Nick tipped his head back and rinsed the shampoo and soap from his body as the hot water cascaded down his skin and soothed his sore and tired muscles. Steam rose around him, warming every inch of his skin, but he didn’t need it to ease that ever-present chill inside. Cynna had done that when she’d so gently cut his hair. When she’d sunk into him moments before and let him hold her. When she’d kissed him in that cell in the tunnels, then rocked his world right out from under his feet.
Blood rushed to his groin at the memory, and he grew hard and achy under the spray. He’d been fascinated by her for months. Had wanted her long before they’d taken this journey together. And now that he’d had a taste of her, he knew once wasn’t going to be enough.
His body urged him to find out why the hell she wasn’t naked in this shower with him already, but before he could turn and call for her, understanding slammed everything to a screeching halt.
He’d been as close to the edge as he’d ever been in those tunnels. Krónos’s power had been rippling through his veins, just begging to be released with a wicked unrivaled fierceness. And yet, he hadn’t let it go. Not because he’d possessed some superhuman self-control, but because Cynna had pulled him back from that edge. She’d given him something else to focus on, something better to want. And it had been enough to keep him from giving in to all that wretched darkness that would undoubtedly be the end of him and possibly the world if he let it free.
His heart picked up speed, pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribs, and he lowered his head and opened his eyes as water ran in rivulets down his face.
He needed her. Not because she was some kind of insurance against an attack from Zagreus, but because she kept him grounded, kept him sane when he felt like he was losing his slight grasp on reality. And though the rational side of his brain warned he still didn’t know her well enough to make any kind of steadfast decision about her motives, his heart told him loud and clear that she wasn’t here to betray him. If betrayal had been her goal, she wouldn’t have comforted him like she’d just done. She wouldn’t have bothered to cut his hair and make him feel human again. And she certainly wouldn’t have kissed him crazy when he’d given her the chance to run.
He turned toward the shower door, desperate to feel her against him again, to taste her sinful perfection, to thank her in the only way he could. But before he could reach for the handle, the scars on his back tingled, and a new sort of awareness rushed over him.
Six people were in the castle. Not humans. Not Misos. Not satyrs or daemons. He tuned in to his senses and let the tentacle-like receptors of his mind fan out.
Argoleans. The six newcomers were definitely Argolean.
Warning bells kicked off in his head. His first thought was of Isadora—which only pissed him off. He was finally at a place where he had something—someone—else to crave, and the soul mate curse was still there, taunting him. Slamming the water off, he stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel, only to realize there wasn’t one. His gaze shot through the open bathroom door toward the salon. A towel lay in a heap on the ground.
He grasped his clothes from the floor, crossed to the towel dripping wet, and scooped it up. After drying, he pulled on his jeans, shoved his feet into his boots, and realized Cynna was still wearing his shirt.
Cynna… Shit. Those warning bells turned to full-on flares.
His gaze scanned the salon, but he already knew she was gone. Tuning back in to those senses once more, he searched for her. She was still in the castle. One level down, in the main hall. Hell if he knew how he was able to track her, but he could, and right now he was glad for it.
He moved for the door. Voices—male voices—drifted from the stairwell, followed by Cynna’s curt one.
“No,” she snapped. “I don’t have to tell you anything. And I said, let go!”
That darkness surged inside. Nick rounded the corner and looked down the curved and charred staircase. Cynna stood in the archway that led into the main living area, still wearing nothing but his black T-shirt, struggling against Theron’s grip on her upper arm. Several other Argonauts—Titus, Zander, and Gryphon—stood around her, blocking her in.
“Take your hands off her.”
They all turned as one and looked up the staircase toward him. But Theron was the one Nick focused on. And his hold on Cynna’s arm. That darkness leapt and bubbled inside with the prospect of a bloodletting.
“Nick.” Theron released her. “Holy skata.”
Cynna jerked her arm away and shot daggers into the back of the leader of the Argonaut’s head. But Nick no longer cared what Theron was doing. His focus shifted to her. To the nervous look in her dark eyes, to the way she wouldn’t meet his gaze, and the fact she was actively searching for somewhere to run.
Away from him.
The reality was like a sharp stab to the solar plexus. Yeah, she didn’t want to be anywhere near the Argonauts—he could feel her animosity growing for them with every passing second—but this need to escape had nothing to do with them and everything to do with him.