Escape…
She’d thought of escaping just after she’d come here, after she’d made that deal with Zagreus and realized what he wanted from her. But it had seemed like such an enormous undertaking, one she wouldn’t be able to do herself with so many of Zagreus’s satyrs lurking about. But with Nick’s help…
Escape. Go now.
Slowly, she inched her way up the wall until she was standing, then leaned forward and braced her hands on her thighs as she breathed and worked not to get sick again. From the corner of her eye, she caught her reflection in the mirror.
Blood stained her mouth, her chin. Dried blood was gathered in her hair. Hand shaking, she touched her finger to her lips, trying—fighting—to remember how it had gotten there, but couldn’t. Her stomach rolled again, and she only just made it to the toilet before she retched once more.
She had to get out of here. She couldn’t stay. Not anymore. Something in her gut told her whatever Zagreus had done to her last night was nothing compared to what he intended to do next.
A plan formulated in her head. A plan that would free her for good.
Only she wasn’t going alone.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nick couldn’t sit still.
He paced the back of his cell, the shackles and chains on his wrists rattling as he moved. He knew it was night. Even though his cell was dark, he kept track of time and figured it had to be about two in the morning. A good twenty-four hours since Cynna had last come to see him.
She hadn’t been by at all today. No one had come for him, in fact, which was odd. In the six months he’d been here, he couldn’t remember a single day where they hadn’t poked or taunted or tortured him in some way. Except for yesterday and all of tonight.
The scars on his back tingled, a sign something was happening behind the scenes, something that wasn’t good. Had Zagreus seen what she’d done? Was this his new form of torture? Pleasure, then silence, then…son of a bitch…worry?
He didn’t like worrying. It was the one thing he hadn’t missed since he’d been here. All his life was filled with worry—for his people, for the colony, for his soul mate—and even though he’d been tortured in horrendous ways since being dragged to this hellhole, at least during it he’d had a respite from that useless emotion.
His mind drifted to Isadora, and his pacing slowed. An echo of…something…passed through his chest. A tug toward her, as always, but also a feeling that something was off. As she was his soul mate, he could always tell when she was in danger or sick or hurt, and though this feeling wasn’t warning him of one of those possibilities, it was telling him something wasn’t right.
The door to his cell creaked before he could speculate further, and he turned, looking toward the light spilling into the room. Tensing, he braced his bare feet against the stone floor, expecting a satyr or even Zagreus himself to barge into the room. But the figure who stepped through the door wasn’t large or hulking or beast. It was slim, curvaceous, and female, and before he even saw her face, he knew it was Cynna. Knew because that sweet jasmine scent of hers preceded her into the room, mixing with her sultry heat to wash over every inch of his skin, reminding him of what she’d done last night with her tantalizing hands.
The door closed with a soft clink. He couldn’t see her anymore, but in that split second she’d stood in the light, he’d noticed her long hair was once again pulled back from her face. But unlike last night, she wasn’t barefoot and dressed in loose, flowing, comfortable clothing. Tonight she was decked out in slim-fitting black pants, ankle boots, and a lightweight jacket.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” she whispered.
She didn’t light the torch, but her boot steps drew close, the sound intermixing with the buzz in his head like an ominous warning. Her fingers grazed his hands, then closed over his wrist. Metal clicked against metal, signaling…she was freeing his cuffs.
It took only a split second to realize this was the chance he’d been waiting for.
The cuffs opened and clanked against the floor. Her fingers lifted from his skin, then she turned for the door. But before she could get a step away, he captured her forearm, whipped her back to face him, and closed his hand around her throat.
She gasped, and even though the room was dark, he watched the whites of her eyes grow wide in her face.
“What kind of games are you playing with me?” He backed her against the stone wall and held her immobile.
Her free hand darted up and clawed against his wrist, but she didn’t try to push him away. “I’m…trying to…help you.”
“Why now?”
“Because…”