TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) (2 page)

The satyrs skidded to a stop, their blades still lifted in fury, their chests rising and falling with their labored breaths.
 

“Stand down,” Zagreus growled.

A breath of relief whooshed out of Cynna’s lungs.

They lowered their weapons, but the venom in their eyes said they weren’t happy. They’d tasted blood and wanted more. And yet, the man didn’t even spare them a glance. He continued to look past them, past Zagreus, and focus only on her.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Zagreus muttered under his breath. He turned away from the ring, his face contorted in anger, and looked toward Cynna. She stiffened, covering any reaction, working for blasé when she felt anything but. “I gave you a simple job. To
break
him. And you’ve failed.”

Panic slithered in to mix with the fear. But panic, like nausea, was a weakness she wasn’t about to let show. She forced her gaze away from the man below and focused on the devil she’d sold herself to.

Her shoulders tensed, her chin lifted, her back straightening with a strength she pulled from the very center of her being. “He has the blood of Krónos in his veins. His will has proved to be stronger than most.”
 

Zagreus chewed on the inside of his lip. He was taller than Cynna. Even a few steps below her near the railing, she had to look up at him. To most he was a sex god—tanned, dark, muscular, with a body carved to tempt and a face to seduce. But Cynna knew the cunning devil he was beneath. And being Hades’s son, his appetites, and his quest for power, knew no limits.

“His will must be broken if he’s to come into his god powers. And I need his god powers to best my father and those other fucking gods who think they own this world and the next. If he refuses to cooperate, we’ll just have to find another way.”

Cynna’s eyes narrowed. They’d already tortured the man in every way imaginable. They’d whipped him until he’d bled. Stretched him on racks. Beaten him until he was black and blue and broken. And through it all, she’d watched—even ordered his torture because she had to—while inside she’d only wanted to vomit and run. But every time he’d healed, his superhuman genes repaired every ounce of damage they’d inflicted, much to her surprise—and relief.

They’d brought him to the brink of physical pain, and he’d yet to crack, so she couldn’t imagine what else they could do to him. “Like what?”

A dark, perverse light flared in Zagreus’s eyes. “We’ll use the nymphs.”

Oh shit. She’d been wrong. There was another way to torture him. One she hadn’t even considered.
 

“If we can’t break him physically,” Zagreus said, “you will break him…sexually.”

He shifted away from her and looked down into the arena. “Take him back to his cell.” Guards stationed at the doors moved in from the shadows and jerked on the man’s arms. “Have him cleaned up, then chain him to the wall. My sweet Cynna has something special planned for him.”

Zagreus turned that sickening smile her way and winked, just once. “Don’t you,
agapi
?”

Cynna’s gaze strayed from Zagreus’s victorious grin down to Nick, standing taut in the center of the ring, being held at each arm by the guards, his face drenched in sweat, his body in blood, his intense amber gaze never once straying from her face.

Zagreus stepped up next to her and leaned close to her ear. “Break him, Cynna. Use the nymphs to bring him to the brink again and again, no matter how long it takes. Because if you can’t, if you fail me now, you remember what I said would happen, don’t you?”

Cynna’s stomach caved in, and fear—true fear—rolled through her veins. Yeah, she remembered. He’d promised to break
her
. Mind, body, soul…
her
will. Until there was nothing left.

Only she’d never be able to hold out. Not like Nick.

Slowly, she nodded. And stared into the scarred face of her victim. Hating—despising—everything she’d agreed to all in the name of revenge.

“Good girl,” Zagreus whispered. “You do this right,
agapi
, and your reward will be most pleasurable. That, I promise.”

CHAPTER TWO

N
ick wasn’t sure what was going on, but he knew whatever Zagreus had planned for him next wasn’t going to be good.
 

Soldiers—no, not soldiers, Zagreus’s hired satyr mercenaries—led him through the long, dark hallway toward his cell, illuminated every ten feet by torches attached to the rock walls. Water dripped down to form puddles where the floor was uneven. A cool chill spread through the corridor, being so far below ground, but Nick had gotten used to it over the last few months. What he would never get used to, though, were the moans, the screams, the crack of leather hitting flesh. The cries of ultimate misery and the hopeless despair that reverberated through the tunnels both night and day.

The dark energy he fought—energy he’d always thought had come from his mother, Atalanta, but now knew was straight-up evil delivered from his fucking father, Krónos, the most malicious of all the gods—rolled and churned inside, electrifying him, exciting and arousing him, even though disgust brewed in his stomach over what was being done to the other poor souls trapped in this living hell. He’d tried everything to tune the sounds out, but they were always there, taunting the darkness, calling to it, begging him to just let go.

He ground his teeth against it. Focused on the rocks below his bare feet, on the way the metal cuffs bit into his wrists, on moving forward one step at a time. He slowed when he reached the threshold to his cell, but the satyr behind shoved him hard, forcing him to stumble into the beast ahead.

“Keep moving.”

The satyr at his front turned and shoved him back. Weak from the fight and loss of blood, Nick staggered but caught himself before he went down. A stench rose up around him, one he blocked out. All satyrs smelled like death. Something else he hadn’t grown used to during his months of captivity.

They led him into the baths, and today he was thankful to find the cavern empty. He didn’t have the energy to scrap with some of the other inmates who were often brought here to bathe at the same time. The ones who were trying to hold on to some semblance of control by acting aggressive in front of the guards, hoping it would grant them a day or two of life. They didn’t realize that every person imprisoned here had a purpose, or that most lasted only a few days. And as soon as they gave in, Zagreus lost interest and they were truly dead.

