Enslaved (42 page)

There. On the far side of the compound. She was looking for him. She was…

He took off running in that direction, his only thought to get to her before Atalanta did. At his back, Max yelled, “Gryphon? Wait!”

His boots crunched on snow and downed limbs. When he reached a small brook, he ran right through the ankle-deep, freezing water, only barely registering the cold liquid seeping into his boots. Urgency pushed at every side of him. Whatever commotion was happening at the main gate couldn’t be good. He had to get to Maelea. He had to find her…

Blood pounded in his ears. His heart thumped hard against his ribs. He threaded through a cluster of trees only to skid to a stop at the opening of a small meadow.

Atalanta appeared not more than ten feet in front of him, her blood-red robe brushing the ground, her jet-black hair waving in the wind at her back as he remembered from the Underworld. A wicked smile turned her lips as her onyx eyes focused on his. And being this close to her, that darkness resurged deep inside his soul. “
Doulas.
I felt you close. I knew you’d come to me, eventually.”

Footsteps pounded at Gryphon’s back. And too late he remembered Max had been chasing after him.

Atalanta’s gaze shot past him to the trees, then narrowed and held as Max skidded to a stop too. “Maximus,” she whispered.

Her gaze shot back to Gryphon, and her smile widened. This one a malevolent, victorious grin that curled his insides, even as the darkness inside twisted and urged him to give in. “I knew I could count on you,
doulas
.”

“Run,” Gryphon whispered to Max as he stepped in front of the boy and lifted his blade, fighting her pull with every bit of strength he had left inside. “You can’t have him,” he said to Atalanta. Then, “Max, run!”

Atalanta chuckled. “You can’t fight me,
doulas
. I’m your master.” She extended her hand, and an invisible force arced out, ripping the blade from Gryphon’s hand. The metal flew through the air, over her head, to land on the frozen ground at her back. Then she moved forward with all the empty, dead hatred he remembered from his time with her in Tartarus and extended both arms toward him. The darkness inside him surged to life, forcing his feet forward, forcing him toward her, even though he tried to stop it. “Come to me. Come to your destiny.”

It was taking him. The darkness overwhelmed Gryphon. Panic surged again. Atalanta was going to win. And thanks to him she was going to wind up with not only him but with the Orb and with Max, a descendent of the Horae, whom she needed to wield the Orb’s powers.

No, no, no.
He fought, struggled, tried to see through the darkening haze, but knew he was slipping. Even with the Orb’s power, the Underworld darkness was too strong. Her lure too great. And because of his weakness, because Maelea had come here trying to save him, he’d led her to her death too.

She had to get away. She had to survive. Why the hell hadn’t he taught her to fight like she’d wanted at the beach hou—

“Gryphon!”

The haze cleared, and the pull inside dimmed. He looked past Atalanta, toward a body rushing close. Toward Maelea at a dead run. And behind her, Theron, Zander, Orpheus, Titus, and Skyla.

Atalanta whipped around, and growled as she extended her hands toward Maelea.

Everything inside Gryphon lurched in fear. “No!”

Chapter Twenty-three

Maelea’s heart jumped into her throat when she saw Atalanta with Gryphon. She’d tried to stay still and hide in the trees, as the Argonauts had told her to, while half of them, along with Nick, had attacked the front gate. But as soon as she felt Gryphon’s darkness rushing toward her, she hadn’t been able to stop her feet.

“Maelea, stop!”

She didn’t know which Argonaut had called out to her. All she could focus on was the goddess whipping her way, narrowing dead eyes, zeroing in right on her.

“You,” Atalanta growled as Maelea skidded to a stop. “You kept him from me. You and that disgusting light. Your light will be no more.”

