“Say what?” Morgan blinked up at him. Kincade had suggested the same thing, but she thought he said it in jest, hope and wishful thinking on his part.
“He chose you. Twice. From the way you withstood the near-incendiary heat from the dragon without turning crispy, he’s obviously bonded with you on a deeper level, sharing with you his ability to withstand fire. His duty is now to protect you.” Shade glanced around the destroyed room and shook his head. “The way you get into trouble, I doubt he has any intention of ever leaving you.”
It was the last thing she expected him to say, and Morgan’s mind went blank at the news. She always assumed binding a familiar was nothing more than slavery, but the connection she felt with the phoenix felt more like a partnership.
“The sigil is gone.” Kincade knelt on the other side of her and touched the unblemished skin of her shoulder. “Your body must have finally processed and expelled the trapped magic. You’re free.”
A very naughty, malicious idea occurred to her, and she pushed herself upright, ignoring the way her limbs shook slightly. “What do you say we return and give Katar a little surprise?”
His smile started slowly, the corner of his eyes crinkling with delight, and he offered her his hand as he stood. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard you say since we’ve first arrived in this god-ridden place.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Morgan stood before the gate once again, more than ready to leave Tartarus, Loki chittering his agreement from his perch on her shoulder. The guys were once more in their human forms. Though battered, they were standing and alive. Kincade and Draven had minor scratches, Ryder had more than a few cracked ribs, while Ascher was a bit banged up, though relatively unharmed.
Atlas was the most changed, his evolution into a dark elf unabated. Out of the sun, his skin had once more taken on a pale lavender tint, his hair containing more silver. Even his emerald green eyes had changed, containing slivers of dark burnt umber.
He gently turned her arm, his magic a gentle caress against her skin, healing the deep gouges from the dragon to manageable scratches that no longer oozed blood. He watched her intently, waiting for her to freak out about being so close to him.
When the magic faded, she grabbed his hands and squeezed. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” The worry in his eyes cleared slightly, and he bowed slightly to her, seemingly stunned at her acceptance.
Eventually he would learn that he was one of them, even if she had to beat it into him.
She turned back toward the gate, not wanting to linger a moment longer.
She wasn’t sure they would survive another fight.
“Why aren’t you able to open the portal?” She directed her question at Shade, wondering why he’d waited for her arrival to make his escape, when he had any number of gods who could’ve helped him leave much earlier and saved himself so much grief.
“I don’t have the power to control the gate. I’ve searched our databases for anyone born with the right gifts, but I’ve never run across anyone with the right bloodline.” He stared at her intently, almost deferential, so different from their meeting in the office a few hours ago.
“What do you mean?” His answer, combined with his spooked look, raised the hair on the back of her neck. “You think some of the gods escaped imprisonment in Tartarus?”
“Don’t you? While you don’t have access to your full magic, you’re incredibly powerful. You have the ability to control metal, not to mention you carry the key to the worlds around your neck like a trinket.” His eyes dropped betrayingly to the necklace tucked under her shirt. “You’re certainly more than a lowly demigod.”
Morgan was flabbergasted, her brain overloaded by his supposition. Worse, she couldn’t deny it. She was a descendant of the Titans on her mother’s side. No one ever spoke a word about her father’s identity.
But the guys’ reactions—or rather, lack of them—astonished her the most.
None of them seemed a bit surprised.
Morgan whirled away from them and the conversation, not ready to deal with the implications, more than ready to go home.
She brought the mask back up to her face, the metal expanding once more, the liquid metal forming around her eyes and temple. To her relief, the gate sparked to life, the two circles began to spin in opposite directions, the sigils glowing and waiting for her directions. She quickly dialed the gate home.
When the portal opened, a bright light blasted through the room. Disorientation struck her harder than last time, and she felt herself free-falling, only to slam hard onto the ground. Her knees buckled, and she found herself on her hands and knees on a familiar stone floor.
When Morgan lifted her head, the world appeared as if only a few seconds had passed. She quickly tore off her mask, the metal spinning and twisting, reshaping until it looked like a snake was coiled around the necklace, slithering down the chain.
A warning.
Everyone moved in slow motion, and she could actually see time speed up. She heard thudding behind her and saw the guys, including Shade, tumble out of the gate. Before she could turn, the sharp edge of a blade touched her neck.
“Get up.” Not waiting for her to comply, Katar grabbed her arm and hauled her none too gently to her feet. Madness blazed in his eyes as he stared at her greedily. “Where is my magic?”
“There.” Morgan pointed toward the gate, careful not to move as blood began to trickle down her neck.
Katar dragged her forward, waving the guys back, until only the two of them stood on the platform. “I want my magic.”
“Of course.” Morgan waved the guys away when they looked ready to charge up the stairs to her rescue. “We just need to touch the gate to transfer the power.”
His girlish, high-pitched giggle sent a shiver down her spine. He grabbed her hand and slammed it against the stone, never once moving the blade from her throat, then touched the gate almost reverently.
The instant he took his eyes off her, Morgan grabbed the arm with the blade, nearly gagging when her fingers sank into the slimy, spongy rotten flesh, then leaned forward, flinging him over her shoulder. Instead of slamming into the wall, he passed right through the gate and disappeared.
The ancient magic powering the gate vanished, becoming a solid wall once more. When she turned, Ward ripped the collar off his neck and advanced on the guards. They immediately turned tail and ran back into the cavern of horrors.
“Morgan—”
“He wanted magic, I gave him magic,” she protested before Kincade could take her to task.
“You sent him to Tartarus.” Draven grinned at her sense of justice. “I can’t wait for him to meet Athena.”
“You should’ve killed him,” Kincade groused, clearly frustrated at not being able to vent his anger. “No one can come back from the dead.”
Glad to have escaped hell, literally, she sighed and gazed with pleasure at her men.
Ryder took the stairs two at a time, then tipped his head to the side to inspect the wound on her neck. He gently brushed his thumb against her pulse where the blade had rested, and she couldn’t help leaning into his solid frame. The man was sinfully attractive, but up close he was downright gorgeous, the blond highlights giving him a dangerous edge that was irresistibly attractive. Giving into temptation, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed the edge of his jaw. “I’m okay, big guy.”
Ryder stilled, his whisky brown eyes darkening as he stared down at her. Then he snapped, crushing his mouth to hers, bending her over backwards with his hunger. He growled low in his throat, taking what he wanted, as if he feared he would be pulled away and never get another chance.