The Darkest Prison (2 page)

Nike paced the confines of her cell. A cell she shared with several others. Knowing her temper as intimately as they did, they were careful to stay out of her way. Still. Roommates sucked. She could feel their eyes boring into her robe-clad back, as if they could see the name now branded there.

If they dared say a single word about it…

There hadn't been enough cells to contain all of the Greeks, so they'd been crammed into each chamber in groups. Male, female, it hadn't mattered. Maybe the Titans hadn't cared about the mixing of the sexes, or maybe they'd done it to increase the torment of each prisoner. The latter was probably the case. Husbands had not been paired with wives and friend had not been paired with friend. No, rival had been paired with rival.

For her, that rival was Erebos, the minor god of darkness. Once, Erebos had treated her like a queen. Once, she'd really liked him. Had even considered marrying him. But then she'd fallen in love with Atlas—that womanizing, lying bastard Atlas—so she'd cut Erebos loose.
Then
she'd discovered that Atlas had never really wanted her, that Atlas had only been using her. Love had quickly morphed into rage.

The rage, though, had eventually cooled. She'd forgotten him. For the most part. Now, with his name decorating her back, she hated him with every fiber of her being.

Maybe—
maybe
—she'd overreacted when she'd done the same to him. Branded him forever. Impulsiveness had always been her downfall, after all. For years, she'd even regretted her decision. Not that she would ever admit such a thing to him. Regret was not what she felt now, however.

She hadn't lied to him. She
would
kill him for this.

First, she would have to find a way to remove the stupid collar around her neck. As long as she wore it, she was powerless. Second, she would have to find a way to escape this realm.

The first, in theory, should have been easy. Yet she'd already tried clawing and beating at it, and had even attempted to melt it from her neck. All she'd done was cut her skin, bruise her tender flesh and singe her hair off. The second, in theory
and
reality, seemed impossible.

Her gaze circled her surroundings. After the Titans escaped, they'd reinforced everything. How, she didn't know. The prison was supposedly bound to Tartarus, the Greek god of Confinement who'd once kept guard over the Titans, and when he'd begun to weaken for no apparent reason, the realm had weakened, as well. Everything in it became structurally unsound. But now, Tartarus was missing. The Titans didn't have him and no one knew where he was. There was no reason the realm should be as strong as it was in his absence.

The walls and floor were comprised of godly stone, something only special godly tools—tools she didn't have—could break through, and yet, even without Tartarus's presence, there was not a crack in sight.

The thick silver bars that allowed a glimpse of the guard's station below had been constructed by Hephaistos, and only Hephaistos could melt such a metal. Unfortunately, he resided somewhere else. As with
 
Tartarus, no one knew where. Still, without Tartarus, she should have been able to bend that metal. She couldn't; she'd already tried.

“Could you settle the hell down?” Erebos grumbled from one of the cots. From his dark hair to his dark skin, from his handsome features to his strong body, he was the picture of unhappy male, all of that unhappiness pointed at her. “We're trying to plan an escape here.”

They were always planning an escape.

“Besides,” he continued, “your
 
ugly face is giving me a headache.”

“Go suck yourself,” she replied. Though she'd been the one to hurt him all those centuries ago—
unintentionally
—he'd repaid her a thousand times over. Purposefully. Not emotionally, but physically. He liked nothing better than to “accidentally” trip her, bump into her and send her flying, as well as to eat what little portion of food was meant for her before she could fight her way to the front of the line, starving her. If she hadn't been wearing the collar, he never would have been able to do those things. She would have been too strong. Another reason to despise her captivity.

“Sucking myself would probably elicit better results than when you did it,” he retorted.

The handful of gods and goddesses around him snickered.

“Whatever,” she said, as if the taunt didn't bother her. Except, her cheeks did flush. She was the epitome of strength—or she was supposed to be—and she'd always been more mannish than feminine. That was why Atlas's attention had so surprised and delighted her. That gorgeous man could have won anyone, yet he'd chosen her. Or so she'd thought. And she'd fallen for his act because he'd somehow made her feel like a delicate, beautiful woman.

Just then, Atlas strode into the guard's station. She didn't have to see him to know. She
felt
him. Always she felt his heat. When her gaze found him, she discovered that he had his arm wrapped around a leggy blonde. A blonde who cuddled
 
herself into his side as if she belonged there—and had rested there many times before.

The thought angered Nike. It shouldn't have; she despised Atlas with all of her being and didn't care who he slept with. Didn't care who he pleasured. And yes, he would have pleasured the blonde with those talented hands and seeking lips. He was an amazing lover whose touch still haunted Nike's dreams. But there it was. Anger.

