Dark Skye (Immortals After Dark #15)(89)

—I have no more f*cks to give. Okay, Vrekener?— She’d hit her limit. She was sick of portaling, sick of getting captured, sick of being food or potential food.

—We’re going to escape once more. Worry not.—

—Why are you so calm?—

He was quiet for long moments. —It’s my nature. What you saw those first nights and days was not . . . me.—

She’d figured calm was his default setting. So to all his other attractive attributes, she could add not psycho.

Finally, their entourage slowed, entering some kind of echoing space. A sea cave?

They descended for what must be miles. When pressure made her ears pop repeatedly, she realized they were deep beneath the ocean. No flying for Thronos, even if he got free.

She felt sympathy for him. His fear of depths was like her fear of heights. She couldn’t imagine how difficult this must be for him.

Probably as difficult as she would find the Skye. Still, she asked: —You okay with this?—

—It’s temporary.—

In other words, he wasn’t, but he would handle it.

In Pandemonia, she’d told him about crazy stuff going down with Sorceri kids, and he’d confidently said, “We can handle it.”

We.

She and Thronos did work well together.

Gods, she did not need to conclude that the Vrekener would be a good father. Her biological clock cried, The best. None better!

Suddenly Lanthe heard gears whirring, cogs clicking, as if a gate was opening. They entered a warm, damp area, and the gears whirred once more. Behind them, a seal closed with a hiss. The scent of brine pervaded everything.

Off went the blindfolds. Thronos swung his head around to face her, as if he’d been hungry for a single look.

—I’m okay. Still standing.—

When he gave a grim nod of encouragement, she dragged her gaze from him to survey Sargasoe, the legendary lair of Nereus.

This hall had been carved from rock with glittering coral-pink and blue striations. A sheen of water poured down all the walls, but it seemed to be by design.

The area was lit with . . . sconces—basically raised glass bowls where luminescent jellyfish shuttled in circles. Rippling reflections abounded, as they did underwater, making the walls seem to sway.

“Forward,” the leader commanded, the Sthenos slithering behind them.

As Lanthe and Thronos trudged deeper, huge sections of the stone floor would shift and retract, revealing the sea. The construction of this place was spectacular.

Mirrors abounded. Shadows and light danced for dominance. Glowing eyes peeked out from darkened passageways.

This totally looked like the lair of a capricious deity notorious for his games.

She also sensed a permanent portal down here. How to get Nereus to let them use it?

Their group eventually entered what must be an underwater gallery of sorts. There were enormous rounded windows at intervals, the way paintings might line a museum wall.

When Lanthe passed the first, her eyes went wide. Ships were piled up, as if in a junkyard. She turned to Thronos. —Are you seeing this?—

—It makes sense that a sea god’s home would have a vortex.— A mystical magnet. —We’re in an abyss; everything sinks to this level.—

At the next window, she squinted out into the dark, seeing gems the size of footballs scattered all over the sand. Schools of mercreature sentries glided by. They were humanoids to a degree, but instead of legs, the mermaids sported fishtails, the mermen collections of tentacles.

The next window revealed a submarine with Russian lettering on its hull, and what looked like part of an aircraft carrier. This was too wild!

For all the suffering Lanthe had borne just to reach Sargasoe, she was excited to behold such an exotic place. But what was in store? N?x’s prediction echoed in her mind: In one realm, hurt. In one realm, leave. In one realm, cleave. In one realm, shine.

So was Lanthe supposed to cleave here? She bit her lip, glancing at Thronos. Cleave was a word with several meanings, one of which was to separate.

She’d already sensed a portal. What if Nereus offered two different rides: one to the Skye and one to Rothkalina?

Was she ready to part from Thronos? Despite all her blustering and denials earlier, the thought made her chest ache. If only a relationship between them didn’t pose so many insurmountable odds.

When they passed a mirror, she turned away, not wanting to see her reflection. Yet suddenly all the injuries over her body began mending. The restraints around her wrists disappeared, and she felt as fresh as if she’d recently bathed. With a gasp, she peered down at herself.

She now wore a black leather skirt, mesh hose, and leather boots. Her top was a halter woven of gold and silver strands—with denser weaves of metal over the front to conceal her breasts. Sleek metal gauntlets covered her hands and forearms, and she detected a mask over her face.

Sorceri formal dress! Her hands flew to her necklace. Still there!

She whirled around to the mirror. Her mask was sapphire blue, accentuating her eyes. Her hair had been twined around a substantial gold headpiece, with wild braids framing her face. No more bob cut in the back—long locks had grown out, left to curl down her back.

She felt more like a sorceress—less like food. She was starting to enjoy Sargasoe’s amenities! She turned to Thronos, and her lips parted.

The Vrekener was . . . drop-dead gorgeous.