“What kind of deal?”
He nodded toward Gryphon. “I’ll gift your doulas there with what you ask and give you six months to find the Orb and all the elements so you can free me from Tartarus. If you don’t, I’ll drag that sonofabitch back here and I’ll program that darkness inside him to drag your ass back as well. And that girl you saw in here earlier?” He leaned close. “If you don’t get me the fuck out of here, you’ll be her.”
Atalanta’s face blanched. “Six months isn’t long enough to—”
“Tantalus, come in here,” Krónos called.
A male dressed all in white with scars running down both cheeks emerged from the door to the right. “Yes, my king?”
“Bring me my glass.”
The male disappeared, then reemerged with a flat object covered with a velvet cloth. He handed the object to Krónos, bowed, and retreated through the door.
Atalanta watched with wide eyes as Krónos removed the cloth and tossed it on the desk behind him. “You have a looking glass?”
“All the better to see you with, my dear.” He waved his hand over the glass. “Show me my heart’s desire.”
Atalanta looked down at the glass and gasped. Her gaze shot toward Gryphon, then back to the glass again. “How…? I thought—”
“I had a feeling our warlock was one and the same.” He set the glass on the table behind him. “Six months. You can either take the deal, or we can strap you to the wall now.”
She shot a look at the shackles and chains mounted behind him. And for a minute, Gryphon’s chest warmed at the idea of Atalanta bound to that wall. Then the warmth dimmed, because he knew if she was strapped up there, he would be too.
Take the deal, take the deal, take the deal…
He didn’t know what the deal really was, but something inside told him it was infinitely better than letting Krónos have his way with them.
Atalanta held her hand out to the Elder God. “I accept.”
Krónos’s lips curled in a malicious grin. He closed his hand around Atalanta’s and dragged her close, trapping her between his legs. As she sucked in a surprised breath, he looked over her shoulder to where Gryphon stood, hoping—praying—to be sent from the room.
“Tell your slave to get his ass over here,” Krónos said in a low voice, his soulless eyes fixed on Gryphon. “We’re going to have a little fun, just the three of us, to seal the deal before I tether you together.”
Chapter 17
Orpheus didn’t dare move.
His heart beat like wildfire against his ribs as Skyla lay draped over him, her face pressed into his shoulder, her warm breath fanning his neck while she worked to slow her pulse.
Somehow they’d made it to the floor. One of them—he wasn’t sure who—had had the good sense to throw cushions down so they weren’t sprawled on the hardwood. But another round of mind-blowing sex and his third—fourth?—screaming orgasm weren’t what kept him still. No, what kept him from moving a single muscle were the images flickering through his mind like some old-time movie set on fast-forward, with Skyla’s face as the constant. The ones that had started just as he’d climaxed the last time and were still flashing for his eyes only in both black-and-white and color like a collage set to silence.
Her, smiling. Dressed in a white gown, her hair piled in braids on the top of her head. Standing on a balcony with a blue-green sea behind her. Wearing her Siren fighting gear. In a courtyard, talking with people he didn’t recognize dressed in what looked like sheets. With the other Sirens in a field of green. Lying naked on a bed of blue silk. Looking sated and sexy and completely worn-out.
Holy skata. He was seriously losing it. Like certifiable, strap-me-in-a-padded-cell, fast-track-to-the-loony-bin losing it. He shut his eyes, gave his head a swift shake, opened them again. The images were still there, though if anything playing faster now.
Skyla drew in a deep breath, let it out slowly, relaxed everywhere against him. “I hope that was enough follow-through for you, because I’m officially beat. I think you broke me.”
He’d have laughed if he wasn’t already freaking the hell out. And shit, she was making herself comfortable, which meant she wanted to snuggle. When all he wanted to do was beat feet for the door and get away from her. Panic clawed its way up his chest, but he worked to keep from hyperventilating so she wouldn’t know he was wigging out. “Good to know.”
She chuckled, burrowed in deeper. Gods, she had to feel his racing pulse. She probably thought he was still jacked up from the sex, which he was, but shit…what the hell was with the images? Now she was naked, swimming in the ocean? Okay, this twisted fantasy shit had to end here.