Atalanta lifted her hands, and Maelea braced herself for the fury, but before power arced from the goddess’s fingertips, Gryphon hurled his body at her back, taking her down like a linebacker. She screamed. Energy arced out of her fingers and shot toward the sky. They both landed with a grunt on the hard earth, rolled across the ground. Gryphon reared back and smacked his head into hers. She hollered in pain. In her disorientation, he looked around, spotted his blade on the ground yards away. Climbed off her and moved for it.

A roar erupted from Atalanta. And when she looked up, rage flashed in her eyes. She scrambled to her knees, pulled her hand back. “You will pay for that,
doulas
!”

No!
Fear gripped Maelea’s chest. He’d never reach the weapon in time. It was closer to her than it was to him. She lurched for it on the ground in front of her, and before she realized what was happening, the ground shook. Power—energy—vibrated from her into the earth. An electrical current shot across the clearing, then erupted in a bolt of lightning that speared up from the dirt and charged through Atalanta.

The demigod’s entire body shook. Her eyes rolled back. Smoke erupted from her ears and singed her hair as she landed against the frozen ground.

At Maelea’s side, Orpheus grasped her arm, pulled her to a stop before she could reach the weapon, and muttered, “Holy shit.”

Stunned, Maelea stared across the field. Gryphon whipped around. Shouts echoed at her back. Footsteps pounded the earth. But all Maelea could focus on was what she’d done—the power that had come from her—and on the goddess whose eyes weren’t black anymore, but blood red as she narrowed them on Gryphon and pushed to her feet, seven feet of seething fury.

“Now you will pay,
doulas
,” she growled.

“Don’t touch him.” From the trees behind Gryphon, a boy stepped out of the darkness, lifted his hands, and sent a steady stream of energy from his fingertips. A stream that hit Atalanta in the chest and knocked her off her feet again.

She screamed, hit the ground, rolled, and pushed herself up. Dark, singed hair stuck out all over her head. This time she fixed her rage on the boy. On the boy and Gryphon, who’d scooted over and put himself between her and the child. “Not a mortal wound,
yios
. Now, you will both pay!”

“Max!” someone at Maelea’s back screamed.

The ground rumbled again. Power surged within Maelea. She jerked out of Orpheus’s hold. Ignored his cry for her to stop. Swept the blade into her hand from the ground. The weapon was heavy, but instinct guided her now. Instinct and a need to get to Gryphon before it was too late.

Atalanta climbed to her knees. Growled. Lifted her arms.

Gryphon’s eyes grew wide. He pushed up from the ground, stepped fully in front of the boy.

Electricity rushed from Maelea through the ground before Atalanta could hit him with her powers, speared up right beneath Atalanta’s feet. A bolt of lightning pummeled her body from the ground up. Flames ignited on her skin and a scream like a thousand harpies howling echoed through the clearing.

She dropped to her knees. A dazed look passed over her face. Her gaze skipped from Gryphon to Max, then drifted out across the field, past the Argonauts, and seemed to focus on something far off in the distance. “My love,” she whispered. “I tried…for you.”

Adrenaline surging, Maelea ran up behind the goddess, and just as Gryphon had told her to do in that motel room, she swung out with the blade held tight in both hands.

Metal met flesh and bone. And a thump echoed when Atalanta’s severed head hit the ground, followed seconds later by her smoking, burning body.

Footsteps pounded across the ground. Chest heaving, Maelea dropped the blade and stared at what she’d done. The meadow, the snow, the Argonauts…everything seemed to fade away. She stumbled back a step, but strong arms closed around her before her legs gave out. Strong, warm, familiar arms.

“Hold on to me,
sotiria
,” Gryphon whispered. “Don’t let go.”

She gripped his arms, but her gaze drifted past him, toward the tree line Atalanta had been staring at when she’d dropped to her knees. Toward the lone daemon wearing a trench coat, watching from the shadows. And though she couldn’t be sure, Maelea thought… No, that couldn’t be right. Did he just
nod
at her? Like he approved of what she’d done?

She blinked, sure she had to be imagining things, but when she opened her eyes the daemon was already turning for the forest. Disappearing into the darkness of the trees as if he’d never been there.

