TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) (6 page)

“I can’t. They won’t do anything. It’s about your prisoner.”

Cynna’s feet stilled steps to freedom. And she thought of Nick in the dungeon.

Skata
. Her eyelids dropped for a brief second before she opened them and glanced over her shoulder. “What about him?”

“He’s… There’s something wrong with him. His wounds have not healed the way they should. He’s not well.”

Not well. Double
skata
. It had to be the salve. She’d told Zagreus not to use it to enhance his reaction to the nymphs, but the son of a bitch never listened to her.

Indecision warred within her. She only wanted to go back to her room and wallow in her own misery for a few hours, not deal with someone else’s, but she couldn’t do that now. If his wounds weren’t healing correctly, then she was the one who would eventually pay. Because, after all, he was
her
prisoner, and every bit of his torture—and care—was her responsibility.
 

Jaw clenching, she glared at the Nereid. “If you’re bothering me with unnecessary trifles—”

“Rhene. My name is Rhene. And I’m not, I promise, Mistress. Come. Quickly.”

Rhene grasped her thin skirt and hurried toward the stairs, leading Cynna into the bowels of the compound. They passed through the stone arches into the prison. Two satyrs stood guard at the entrance, eyeing Cynna and the nymph with more than contempt as they passed. There was interest there. Interest Cynna forced herself to ignore every single day. The only thing that kept her alive in this place was the fact Zagreus had claimed her as his. The minute he lost interest, she was dead.

Moans ricocheted through the cavern, and a chill spread down Cynna’s spine as her heels clicked along the stone floor. Water dripped from the rocks around her, as if weeping, like the prisoners in the cells. Her stomach tossed as it always did when she came down here, but she focused on getting through the next few minutes.

Rhene stopped when she reached Nick’s door. “Here. Look.”

Peering through the window high in the door, Cynna swept her gaze over the dark space. The satyrs had taken him down from his chains. The room looked empty, and for a moment, panic sprang up. Then she caught sight of him, crumpled in the corner, his head leaning against the adjacent wall, his arms wrapped around his waist, his entire body shaking and covered in a thin layer of sweat.

That son-of-a-bitch fucking Zagreus. Infection had already set in. Nick might have superhuman genes that could repair any wound, but that salve had trapped bacteria inside before his body had a chance to heal itself. And now it was festering.

She looked down at Rhene. “Bring me a bed. I want a fresh mattress, not a dirty one, blankets, and clean towels.”

Rhene’s eyes grew wide. “But Zagreus—”

“Zagreus is not here. This prisoner is going to die unless we help him. You were in charge of his care while I was away. Do you want his death on your head?”

Fear flashed in Rhene’s eyes, and she quickly shook her head.

“Then take care of it,” Cynna snapped. “Bring everything I’ve asked for. Along with medicinal herbs and the healer’s kit. And do it quickly.”

Rhene turned and sighed as she headed back for the entrance of the prison.

Alone, Cynna chewed on the inside of her lip as she looked into the cell. She couldn’t just go in. Even sick and feverish, Nick was strong. And she wasn’t stupid enough to put herself in any kind of situation where he could retaliate against her—because he had every reason to want to do so.
 

Steeling her nerves, she marched up to the guard’s station. The keeper of the prison—Lykos—eyed her with heat and lust as she approached, just as he always did. “Mistress. To what do we owe this unexpected…pleasure?”

Just the way he said “pleasure” sent a shudder down her spine. Lykos had a wicked streak in him. One Zagreus approved of and often let loose. She’d seen what the satyr had done to a couple of nymphs with his hands and a cane, and she didn’t want the bastard anywhere near her. She also didn’t want him to
know
she didn’t want him near her.

“The prisoner in fourteen is ill. I have to treat him, but he needs to be shackled first.”

Lykos’s gaze skipped past her down the dark corridor, then back again. “I’ve had no instruction from the prince.”

“Nor will you. I just left his bed.” She tipped her head. “But I could wake him for you if you’d like, and he could tell you himself.”

Wariness crept into Lykos’s eyes. Waking Zagreus was never a good thing, and even he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of the Prince of Darkness’s wrath. Without a word, he grabbed shackles from a shelf behind him, then brushed past Cynna and headed down the hall.

