“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.”