She didn't mean to, but found herself striding to the bars and gripping them for a better, closer look at him. Three other guards stood around him, all talking and laughing. While prisoners wore white, guards wore black, and he wore that darkness well. It was the perfect complement to his dark, chopped hair and sea-colored eyes.

His face had been chiseled by a master artist, everything about him perfectly proportioned. His eyes were the perfect distance apart, his nose the perfect length, his cheeks the perfect sharpness, his lips the perfect shape and color and his chin a perfect, stubborn square.

She should have known he was playing her the moment he'd turned those dangerous eyes on her and they lit with “interest.” Men just didn't look at her like that. Not even Erebos had, and he had loved her.

“Bastard,” she muttered, the curse for both the men in her past.

As if he heard her, Atlas lifted his gaze. The moment their eyes met, she wanted to release the bars. She wanted to step away, out of sight. But she didn't allow herself that luxury. That would have been cowardly, and this man had seen her weak one too many times.

Just to taunt him, and hopefully make him feel as out of control as he always made her feel, she allowed her attention to fall to his chest, exactly where her name rested. She smiled smugly before raising her gaze and arching a brow. Score. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

What does your lover think of your mark?
she wanted to shout.
What does the blonde think of
my
name on your body?

He jerked the stupid blonde deeper into his side and, without breaking eye contact with Nike, planted a lush,
 
wet kiss on her mouth. Of course, she reacted as any other woman would have. She wrapped her arms around him and held on for dear life. As Nike well knew, that man could make a woman come with the expertise of his kiss.

Nike's anger intensified. Had she been able, she would have stomped down there and ripped them apart. Then she would have killed them both. Not because she wanted Atlas for herself—she didn't—but because he was clearly using yet another woman. Passion did not glow from his expression. Only determination did.

Nike would be doing the female population a favor by snuffing him out.

“Erebos,” she called. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”

“What?” he gasped out, his shock clear.

“Do you want a kiss or not? Get over here. Quickly.”

There was a rustling of clothing behind her and then her former lover was beside her. He was a prisoner, and sex was a rarity. He would take what he could get, even from someone he loathed. That much she knew.

Nike turned to him; he was already leaning down. Like the blonde, she wrapped her arms around her companion's neck and held on tight. Only, she didn't enjoy the kiss, familiar as it was. Erebos's taste was too…what? Different from Atlas's, she realized, and that ratcheted her anger another notch. No man should have that much power over her.

Still. She let Erebos continue. Atlas needed to realize that she no longer desired him. He needed to realize that he would never,
never
play her emotions again. She was not an idealistic little girl anymore. He'd made sure of that.

Rage. Absolute rage filled Atlas. He released his companion—he couldn't recall her name—and she gasped in protest at the abruptness of his actions. He didn't bother explaining what he was about as he stomped away from her. The rage continued to spread as he climbed the stairs that led to the prisoner's cages and to the cell holding Nike.

His
name was on her back. How dare she allow another man to put his lips on her?

When he reached his destination, he raised his arm, and the sensor he'd had embedded in his wrist caused the bars to slide open. Several prisoners were seated against the far wall. Rapturous longing colored their faces as they watched the minor god of Darkness and the goddess of Strength clean each other's tonsils. So absorbed were they, in fact, that they didn't rush Atlas and try to escape. Or maybe that had something to do with the pain they would feel if they did so. He had only to press a button, and their collars would ravage their brains.

Nike moaned, as if she really liked what was being done to her. Red flickered through Atlas's vision. How. Dare. She. Teeth grinding, he grabbed Nike by the collar of her robe and jerked her into the hard line of his body, away from Erebos.

A gasp escaped her. Unlike when the blonde had gasped, he did not remain unaffected. He wanted to swallow the sound—and do something, anything, to cause Nike to make it again.

What's wrong with me?

“Hey,” Erebos snapped, foolishly reaching for her to finish what had been started. “We were busy.”

Scowling, Atlas kicked him in the chest. The smaller man flew backward, slamming into his fellow prisoners. He jumped to his feet to attack, saw who had rendered the blow and stilled, nostrils flaring.

“Touch her again,” Atlas said, “and I'll remove your collar—right along with your head.”

The god paled, perhaps even whimpered. “She wasn't worth it, anyway.”

Atlas might kill him for his words, as well.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Nike demanded, suddenly coming to life and drawing his attention. She whirled on him, glaring up at him. “I can sleep with whoever I want. And hey, I might even pick one of your friends.”

Despite her heated words, she
 
wasn't breathless as she would have been if Atlas had been the one kissing her, and her cheeks weren't flushed. Her nipples weren't even hard. Finally, something cooled the hottest flames of his rage.

