Skyla’s jaw clenched. “What’s your relationship with Nick?”
This time Cynna couldn’t stop her stomach from pitching. Relationship? Did they even have a relationship? Captor-captive came to mind when she remembered their time together in Zagreus’s lair. Followed by lovers when her memories skipped to their hot, sweaty sex in the tunnels beneath the colony. But she dismissed both because neither were accurate pictures of what they were. The only thing that even remotely made sense was…
“Really fucked up,” Cynna finally answered.
Skyla stared at her, and as the seconds ticked by, Cynna’s anxiety inched up all over again.
Would the Siren try to imprison her? Was she going to take her to the queen and tell her everything Cynna had just admitted? If that happened, she might never get out of this nightmare. Her gaze darted toward the windows that looked out over a courtyard, and that fight-or-flight response kicked in, only this time flight won out, big-time.
Skyla dropped her arms and pointed toward a pair of boots and a light jacket sitting on the ground near the screen. “Those are for you. Weather’s calling for snow, and I’m sure you don’t want to be caught in the cold. Let’s head back and see if they’re done gossiping.”
Relief pulsed through Cynna’s body. She reached for the boots and the jacket. “Um, is there a restroom somewhere I could use?”
That assessing look crossed Skyla’s features again, making Cynna think the Siren was on to her. But instead of calling her on it, the blonde pointed toward a door on the far side of the room. “Through there. Don’t be long.”
Cynna nodded. “I won’t.”
She closed the bathroom door and glanced around. It was mostly marble, as big as her whole house had been as a kid, and disgustingly fancy. But—thank the Fates—there was a window that looked out to the courtyard several stories below.
She quickly pulled on the boots and jacket, then flipped on the fan to drown out any noise. A silent prayer of thanks whipped through her when she found the window unlocked.
Pushing it up, she peered outside. There was no balcony. Nothing but a small ledge that ran the length of this wing. But that was all she needed. She climbed out, gripped the stone ledge above, and made her way down the side of the building.
And told herself she wasn’t ever looking back.
“This is freakin’ nuts.” Nick ran both hands through his hair and dropped them to his side, leveling a hard look at his brother.
Demetrius, leaning back against the desk in Isadora’s palatial office with a scowl on his hard face and his arms crossed over his massive chest, didn’t respond. In fact, since they’d arrived in Argolea, the guardian hadn’t said shit. Just stared at Nick like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to hug him or slam his fist into his face. Which only pissed Nick off even more. His brother wasn’t one for words, but the fact he wasn’t arguing against this asinine theory where his soul mate was concerned only kicked Nick’s anxiety up about the whole situation.
He looked back at Isadora, who also had her slim arms crossed over her chest but now refused to meet his gaze, then glanced toward Theron, standing at her side, looking frustrated and guilty all at the same time. “That’s not how the soul mate curse works, and you all know it. Only the one with the markings is cursed. They’re the only ones who feel it.”
Nick was glad Theron had ushered most of the guardians and their mates out of the room so they didn’t have to listen to this crap. If he had the choice, he’d be out of here too. That darkness was bubbling inside him with every passing minute, and being near his soul mate—the one he couldn’t have—wasn’t helping matters. He chanced a look toward the doorway, searching for Cynna, but she still had yet to return with Skyla.
“Everything about this situation is different,” Theron said, “because you’re different.”
Nick scoffed, rested his hands on his hips, and turned toward the window. “I’m fine.”
“Maelea can sense the energy in you is growing,” Theron said. “And if that’s the case, then it corresponds to what happened to those three mortals who—”
“Those were three dead mortals.” Okay, yeah, Maelea, a product of the Underworld herself, might be able to sense Krónos’s dark energy growing inside him, but that didn’t mean she knew what the hell she was talking about. Nick pressed his fingers against his chest. “Last time I checked, I was alive. And this isn’t the fucking Underworld.”
Theron sighed. “Yeah. But we all know you’re a hell of a lot stronger than you were. Who’s to say your getting stronger isn’t somehow messing with the soul mate curse and making Isadora weaker.”