening thwack. Titus slid down the column to land in a heap on the ground.

“Pussy,” Zander mumbled. “Is that the best you can do?”

“You.” Theron turned on Zander. “I should let him pound you into the ground after the stunt you pulled.”

Oh, yeah. Big-mouthed Titus had already spilled the beans. Zander narrowed his eyes. “So let him.”

Theron got right up in Zander’s face, nice and personal. And though Zander didn’t mind unleashing his fury on Titus, his rage had dimmed enough in the last few seconds to remind him egging Theron on right now was a bad idea. A descendent of Heracles, the greatest hero ever, Theron was strong enough to rip Zander from limb to limb and make him feel pain like he’d never experienced. Except once.

“You’d better pull it together right now.” Theron’s voice was so low, his face so close, Zander barely heard him. And Zander knew that was the point. “Find something to live for or leave the Argonauts for good. Because I won’t have you risking one of my guardians again. Are we clear?”

Zander’s chest went cold. Leave the Argonauts? That was not an option. “Yeah, we’re clear.”

Theron’s eyes narrowed. Behind him, the portal popped and sizzled again. Cerek and Phineus came through, snowflakes still stuck to their shoulders and hair, and glanced around with what-the-hell-happened-here? looks on their faces.

“We’d better be,” Theron said. “I’m not kidding this time, Zander. Loyalties only run so deep. I will remove you if I have to.”

Removal from the Argonauts was not a simple process. It involved the king and the Council and an assload of red tape Zander didn’t even want to think about. And doing so was the equivalent of slicing a guardian’s throat, taking away not only his job, but his identity.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Reality hit Zander as he stood there staring at their leader. If he was kicked out of the Argonauts, he’d be banned from crossing the portal and going into the human world. And if that happened, he’d lose the one thing that gave him any pleasure in his godforsaken life.

“You won’t have to.”

Theron sent him one more steely look before turning toward the rest of his Argonauts. “The king has called a meeting.” He looked toward Titus, now standing and dusting rubble from his body. “You have fifteen minutes to get cleaned up and over to the castle.” He glared at Zander. “And that time line is nonnegotiable.” Then he stormed out of the Gatehouse, all 280 pounds of pissed-off Argonaut.

Tense silence filled the air. Finally Demetrius, never one to care about any of the others, stalked out, followed by Cerek, Gryphon and Phineus, until Zander was once again alone with Titus.

And shit. Now that his rage had ebbed and his adrenaline was flagging, Zander knew he needed to break the ice, but he wasn’t sure what to say. Apologizing had never been his strong suit. Even when he’d been a total ass.

Titus crossed the floor, his heavy boots clomping on the stones beneath his feet as he headed for the door without a word.

“Wait up, T.”

“Save it, Zander. I’m not in the mood for your shit right now. I’ve got my own hell to deal with. We all do. But then you never think about that, do you? You only think about yourself.”

Alone, Zander blew out a long breath. The Executive Guards, protectors of the portal, had turned their backs and were doing their best to ignore him. No surprise there. Word would undoubtedly spread to the Council about this little brouhaha, but he didn’t really give a rat’s ass. When it came down to it, the king had the final say in what happened to the Argonauts, not the Council. It had always been that way. Would always be that way.

Still not ready to join the others, Zander stalled in the Gatehouse, a massive marble structure patterned after the Temple of Hermes in Arcadia, Greece, with soaring columns flanking every side. The stagnant portal sat in the center of the room, a looming doorway from one world to the next, edged all in solid stone. His eyes drifted to the words inscribed into the rock, to the ones he’d read a thousand times but had never really seen.

Herein lies the boundary of worlds. Protected on this side, bound only by sacred land on the other. Those who cross do so at their own risk. But be forewarned: passage herein invites the bringer of nightmares, the watcher of madness, the light and dark in constant flux. And always, waiting…the thief at the gate taking stock for the deathless gods.

It always came back to that, didn’t it? To the fucking gods and their immortality. To what Zander had and didn’t want. He never worried about crossing the portal because he knew he’d always come back. But others didn’t. Others like Titus. Every time his kinsmen crossed, they put their lives on the line. And they did so for their race without question.

A heavy weight pressed on his chest. Okay, maybe Theron had a point. Maybe he needed to get a grip and stop being such a downer. So he was old. Who the hell cared? So his life was shit. Nothing new there, right? It didn’t look like death was an option, and bailing from the Argonauts was the last thing he wanted, which meant he needed to find something to live for fast—before Theron made good on his threat and threw him out on his ass, once and for all.

Problem was, he couldn’t see a damn thing worth living for at this point.

Callia glanced around the king’s royal study. Bookshelves lined every wall. The gilded ceiling was at least three stories high. Behind the antique desk, which was empty but for a lamp on the front right corner, a bay of windows looked down to rolling green hills and a lake shimmering far off in the distance.

The room smelled of tobacco and leather, was cozy and warm with a great stone fireplace and a trio of couches ripe for sinking into. Callia knew, because she’d once sunk into one after hours when the castle was asleep. And she hadn’t done it alone. If that little memory wasn’t enough to drop her mood a notch, nothing was.

“Is there anything else you need?” Isadora’s soft voice made Callia turn. The princess stood in the doorway with a strange look on her face, almost as if afraid to cross the floor inlaid with the royal seal.

It’s just routine. You’ve done this a thousand times. Doesn’t matter that this time it’s with an Argonaut. “No, this should be fine.”

“Very well, then. We should get back.” But Isadora didn’t make a move to leave, and there was a flat, almost emotionless look in her eyes that said going back was the last thing she wanted to do too.

Torn between what was none of her business and the regret she knew she’d experience later if she kept quiet, Callia heard herself say, “Tell him no, Isadora.”

Isadora’s brown eyes slowly lifted, and Callia sucked in a breath at what she saw. No, they weren’t flat. They looked dead. As if she’d given up all hope.