Sound returned slowly. The heat of Gryphon’s body seeped into hers, warmed her from the outside in, drawing her back to what was most important. Gripping his arms, she looked up into dazzling, Caribbean blue eyes she only wanted to stare into forever. “I didn’t take it,” she whispered. “I didn’t take the Orb.”

“I know. Shh.” He tugged her close and buried his face in her hair. “I know.”

She closed her eyes and held on tight, feeling the strong steady beat of his heart against her own, letting his heat chase away the chill inside her.

“I should have trusted you. I should have…” His arms tightened around her back. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He swallowed. Then whispered, “It’s gone. The voice, the darkness. It’s all gone because of you.”

It was gone. She couldn’t feel even an ounce of the Underworld inside him anymore. But even as he held her, fear crept in.

Would he want her, now that he didn’t need her light?

She opened her eyes and looked over Gryphon’s shoulder toward Zander, who was crouched on his knees, hugging Max across the clearing in much the same way Gryphon was hugging her, tears in his eyes as he checked to make sure the boy was okay. Then to Theron, Titus, Orpheus, and Skyla, who were all staring down at Atalanta’s smoking body with wide and surprised eyes.

Orpheus looked toward Skyla and smirked. “Now that’s what I call a mortal wound.” Then toward Maelea. “Way to go, Ghoul Girl.”

From the front of the compound, roars erupted, then faded to nothing. The dark energy that had permeated the compound—this whole area—dissipated until only light, blessed peace remained.

Maelea pushed back and looked up. Gryphon’s blue eyes sparkled, and as he stared down at her, one corner of his lips curled in a smile that shot heat straight to her belly. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

She waited for more. Waited for him to tell her he still loved her. Fought back the panic rushing through her veins. Looking down at his chest, she caught sight of the circular outline of something disk-shaped beneath the fabric of his shirt.

The Orb of Krónos. He had the Orb. He really didn’t need her anymore. None from his world did. They had what they’d been seeking.

A burst of light erupted behind her before she could figure out what to say. Gryphon shoved her behind him. She blinked at the burn in her retinas, held up a hand to block the glare. Slowly, the light dimmed until what faced them wasn’t man or creature or monster. It was a god. The King of the Gods. Her father.

A collective curse rumbled from the group.

Stunned, Maelea stepped out from behind Gryphon, shrugged off his hand when he tried to stop her. Three thousand years she’d waited for this moment. To look upon her father with her own eyes. He wasn’t gray and aged, as she’d envisioned over the long years of her life. He was youthful and strong with short, dark hair and a lean body covered in…very human-looking jeans, a T-shirt, and a light jacket.

His eyes softened when they landed on her. And a smile—a real smile—spread across his lips. “My child, this has been a long time coming.”

Light radiating from him drew on something in the center of her chest. She took a step toward him.

“Maelea,” Gryphon said warily at her back.

She stopped in front of her father, still unable to believe any of this was real.

Zeus’s smile widened. “You’ve finally earned your place on Olympus. You found the strength to call upon your gift. And you killed what my brother Hades created with his darkness.” He held out his hand. “Come, child. It’s far past time. Come and secure your place with the gods.”

She looked down at his hand. Everything she’d ever wanted was only inches from her. All she had to do was reach out and take it.

Slowly, she turned to look behind her. At the Argonauts standing with their feet apart, arms at their sides, bodies ready for whatever battle Zeus might throw their way. To Sklya at Orpheus’s side with her hand at her lower back, reaching, Maelea already knew, for her dagger. At Atalanta’s smoldering body at their feet. And finally to Gryphon, at the front of the group, staring at her with wide, light blue, mesmerizing eyes.

I
would
give
up
anything
for
you.

Her heart contracted. And the road home, a home that had nothing to do with Olympus, spread out in front of her like a winding trail of gleaming gold.