“Either.”
She kept pace with him as he ran through the woods, dodging trees, trying to avoid twisting an ankle, focusing on putting as much space between them and that cave as they could. Judging from the sunlight shining through the canopy, he guessed it was midafternoon. The air was warm, the scents of pine and moss strong. Out here in the late-spring air, their clothes dried quickly, and before long he grew damp not from the water of that underground river, but from sweat.
He didn’t slow until the trees thinned and opened near the edge of a cliff that looked down over a valley of green. A small river wound through the valley, sparkled in the sunlight, ran through what looked to be a human settlement. The sun had now dropped and was heading for the mountains on the far side.
Maelea huffed and leaned forward, bracing her hands against her knees as she worked to suck back air. Black hair fell over her shoulders, shielded her face from his view, but her features were branded into his brain—those dark eyes, that pale skin, the plump, pink lips he now knew were meant for kissing and a whole lot more. With the danger passed, memories of those lips, of that kiss that had rocked his world, rushed to the forefront of his mind. Followed by a dark desire that seemed to strengthen every second he was near her, pulling him toward her like a magnet.
Who the hell was she?
“Do you think…?” She swallowed, turned to look behind them, drew in another gulp of air. “Do you think we lost them?”
“I don’t think they followed us. I don’t think they see well in sunlight.”
He slid the sword into its scabbard at his back, perched his hands on his hips, studied her as she nodded and regulated her breathing. Tried not to be impressed but failed. She’d held her own back there. She hadn’t had a weapon, but she’d fought against the kobaloi just the same. And she’d saved his ass on the way out. If she hadn’t been pulling him, he’d have slipped back down when that beast bit into his leg. He’d likely be lunch right now.
He looked down at his leg, for the first time taking stock of the damage. His pants were ripped at the calf and five large puncture wounds in the shape of a half circle oozed blood. Pain immediately registered in his leg, but he ground his teeth and ignored it. He’d heal, he didn’t doubt that. Argonauts healed faster than most. His gaze strayed to his arms, and the ancient Greek text that ran across his skin, marking him as a guardian of his race. Disgust rolled through him. Not that he was an Argonaut anymore—or deserved to be. Not after the things he’d done.
Forcing back the memories that threatened to creep in and consume him, he looked out over the valley and realized night was coming fast. They needed to find shelter before that happened. Needed to rest and regroup. And he needed to figure out how he was going to find Atalanta, now that he was free.
“Where do you think we are?”
Her soft voice brought his head around again. Her sleeve was ripped at the shoulder, and her clothes were dirty, but he didn’t see blood anywhere, which was a good thing. Since he’d decided to keep her with him, he didn’t need anything slowing them down.
“No idea.” He scanned the valley again, didn’t recognize it. “A ways from the colony, that’s for sure.”
Thank the Fates for that little blessing. He had no doubt Nick and his men would be looking for them. But if they ventured into those tunnels, the kobaloi would slow them down. It wasn’t as if anyone in the colony wanted Gryphon to stick around. With any luck, Nick and Orpheus and the others would just give up searching for them altogether.
Orpheus.
Thoughts of his brother spiraled in. Of the sacrifice Orpheus had made going into the Underworld to rescue him. Of the sacrifice Orpheus had been willing to make to leave the colony with him after the mess yesterday. Gryphon’s chest pinched tight as he pictured Orpheus and Skyla together, and he rubbed a hand over the spot, wondering what the hell was causing the pain. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but Gryphon had been dead inside so long, he couldn’t imagine it was an emotion. He didn’t have emotions anymore. Likely it was nothing more than a muscle spasm from running. Like before.
Maelea pushed up to her full height, and the movement dragged at his attention, pulled his mind away from Orpheus and back to her. In the sunlight she looked taller than she had in the tunnels.
She wasn’t Misos. He couldn’t sense even a drop of hero blood running through her veins. What had she been doing at the colony these last few months? Residents of the colony could come and go as they pleased—they weren’t prisoners, not like him. So long as they took measures to make sure they weren’t followed, they were free to do as they pleased. But she’d clearly been escaping. What was the female hiding? Or what had she been hiding from?