Three large pools took up space in the center of the cavern. Stalactites hung from the ceiling. A bench had been carved out along the far right side, and fresh towels had been laid out in advance.

The satyr on the right tossed Nick a small plastic bag. “The prince wants you cleaned before we take you back to your cell. Do it quickly.”

As the satyrs turned away to stand guard at the door, Nick looked down at the package in his hands. Soap and a disposable plastic razor.

The razor had potential. His gaze skipped over the thick rock walls, then to the backs of the two satyrs he could see. Two he could take down with a weapon as simple as a razor blade. Three was pushing it. And if he succeeded, odds were good he’d be caught before he could figure out how the hell to get out of this maze of a prison.

 
Plus there was the harsh reality he’d lost a fair amount of blood in that last fight and was more tired than he wanted to admit. Now was not the time to plan his big escape. He stripped off what was left of his torn pants and stepped into the pool.

Cool water surrounded him, and he winced when it hit a cut on his leg and another on his shoulder, then sighed as the liquid cradled his sore body. He dunked beneath the surface and let the water rush over his face and swirl above his head, pulling the grime from his hair and beard. No, he didn’t have a clue what Zagreus had planned next, but he was thankful for the chance to rid himself of the filth and stench and blood of those satyrs. If only until the next unfair battle.

He came back up, flicked the wet hair out of his eyes, and opened the small bag. After washing his shaggy hair and the rangy beard, he scrubbed the soap all over his skin, then rinsed, feeling more human with every passing second. When he was clean, he glanced toward the razor sitting on the side of the pool and frowned because he knew that thing was gonna hurt like hell tugging through all the hair on his jaw. He considered leaving his damn face just the way it was, then thought better of it. If the satyrs had given him a razor, it meant either he was shaving himself or they were. And he didn’t want those fuckers anywhere near him.

 
He did his best without a mirror and scissors, wincing every time he nicked himself. After rinsing, he climbed out of the pool, reached for a towel, then hesitated with his hand on the soft cotton as his gaze caught on the cuffs around his wrists and the markings on his forearm. Markings that made him think of his soul mate.

He wondered where she was and what she was doing. Whether or not her newborn child had survived the daemon attack at the half-breed colony. If his brother, Demetrius, his twin and—thanks to the fucking gods—also her soul mate, was taking care of her right this minute or out running useless missions with his Argonauts.

If she ever thought of the sacrifice Nick had made for her.

Anger pushed in. An anger he’d lived with many long years. He waited for the familiar burst of longing that always followed, for the soul mate pull, which was like a magnet, dragging him toward Isadora. Yes, it was there, calling to him, but it wasn’t as intense as before. And he couldn’t help but wonder why.

Maybe he was finally hardening inside, losing what little humanity he had left. Or maybe Isadora’s bond with Demetrius was so strong Nick just didn’t matter anymore. His brother and Isadora were bound to each other now, with all the pomp and circumstance the stupid Argolean ceremony imposed. But more than that, they’d solidified their side of the soul mate bond through the act of making love, something Nick
seriously
didn’t want to think about.

 
His own bond with Isadora had never been sealed like that. Not that he hadn’t considered it…only a bazillion times. But even as he fantasized about the possibility again, he knew it was no longer even an option. He was going to die in this miserable place. It was only a matter of time. Which meant his brother was going to wind up with her all to himself. Just as the son of a bitch wanted.

The thought was more depressing than Nick wanted to admit, so he pushed his mind back to the battle in the arena. And this time when the dark energy surged, he relished it. Yeah, his death might be imminent, but he wasn’t dead yet. And before he went out, he planned to take a few satyrs and that sick fuck Zagreus with him.
 

“Enough,” the taller of the two guards barked, looking over his shoulder. “Leave the clothes. Wrap yourself in a towel.”

The towel was new. Usually—
if
Nick was granted a turn in the baths—he was required to dress in the same filthy garments he’d worn the day before. He eyed the now-dull razor once again and for a fleeting moment considered his chances against the three guards, then dismissed it. If Zagreus wanted him clean, it meant someone was coming to see him. And someone coming to see him meant he might have a better chance at a vengeance even more destructive.

“My sweet Cynna has something special planned for him.”

His fingers stilled on the towel at his waist, and a rolling heat spread all through his torso, his hips, and down into his groin.

Cynna… The name fit. The female who’d directed his torture these last six months was sin in every way imaginable. Caramel skin, long blonde hair that didn’t match her coloring, almond-shaped, exotic eyes, and a body…

That arousal sharpened, bringing his cock to life as he imagined her pert breasts, which were always on display in some revealing corset top, her small waist, and those long, slender legs she flaunted in the black leather stiletto boots she wore everywhere.

He couldn’t quite read her relationship with Zagreus. The sadistic god was attached to her, though Nick was sure it wasn’t love that kept her around. And though she didn’t flinch when Zagreus touched her, she didn’t warm to the god or melt into him the way Isadora did when his brother touched their soul mate. No, Cynna’s link to Zagreus was something more, something darker, and every time Nick saw the dead look in her eyes when Zagreus drew near, he grew more and more convinced she wasn’t the captor in this twisted version of hell like they both wanted him to believe.