“Very well, but if you harm any of them while I’m gone, my first order of business will be to take you apart piece by piece. Very slowly. Understood?”
“Yes, yes. Continue.” Katar seemed unimpressed by her promise, but the guards at his back exchanged uneasy glances, finally beginning to understand that maybe they’d backed the wrong person.
No matter what happened, Katar wasn’t going to make it out of the temple alive.
Loki tripped as he ran up the steps toward her side, and she scooped him up in her arms, pressing her lips to the top of his head. “Watch over them for me, will you? They need you.”
As if he understood her, the pup’s chest puffed out and he turned to look at the men. With one last kiss, she opened her arms and gave him a little boost in the air.
And he coasted…or, more accurately, crashed into Kincade, clawing and scratching his way up the gargoyle’s arm to perch on his shoulder.
Morgan swept her gaze over her team, trying to stifle her nerves. Kincade had his arms crossed, as if struggling not to go to her. Smoke rose from Ascher as his emotions got the better of him, while Ryder was struggling to keep his human form. Atlas stood at attention, staring straight at her, his emerald eyes dark with emotions he wanted to deny ever feeling. Draven gave her a go-get-’em nod, but his customary devil-may-care smile was missing.
And for the first time in her life, Morgan realized she was falling in love. As in the I would do anything for you bullshit she heard on the radio that she always thought was bunk.
They were counting on her to return.
She couldn’t let them down.
Blowing out a heavy breath, Morgan turned and faced the gates of Tartarus on her own. Everything rested on selecting the correct series of sigils to open the seal or, she feared, a new plague would be set free to decimate the realm.
The necklace warmed, the metal thickened, twisted and stretched…forming a shape of an old masquerade mask. The metal looked almost liquid, the design so fluid, she half expected to see movement. The mask would secure under her eyes and fan out, following the contours of her face and swirl up past her temples. It was exquisite and very delicate.
She carefully lifted the mask to her face, the delicate chain keeping it looped around her neck, while she kept her back angled so Katar wouldn’t see what she was doing.
As soon as she peered through the mask, she realized it was an ocular.
Magic swirled and danced in the air, the symbols on the gates began to glow and change.
It was asking for a destination.
Tartarus.
The circles began to spin in opposite directions, the sigils beginning to glow in a sequence. She pressed the stones in the order they glowed, surprised when the sigils depressed under her fingers. It was like an old-world GPS.
When the last small image was pressed, the sigil at the center glowed, and a bright light blasted through the room as the portal wrenched open. A wave of disorientation nearly knocked her off her feet, and her stomach pitched into her throat. She lifted an arm to shield her eyes, blinking against the light.
And found herself in a whole new world.
The ocular shrank, slipping from her fingers, and she shoved it down her shirt, not wanting to bring attention to it.
She expected to find herself in a dark, dank prison—a post-apocalyptic landscape, barren land, possibly overrun by renegades and murderers.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Magic saturated the air in Tartarus to the point she could almost reach out and touch it. The place appeared eerily similar to earth—if magic and science lived side by side. Skyscrapers sat on either sides of the streets. A steady stream of traffic ran both ways on the busy roads.
That’s where the similarities ended.
The sky had a purple tinge, a dome reflecting the images of the world back at her, and she realized what she was seeing was actually the seal separating the different realms.
A splash of light sparked behind her, and Morgan whirled. “What are you doing here?”
She was stunned to see the guys had somehow been transported with her. Ryder was bent over, his hands on his knees as he struggled not to vomit. Draven looked a little green around the gills, his normal cheeky grin barely a twist of his lips.
Ascher and Atlas were a little unsteady on their feet, but weathered the new influx of magic with the least amount of difficulty. Kincade was breathing hard, his eyes wild, only calming when he spotted her. She wanted to hug them, then smack them for following her. She searched behind them, but there was no sign of the portal.
They were stuck.
Trapped because of her.
“My guess?” Atlas asked. “No one knows how the portal works.”
“You think I accidently pulled everyone through with me.” She cursed herself, because he might be right. She had been thinking about them when the portal unlocked.
He raised a brow at her. “Don’t you?”
“Katar said no one who’s infected would be able to use the portal.” He wasn’t the type of man who skimped on his research—as she knew from firsthand experience.
Atlas tightened his mouth and looked away. “The infection has already burned out. It was intended to trigger the mutation. The damage has already been done.”
“But if we stop the fog, we stop the infection.” She had to believe that, but his devastated expression spoke for him.
She turned away and swallowed hard, her training kicking in when she saw how much attention they were attracting. Everything around them was pristine—no grime, no litter, no smog, and the people were dressed immaculately. She and the men stood out with their rumpled, torn, and stained hunter’s outfits.
But that was the least of their problems. In this place, they stood out from the crowd for an entirely different reason—here, no one was bound to their human forms. It made her realize how much they were forced to hide their true selves just to survive on earth. As the different breeds of mythological creatures passed them on the sidewalk, they stared boldly at them, walking around them in a wide arc, as if they were street rats that had crawled up from the sewers.
“We need to get off the street.” Kincade grabbed her arm and hustled her down the sidewalk, the rest of the group falling into step behind them. Every one of them looked deadly, exactly like the assassins they were, and the others on the street took notice.
A minotaur dressed in a suit cast them a disdainful look, then snorted out a huff of air. Not two steps later, a gorgon strolled past in high-heeled boots and a little black dress that left little to the imagination, including a twelve-inch hunting knife strapped to her thigh. The snakes haloing her head hissed and snapped at Morgan, and the guys deftly avoided looking directly into the creature’s eyes.
The gorgon spun, walking backwards a few steps, eyeing up the guys with a hungry smile, her fingers trailing suggestively along her blade when her gaze settled on Atlas, and she licked her lips, revealing tiny fangs that could do some real damage. With a wink, she spun back around and sauntered away.
Morgan looked at Atlas and raised a brow.
“Elves live for a long time. They are known for picking up certain…skills. Most of the dark elves were forced into Tartarus decades ago, only a few escaping the expulsion. Very few light elves were volunteered to enter Tartarus.”
Even walking down the sidewalk, they were drawing too much attention.
Time to bail.
Just as she opened her mouth to speak, she spotted a dozen men in sunglasses and black uniforms coming her way. A patch on their shoulders revealed a crescent moon, which could mean any number of gods.
Her luck would ensure she would attract the oldest and most dangerous of the primordial gods…Nyx, the first goddess, and the mother of the gods.
When the soldiers came to a stop, her men closed ranks around her. “If you’ll come with us, Your Grace.”
It wasn’t a request.
Up close, the men were even more imposing.