“Because there’s something darker and fouler down there than just kobaloi. Something even Hades won’t mess with.”
The pain in his side forgotten, Titus shifted his gaze from the ore to Nick when he read the leader of the half-breed’s thoughts. “Typhaon. Shit. Are you telling us the most deadly creature in all of ancient Greece is down there?”
Nick nodded. “Yeah. The ore lets him take on a smoldering fire-demon form. And as he’s found something the gods all want—”
“He’s not about to let it go,” Theron finished for him. Of course all of the gods would like to get their hands on a substance that could make them invisible, but Typhaon wasn’t just any monster. Even Hades feared the legendary beast that had been trapped underground by Zeus thousands of years ago. “Skata. How the hell do you get more if and when you need it?”
Nick perched his hands on his hips, stared at the glowing ore. In the orange glow the cuts on his scarred face from his run-in with Gryphon looked deeper and angrier than before. “Very carefully.”
It was clear the half-breed wasn’t going to elaborate. And in the silence, Theron’s We need to get Gryphon the hell out of there NOW thought slammed into Titus.
“I’m going in,” Theron announced.
“No, you’re not,” Nick said quickly. “We’re not giving Hades any reason to look twice at this location.”
“Gryphon and Maelea—”
“Are dead by now,” Nick said bluntly. “If they even made it out of that river, and I seriously doubt they did. Trust me. If the freezing cold didn’t get them, the kobaloi certainly did. And on the off chance they somehow survived all that, if they ran into Typhaon…”
Then they’re nothing but dust now, Zander thought.
“The tunnel’s getting sealed, Theron,” Nick said. “I want to kick Gryphon’s ass because of what he did, but this decision isn’t a personal one. I won’t risk my people to kobaloi, Typhaon, or Hades just so you can save one rogue warrior. It’s well past time you accepted facts and let the guardian go.”
***
The cover of darkness made it easy to hide in the shadows.
Crouched behind a rusted Ford pickup that had seen better days, Gryphon scanned the building to his right and waited.
The town was small, just one main street and a couple of shops. They’d waited until late, until the measly handful of stores had already closed for the day. Beside him, Maelea breathed slowly, and her pulse raced beneath the skin of her wrist, which he hadn’t dared let go of since they stopped on that cliff. The female was pissed, but he didn’t care. He was thinking clearer than before and he knew it had something to do with her. Whatever she was, however she was linked to the gods, he wasn’t above using her to get to his ultimate goal.
Even now, Atalanta’s draw was strong. Her voice was a dim vibration in the back of his head—tolerable when he was near Maelea—but inside there was always that desire to find her. A desire he would eventually use to his advantage.
A man exited the small A-frame building on the end of town Gryphon had scouted out earlier, locked the door behind him, then headed for his car across the parking lot, tossing his keys in the air and catching them again as he whistled. Gryphon shifted on the asphalt to look around the other side of the pickup, watched as the man climbed in his SUV and closed the door, then started the ignition and backed out of the lot.
“What now?” Maelea asked.
The parking lot light above was burned out, draping the area in darkness. Without answering, he tugged Maelea toward the door, continuing to stay close to the building so no one could see them.
He already knew the store didn’t have a security system, but that didn’t mean a night guard wouldn’t be driving by sometime tonight.
He used his elbow to break the glass on the door. It shattered and sprayed across the floor inside. Reaching in, he unlocked the dead bolt, then pushed the door open and dragged Maelea in after him.
Glass crunched under their boots. The shop was dark. Tables were laid out with clothing and supplies. Coats hung on one wall, boots were lined up against another. To the right, a long counter ran the length of the room, and behind it, another glass case was filled with weapons.
He went there first, tugging Maelea along with him. Grabbing a military-grade flashlight from a table, he smashed in the glass, then opened the cabinet door and stared at the knives and daggers.
“What is this place?” Maelea asked.
“Army surplus store.” He chose three knives, each with a different blade, knew it had been too much to hope for guns—those would have come in handy if Nick and his men found them. He turned and looked at the cash register.
It was old style, with push buttons and a locked drawer, not new and high-tech electronic. Using the tip of a knife, he fiddled with the lock, jimmied the drawer open. No money sat inside. The owner had obviously emptied the drawer before closing up shop.