“If Zagreus did send his satyrs after us—”
“Then you won’t be able to tell them which way I went, now will you?” He slapped a palm frond out of his way, spraying water over both their faces.
She sputtered and shook the dew from her eyes. “You think I’d do that? I killed his guards. Trust me, at this point he probably wants me dead more than you.”
“I’m not so sure about that. And Zagreus never wanted me dead. That’s the point. Until I figure out your angle and how you’re involved in all this, you’re my prisoner.”
Her muscles tightened at his side.
“Don’t like that, do you?” he asked. “The tables being turned?”
“I’ve been a prisoner longer than you can imagine,” she said quietly, stumbling next to him. “And you can’t hold me. Not if you truly want to be free.”
He glanced down at her, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes were focused ahead, and her breaths lifted her chest rapidly, her body fighting, he knew, what had to be intense pain as they moved. But his scars vibrated once more as he looked at her profile in the moonlight—the high cheekbones, the elegant jawline, and the slope of her nose that was more familiar than he’d realized until just this moment—telling him she wasn’t at all what he’d pegged. The problem was, at this point, he didn’t know who she was. Or what she was really after.
He shook the cobwebs from his head, reminding himself not to lose his common sense where she was concerned. She might have rocked his world when she’d pleasured him in that cell, then surprised the shit out of him when she’d set him free, but she was a long way from being his ally. And the sooner he remembered that fact, the better off he’d be.
“At this point, female, you’re in no shape to fight me.”
She gave no response, and the fact she didn’t try to pull away told him she knew he was right and that she didn’t have the strength to argue.
They walked another twenty minutes before Nick noticed lights twinkling between palm fronds ahead. Cynna’s breaths grew slower, and with every step she leaned into him more rather than supporting her own weight.
He narrowed his eyes to see through the foliage. Twenty, maybe thirty houses. Most dark. Based on the position of the moon, they were in the wee hours of morning, and the majority of the inhabitants in the village ahead were sound asleep. He tuned in to his senses. Counted seventy-five humans in the area, max.
Whoa.
He blinked against the lights. His tracking abilities had always been good, but being able to sense every human in the area… That was something new. Something that set off a wave of unease all through his abdomen and made those scars vibrate even more.
“What’s…wrong?” Cynna asked.
“Nothing.” He eased her toward a palm tree and unhooked her arm from his shoulder. She didn’t put up any resistance, just slid to the ground, leaned her head back against the base of the tree, and closed her eyes. Kneeling next to her, Nick studied the bloodstain growing larger on her side.
Shit. That needed tending now. Not later. Especially if he planned to keep her alive to figure out what was really going on.
He tugged her blade from the sheath at his back, laid it on her lap, and closed her fingers over the handle. “Hang on to this.”
Her eyes crept open. “Abandoning your prisoner? Not a smart move. I’ll be gone before you can blink.”
“I’ll take my chances, female. Stay quiet.”
He didn’t wait for her answer. He pushed through the brush, then hesitated on the edge of the jungle as he looked toward the village. The houses were small, made of stucco, no bigger than three to four rooms. But power lines ran to each one, telling him they had to have phones.
He bypassed the first two—someone was awake inside each one. How he knew he wasn’t sure, but he felt it. Zeroing in on the third, he tuned in to his senses again. Heavy human breaths sounded from inside. Two adults. Three children. All sound asleep.
He stepped up to the door and wrapped his fingers around the handle. Locked.
A frown pulled at his lips. He was just about to let go and check the back of the house when a burst of energy radiated against his palm.
He glanced down. That odd electrical charge pulsed between the cool metal and his warmer flesh. Then a click sounded in the quiet night air, and the doorknob turned in his hand.
Nick let go and pulled his hand back. Looked down at his palm, then at the door handle. Carefully, he reached for the knob again and found…sure enough…the thing was no longer locked.