Her eyes slid closed and she drew a deep, shuddering breath. A breath he felt all the way in his soul. “Don’t let Zeus have it. Or Hades. Don’t let…any of the gods have it. P-promise.”
“They won’t. I promise.” He flipped his hand over and squeezed her bloody fingers. Rain ran down his face. Why wasn’t the Orb working? And where the fuck was Demetrius? “Stupid, stupid Siren.” Tears lodged in his throat. “What were you thinking, stepping in front of that scythe? I don’t need you protecting me, damn it. I need you alive. I need—”
“Was thinking…of…you…” Her voice grew weak. “You were…meant for something…greater. Be greater, Orpheus.”
Her hand softened against his.
No, gods, no. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her into his lap, pressed one hand against the wound. Her head lolled against his arm. The Orb pressed between them, covered in her blood and his tears. “Skyla? Stay with me. Stay with me, damn it.”
Please, Dimiourgos. Don’t take her from me. Don’t…
He looked up again, searching through watery vision for Demetrius, the pain in his chest so sharp he could barely breathe.
A figure moved toward him. A figure that looked like Demetrius at a dead run. Screaming…his name.
“I—” she started.
“Shh…” Hope leaped in his chest. He pressed his lips against the wet hair plastered to her forehead. “Help is coming. Just hold on a little longer, okay, baby? Don’t let go.”
“Never…did.” Her hand slid down his chest to clasp his again. And through his tears he looked at their bloody fingers, entwined over her heart. Over his heart. And he knew in that moment that was exactly what she was. What she’d always been: his heart. Only he’d been so consumed with anger and jealousy and vengeance, he hadn’t seen it. Not the first time. Not the second. Not until now, when it was too late.
“Never forgot…you,” she whispered. “Not…once.”
Demetrius skidded to a stop at his side. “Skata. O?”
Her breathing slowed, and even before Demetrius dropped to his knees to help him, alarm raced through Orpheus’s body. He grasped her chin with his bloody hand, tipped her face up. “Skyla?”
She didn’t move.
“No.” He gripped both sides of her face, willed her to open her eyes. “Skyla? Dammit, Skyla?”
“O,” Demetrius said, “let me…”
Demetrius took her from his arms, laid her out on the ground, and leaned over to listen for her breath, then felt for her pulse. His body went still, then his gaze roamed over the gaping wound in her chest. And before he could stop it, every muscle in Orpheus’s body went rigid with disbelief.
“No!” He knocked Demetrius back and away from her. Demetrius hit the ground on his ass. Orpheus leaned over Skyla and grasped both of her shoulders. “Wake up, damn it! It’s not time for you to go! Do you hear me? It’s not time…”
Hands landed on his shoulders, pulling him back. Around him he saw boots—heavy, rugged ones worn by the Argonauts and platform kick-ass, knee-high ones worn by Sirens. Silence descended, seemed so out of place all of a sudden. No more battle sounds. No more roaring monsters. Just the empty, gut-wrenching silence that told him it was already too late.
He thought he’d known pain before. He was wrong. Two thousand years of torture in the Underworld hadn’t prepared him for the agony that ripped through his heart and soul.
He watched through blurry vision as Sappheire dropped to one knee next to Skyla, her face drawn and somber as she ran her hand over Skyla’s brow, muttering in a language Orpheus didn’t understand.
Skyla’s lifeless body jerked. And for a second, hope resurged. Then she dissolved into nothing right before his eyes. The Orb landed with a soft thud against the wet ground.
“What the fuck did you do?” Orpheus cried.
Sappheire pushed to stand. “I sent her home.” She turned to Theron. “We need to talk.”
Home.
Thoughts, plans, options raced through Orpheus’s mind as the Sirens and Argonauts came to some understanding. An understanding Orpheus couldn’t care less about. There was only one chance now. One bargain left to make. He eyed the Orb on the ground and, before he could change his mind, picked it up.
“Orpheus?”
Voices echoed around him. But he ignored them. Instead he closed his eyes and pictured what once had been Skyla’s home.
And prayed he wasn’t too late.
Chapter 27
“Let me get this straight,” the King of the Gods said, turning from the window where he’d been gazing out at Olympus. “You want to make a deal. The Siren’s life for the Orb.”
“And the air element.” Orpheus stood rigid in the center of Zeus’s temple, legs apart, arms at his sides, gaze fixed on Zeus while his heart pounded hard against his chest. A heart he now knew he did have. Because of Skyla.