His expression shifted to it’s your funeral, but he dropped the key in her palm and motioned for the other satyrs to follow.
When they were gone, Cynna drew one steadying breath. Nick’s eyes were closed, his body limp against the bare mattress, his marked forearms near his face, his knees tucked up to his waist. He looked as if he were sleeping, but she knew it was delirium from the fever racking his body, not rest.
She shouldn’t be in this cell. She shouldn’t even be in this realm. What she’d done… There was no redemption for what she’d done. But she was here now, and for the first time in ages, she was determined to do the right thing. Even if tomorrow fate forced her back to doing wrong.
The nymph at her side shifted her feet, and any hope Cynna had of wallowing in her own misery slid to the wayside. She zeroed in on the wound on Nick’s leg. “Rhene, close the door. I’m going to need your help.”
Rhene’s shoulders dropped, but she shuffled toward the door as instructed. Seconds later, an ominous clank echoed through the room.
“Now,” Cynna said, “hand me a knife.”
Nick opened his eyes and looked up at the rock ceiling above.
Torchlight flickered off the stones, illuminating the space, which was strange because usually he was left in darkness unless he was being put through one of his torture sessions.
He shifted, tried to move his arms, but realized they were cuffed together and attached to a chain above his head. Something soft pressed against his back. Rolling to his side, he pushed up on his shoulder and glanced around. Yeah, this was still his cell, but he was in a bed—a real bed. His hips and legs were covered by a thin blanket, and across the room—
Every muscle went still as he looked over the female sitting on his pallet of blankets in the corner, her head resting against the rocks, her eyes closed, her long legs stretched out in front of her.
Cynna.
His pulse picked up speed. He glanced toward the door, trying to figure out what was going on, but it was tightly shut. Looking back at her, he realized she wasn’t dressed as she normally was when she came to him. Yes, she was still wearing those ridiculous boots and that short skirt that showed off her toned legs, but instead of the corset that pushed out her breasts, she was dressed in a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt that seemed to swallow her whole. A T-shirt that was smeared with blood.
He tried to shift more upright and was thankful to discover his feet weren’t shackled. The chain along the top of the metal bedframe slid along the bar while he moved, and he was able to lean back against the wall. His mind tumbled with possibilities as he tried not to make any noise. If she’d done something to piss Zagreus off, he didn’t doubt the sick son of a bitch would toss her in Nick’s cell just to see what Nick would do. And right now, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. This was the female who’d directed his torture over the last six months. He had every reason to want to retaliate against her. But she was also the one person he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about in the same amount of time, proving he was as sick as everyone else in this godsforsaken place.
The chains rattled, and he froze, but she was already waking—her eyes fluttering open, her head lifting from the wall, her gaze searching and finding his across the dim room.
For a split second, guilt crept into her eyes, then she blinked and it was gone as if it had never happened. And as she pushed to her feet and smoothed down her short little skirt, Nick wondered if it had happened at all or if he was finally losing his fucking mind and hallucinating.
She crossed the room and reached for the blanket. His muscles bunched, and he drew his legs up, ready to kick out if he had to.
Her hand stilled inches from touching him. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help. You were injured.”
He didn’t know how to read her. He was always injured in this damn place, but no one had ever tried to help him in any way. “Why should I trust you?”
That guilt flashed in her chocolate, way-too-familiar eyes once more. Another quick spark that was there, then quickly gone. And not for the first time, he had that strange sense that he’d met her before. Or someone like her. He just couldn’t figure out where.
“You have no reason to,” she answered in that velvety voice, the one that always amped him up. “But if I’m right, and you don’t let me help, you will die. Not even your superhuman genes can heal you from this.”
Part of him wanted to die, to be finished with this hell, but another part wasn’t ready. Because he hadn’t figured out how to take Zagreus with him yet.