“Just zip your mouth.” He latched on to Nike's upper arm and dragged her out of the cell with him. Automatically, the bars closed behind him.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she said again, tugging against his hold. She'd never been one to obey him.

“What the hell did you think
you
were doing?” he countered. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he stopped. The blonde, who just happened to be the goddess of memory—damn it, what was her name? Mini? No, but close. M and M? Minisong? Closer. Mnemosyne. Yes, that was it—Mnemosyne, as well as the three other warriors chosen to guard Tartarus today, were gaping at him.

“What?” he snapped. At least Nike stopped resisting him. She stilled at his side, attention darting from him to the others, the others to him.

“You can't just remove a prisoner,” Hyperion, god of light, said. He was a handsome man, though as pale as his title suggested, and Nike had better not be eyeing him as a possible bedmate.

“I'm not removing her,” Atlas replied stiffly. “I'm relocating her.” To a cell of her own, where no one could put their dirty, disgusting lips on her. Where no one could put their roving hands on her body. There was nothing sexual about this decision, either. He simply didn't want her experiencing any type of pleasure. She didn't deserve it.

“Why?” Mnemosyne regarded him curiously, not a single thread of upset or jealously in her expression.

Why? he wondered himself. She'd been eager to date him for months, summoning him constantly. Last night, she'd even shown up at his
 
home naked.

She was beautiful, yes, and he'd almost given in and slept with her. His body had been worked into a frenzy after what had transpired with Nike, and he'd been desperate for release. But before he sealed the deal, he'd sent the determined goddess away. He'd felt too guilty to continue. As if he were cheating on Nike. Which was ridiculous. The only relationship he had with Nike was one of hate.

Besides, who wanted to spend time with a female who would never forget your mistakes? A female who would remember your every transgression? Not him. Yet he'd flashed to Mnemosyne's home this morning and asked her to spend the day with him, just so he could bring her to the prison this morning. He'd been strangely jubilant at the thought of parading her in front of Nike.

So again, he wondered why Mnemosyne did not feel as if Nike were a threat. Though most
 
females didn't, he knew. He'd heard them talk. Nike was too tall, too muscled, they said. She
 
was too hard, and too coarse. But those were the things that had first sparked his interest in her. She could handle his strength. She gave as good as she got. She would never wither under his glare. She would never run from his anger. She would always face him head
-
on. And he liked that. A lot. No other female he'd ever encountered had that kind of courage.

And she
was
pretty, he thought. Yes, only yesterday he'd thought her barely so, but, just now,
 
that seemed wrong on every level. Only a short while ago, when he'd first walked into the prison, he'd felt her gaze on him and had looked up. For a second, only a second, her defenses had been lowered. She hadn't known he'd been watching her, so she hadn't guarded her expression. An expression that had been soft, wistful, her eyes luminous. The sight of her had heated his blood as if he'd been caught on fire.

That still didn't mean he desired her, his enemy. The fact that his name was spelled across her back was simply playing havoc with his mind, his sense of possession, he was sure.

“Well,” Mnemosyne prompted.

“Yeah,” Nike said. “We're waiting for an answer.”

To what? Oh, yeah. Why was he moving her. He raised his chin, refusing to look down at her. Not that he would have had to look far. At six foot, she was nearly as tall as he was. “I don't need a reason. I'm responsible for this prison and everyone in it. Therefore, if I want to move you, I can.”

The last was meant for the Titans. They would do well not to question him.

Without another word, he dragged Nike away. Where should he take her? To his office, he decided. At the moment, there wasn't an empty cell in the entire realm.

“You're lucky I don't have that bastard slain,” he said when he was sure the others couldn't hear him.

She didn't have to ask who “that bastard” was. “What for?”

For touching what's mine.
“He didn't have permission to consort with you.” Atlas snaked a corner, and there at the end of the hallway was his door.

“Consort with me?” She laughed without humor. “Oh, wait. I get it. You can screw anyone you want, but I can't.”

Good. They were on the same page. “That's right.” He pushed his way inside and finally released her. His hands itched to return to her, but he kept them at his sides. Rather than settle behind his desk, he faced her, placing them nose to nose. “You are to suffer in solitude.” Gods, she smelled good. Like passion. Pure, white-hot passion.

“As if. I have more fun with myself, anyway.”

The image those words evoked nearly sent him to his knees. He should back away. Before he did something stupid.

Her eyes narrowed. “You haven't changed, you know. You're as much of an ass now as you were years ago.”

“However,” he continued, as if she hadn't just insulted him. Stupid, be damned. She was here, and they were alone. “If you need to be kissed, I'll take care of it.”