Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(88)

“Maybe a relationship between another sorceress and a Vrekener would prove impossible. But we’ve been through too much. We’ve earned each other. You can’t deny that. If you took away all the strife surrounding us, could you accept me?”

She didn’t reply, wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“Look at me, Melanthe.”

When she eventually faced him, he stared into her eyes, seeing that same vulnerability he’d beheld when he’d been about to claim her.

He thought he was beginning to understand it. . . .

In Pandemonia, he’d discovered his mate yearned for love. She’d never found it with another—and she clearly wouldn’t settle for anything less. She’d told him she would give her heart only to the right male.

I’m that male.

Looking at her now, he comprehended that she felt vulnerable—because her heart was already in play. He believed he could make Melanthe fall in love with him, claiming something from her all his own.

“Let me go, Thronos.”

“And if I say never?” In that moment, he realized exactly how he should handle her sorcery in the Skye. The solution was so blindingly obvious, he almost slapped his forehead.

With a groan of frustration, she kicked his shin; he cupped her nape, pulling her close for an overdue kiss—

A metal net descended over them.

He yelled, splaying his wings, snaring himself in the weighted lines.

“Oh, gods, it’s like the tentacles!” She dropped to the ground, cringing away from the mesh. “Get it off, get it off!”

“Trying!” When he clawed the metal, sparks erupted. Mystically protected.

Just as he scented foreign creatures over the sparks, Melanthe cried, “Stheno sentries!”

Before he could reach her, she’d been snatched out from under the net. He lunged for her, thrashing to get free, until one of the towering creatures propped Melanthe up like a doll to hold a trident at her neck.

They were surrounded by a dozen vicious Sthenos, nine-foot-tall gorgons with crimson sea snakes for hair. Each sentry carried a trident.

“Release us,” Melanthe commanded, blue light emanating from her eyes and hands. Nothing. “Release us now!”

The largest Stheno, and obvious leader, said, “Your powers will not work on us, sorceress. We have been divinely shielded.”

Time to fight, then. His gaze flicked as he calculated his next several moves—until the Stheno holding his mate threatened her with more than a trident.

Sea snakes coiled down to drape over one of her graceful shoulders, their fangs bared, forked tongues twitching.

Melanthe swallowed. “Their poison . . . I might not recover from it.”

He froze, holding up his hands.

The leader said, “You’ve erred by trespassing in Sargasoe, kingdom of Nereus.”

“The sea god?” Melanthe asked.

“The deity Nereus, our lord and master. You will attend him in his keep, where he holds feasts of celebration. Depending on His Highness’s mood, you will either be guests—or the entertainment.”





FORTY-ONE


The Sthenos had bound and blindfolded their captives, making the descent from towering cliff to sea level even more perilous for Lanthe. She wanted to tell them that she could never, ever find her way back to Nereus’s keep. But they hadn’t exactly been chatty.

—What is this god like?— Thronos asked her on their unending trek along a beach.

Lanthe supposed the Vrekener was getting over his telepathy hang-up. —Nereus is a party-hearty trickster, like a cross between Pan and Loki. He’s notorious for his games and manipulations.—

—What happens if we’re “entertainment”?—

—Probably something that’ll make you want to take a boiling shower and scrub your skin with steel wool. Let’s just put it this way: I don’t think I’ll be able to twerk my way out of this.—

—Don’t know what twerk means, Melanthe.—

Sigh. —I’ve heard that Sargasoe is a hidden realm on the human plane.— Like Skye Hall. —The goal should be to get Nereus to transport us from here.—

Without sacrificing too much of themselves . . .

—Do you think you can ensorcel him?—

—If he can shield the Sthenos from my power, there’s not a chance. And he’d likely kill me for trying.—

Thronos fell silent, seeming lost in his own thoughts.

Though Lanthe’s skin was gradually healing during their long walk, she was drained from keeping up with the fast Sthenos. Their lower halves were fat snake coils, kind of like Cerunnos, except Sthenos gorgons were all females. Plus they had hypnotically wavering snakes for hair. Oh, and brass hands and claws.

Whenever Lanthe tripped in the shifting sands, her Stheno personal guard would heft her up, those claws digging into her arm.

After the belly of the beast, this was nothing. Right?

Wrong.

A blast of ocean wind buffeted her. When Lanthe tottered and got clawed yet again, she snapped, “Watch the claws, bitch!”

—Melanthe?— She could all but see Thronos raising his eyebrows. Just because he was cool and collected didn’t mean she had to be. He’d had his tantrum—his mantrum—on the Order’s island, and it was now her turn.