Orpheus’s shoulders tightened but he didn’t look away from Isadora. “Who else do we know who might know how to get to the Underworld?”
“No one,” Isadora answered, not sure she wanted to be stuck in the middle of this. “I mean, I’ve heard rumors of the Bermuda Triangle, but—”
“Good luck finding that,” Skyla muttered. “How long are you willing to search, daemon? It could take days, weeks, months even. Think he’s got months left in him?”
She was talking about Gryphon, and from the fury in Orpheus’s eyes it was clear he didn’t like her bullying her way in. Skyla didn’t look the least intimidated by him, though. The tension in the room kicked the temperature up a good three degrees.
“You’re not going,” Orpheus said. “You’ll slow me down. I don’t have time to hop a plane.”
“You don’t have to. Unlike Maelea or your Argonauts, Sirens can flash on earth, just like you. Though I’m definitely jealous of the flashing-through-walls thing.” She grinned. “Get used to the fact I’m going with you, daemon. It’s called follow-through. You taught me all about follow-through.”
“Motherfucking sonofabitch,” Orpheus muttered as he headed for the door.
Skyla shot Isadora another grin and then followed.
As boots echoed across the gleaming hardwood, Demetrius reached for Isadora’s hand. “Kardia—”
“Don’t worry.” She squeezed his fingers, loving that he reached for her even though the others were technically still in the room. Maybe there was hope he would slowly come around after all. Maybe it was a sign he was giving up this fool’s idea she’d be better off with his brother. “I’ll have Casey and Theron take me home with them. Go. Just whatever you do, be careful.”
“I will.” He lowered his head, pressed a swift, warm, gone-way-too-fast kiss to her lips. His hand grazed her belly and warmth shot up from the spot, spread through her ribs and chest and encircled her heart. “Take care of my daughter.”
“Son,” she countered, grinning like a fool because it was the first time he’d called their baby anything but “it.”
“Let’s hope not.” He kissed her again, then pulled back. And in his dark, mesmerizing eyes, heat pooled. A heat that would have to sustain her at least a little while longer. “We’ll finish this when I get back.”
“You bet that cute ass of yours we will, Argonaut.”
He cast her a devilishly handsome smile as he followed the others out of the room.
Alone, Isadora wrapped her arms around her waist and sighed. She hated lying to him, but if he knew she had no plans to go back to Argolea right now he’d never leave. And for his own mental well-being, he needed to be with Orpheus and help save Gryphon.
When their footfalls turned to silence, she blew out another breath, closed her eyes and focused, drawing on the internal power of the Horae, the ancient goddesses of balance and wisdom. The winged omega marking on her inner thigh heated and vibrated, and she knew the markings each of her sisters shared were vibrating as well. As the ancient power flowed through her, she triggered that internal communication system she and her two sisters had been perfecting over the last few months.
Demetrius might want her to go home, and Orpheus might not want her help, but neither was getting what he wanted right now. This was bigger than both of them. This was bigger than them all.
***
The mountain air was thick and muggy, the result of a warm front that had moved through the area. As Skyla stood in the shadow of a large palm tree, she glanced toward Orpheus, deep in conversation with Demetrius ten feet away.
He’d barely said two words to her since they’d flashed to Corinth. And though a part of her was a little peeved over that fact—especially considering what they’d done to each other only hours ago—Skyla couldn’t help but be impressed. Orpheus knew how to blend in with human society. He barely seemed fazed by cities or technology or unknown terrains. And that, she supposed, was how he’d survived so long, hiding in the shadows, crossing back and forth between worlds, tormenting the gods whenever the opportunity arose.
A small part of her liked that about him. Liked that he didn’t give a shit what people—or gods—thought of him. And this new infatuation had nothing to do with the fact he was sexy as all get-out in those jeans that hugged his ass and that tight black button-down that accentuated his muscles. Or that he had a hard look about him, one that screamed badass to the core. What intrigued her were the inconsistencies in this image he worked so hard to portray. The moments of gentleness he’d never cop to. The concern he hid from those around him. The worry she knew he felt for his brother but wouldn’t discuss.