His unease at what she had planned, the fear of the next round of humiliation she decided to unleash, exploded in his belly.
“Now you’d best get ready.” She sent him a wicked smile. “I want you dressed appropriately for this meeting. It’s quite important to our future. Wear the leather I got you.”
She slid her hand down his naked chest, around to his back, then lower to pat his ass through the loose cotton pants he wore. The only thing he wore. “Do not disappoint me, doulas.”
She disappeared out the arched doorway without another word, her heels echoing on the marble stairs as she left.
In the silence, Gryphon turned back to the depraved view of Sin City as sickness rolled in his stomach.
Fight back. Run. Leave.
He wanted to, but where would he go? Like it or not, he was stuck here. With Atalanta. His only hope at this point was that she’d continue to be satisfied with the degrading and humiliating things she made him do. If she wasn’t…
Bile pushed up into his chest. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if she wasn’t. Because for him, no matter what she plotted next, there was no escape.
Chapter 12
Kalispell, Montana, was the closest city to the accident. Rescue personnel loaded survivors into helicopters and airlifted them away from the wreckage. It took several hours, but by morning Orpheus eventually found himself in a town he didn’t recognize, with two females who were both shooting daggers his way anytime he caught their gazes.
Maelea, he got. The female hated him with a passion. She wasn’t happy about being with him—anywhere—and even though he and Skyla had succeeded in killing those hounds, Maelea didn’t seem reassured he could keep her safe. And her constant distrust as to where he was taking her grated on his last nerve.
And then there was the Siren. He glanced out the window of the car-rental office to the lot beyond, where Skyla and Maelea waited. The Siren had been hot as fire when he’d kissed her after dragging her from the wreckage of that avalanche. Then cool as ice since they’d killed the hounds. He couldn’t follow her mood swings. Didn’t know what the hell he’d done to piss her off this time. All he knew was he still wanted her. Common sense told him to be rid of her, but something in his chest said he wasn’t done with her yet.
“Focus, dumbass,” he muttered, turning back to sign the paperwork for the car.
The sales clerk looked up with a perturbed expression. “Excuse me?”
Great. Caught talking to himself. Fucking fabulous.
Since he frequented the human realm whenever the hell he wanted, he kept cash reserves here. Was familiar with how things worked. Even had a number of false identities, so he could skate through society when he needed. Pulling them off usually wasn’t a big deal. Unless he wasn’t paying attention. Like now.
He tried for a smile that came out more as a sneer. “Nothing. Is that it?”
The clerk folded the papers, slipped them in an envelope. “Yes. They’re bringing the car around now.”
“Perfect.”
Orpheus pushed the glass door open and crossed the frigid parking lot toward the females. The morning sun beat down on the piles of snow still littering the pavement, but as the temperature was near freezing, it did shit to warm anything up. Maelea still wore the coat they’d bought for her in Everett, had her arms folded across her stomach, her gaze directed to the pavement. Skyla, dressed in those stripper Siren boots, fitted black pants, and a jacket that all but swallowed her whole, stood at Maelea’s side, gnawing on the inside of her lip and glaring in his direction.
Such love. From both of them. They were obviously more than thankful he’d saved their lives. Why the hell hadn’t he just let them both die? There had to be an easier way to find that rat bastard Apophis. He didn’t need this grief.
He was all but ready to announce that when Skyla glanced from him to Maelea and back again. The look in her eyes was not one of anger or hatred, but jealousy.
The ground tilted beneath his feet. He felt the parking lot shift and twirl. And then he was standing in a room, large columns rising to a ceiling he couldn’t see, gold and marble and richly colored drapes and rugs filling the space. A woman was next to him, sitting in a chair, looking at a book. Her long red hair was pulled up on the sides and clipped at her crown, while the rest of the heavy mass fell down her back. She laughed, looked up, and smiled.
Pretty. She was pretty with that red hair and those shimmering green eyes. But he didn’t recognize her.
He leaned over her, pointed to something in the book. The woman placed her hand on his forearm and laughed again.