She waited while the grind of metal sounded, and he unlocked the door, then pushed it open. Nick didn’t move, just opened his eyes and squinted at the light spilling into the room.

“Hands,” Lykos barked.

Nick’s face was pale and slicked with sweat. His chest rose and fell with quick, uneven jerks. He still didn’t move his body away from the rocks or lift his head, but he did manage to slide his chained arms in front of him, enough so Lykos could remove the restraints that kept him attached to the wall and close the shackles around his wrists.

Some kind of commotion sounded from the hallway. Cynna turned just as Rhene and two more satyrs appeared, dragging a metal bedframe and a bare mattress with them.

Cynna pointed to the far wall. “There.”

The first satyr set down the frame; the other dropped the mattress on top. Rhene lit the torch on the far wall, then set a leather satchel to the left of the door.

When the satyrs straightened, Cynna nodded toward Nick. “Move him to the bed.”

The guards wrapped their hands around his arms and hauled him to his feet. He grimaced but didn’t make a sound. The same towel Nick had worn earlier was wrapped around his hips again, but Cynna’s attention focused on the wound on his leg. Or what was left of it. No longer open and oozing as it had been earlier today, but healed over, swollen, and red.

The last thing she needed was for him to get blood poisoning and die. If that happened, her death was imminent. And as much as she hated the fact her fate was now tied to his, she also didn’t want him to die, because she was afraid if he did, that darkness threatening her soul really would win. Suddenly, he was all that stood between her and an eternity of misery every part of her knew she deserved.

She thought about telling them to be gentle but held her tongue. They laid him on the bed, and he groaned. Lykos ran a chain to his cuffs and locked it to a ring along the top of the bedframe. The ring could slide the width of the bed, but it still forced his arms over his head. He rolled to his side so his bent arms were in front of him, exhaled a long breath, and shivered.

She’d done terrible things while she’d been here. Horrendous, awful things she never should have participated in. A niggling voice in the back of her head whispered this was her penance.

“Leave us,” Cynna said.

When Lykos shot her a glare, she pinned him with a hard look. “Do you want to be the one to stay and oversee this?”

A
no way in hell
look flashed in his eyes, and he crossed to the door. Cynna held out her hand as he drew near. “The key.”

“Mistress, that is unwise. If the prince discovers—”

“The key,” she said louder.

His expression shifted to
it’s your funeral
, but he dropped the key in her palm and motioned for the other satyrs to follow.

When they were gone, Cynna drew one steadying breath. Nick’s eyes were closed, his body limp against the bare mattress, his marked forearms near his face, his knees tucked up to his waist. He looked as if he were sleeping, but she knew it was delirium from the fever racking his body, not rest.
 

She shouldn’t be in this cell. She shouldn’t even be in this realm. What she’d done… There was no redemption for what she’d done. But she was here now, and for the first time in ages, she was determined to do the right thing. Even if tomorrow fate forced her back to doing wrong.

The nymph at her side shifted her feet, and any hope Cynna had of wallowing in her own misery slid to the wayside. She zeroed in on the wound on Nick’s leg. “Rhene, close the door. I’m going to need your help.”

Rhene’s shoulders dropped, but she shuffled toward the door as instructed. Seconds later, an ominous clank echoed through the room.

“Now,” Cynna said, “hand me a knife.”

N
ick opened his eyes and looked up at the rock ceiling above.

Torchlight flickered off the stones, illuminating the space, which was strange because usually he was left in darkness unless he was being put through one of his torture sessions.
 

He shifted, tried to move his arms, but realized they were cuffed together and attached to a chain above his head. Something soft pressed against his back. Rolling to his side, he pushed up on his shoulder and glanced around. Yeah, this was still his cell, but he was in a bed—a real bed. His hips and legs were covered by a thin blanket, and across the room—

Every muscle went still as he looked over the female sitting on his pallet of blankets in the corner, her head resting against the rocks, her eyes closed, her long legs stretched out in front of her.

Cynna.

His pulse picked up speed. He glanced toward the door, trying to figure out what was going on, but it was tightly shut. Looking back at her, he realized she wasn’t dressed as she normally was when she came to him. Yes, she was still wearing those ridiculous boots and that short skirt that showed off her toned legs, but instead of the corset that pushed out her breasts, she was dressed in a loose, long-sleeved T-shirt that seemed to swallow her whole. A T-shirt that was smeared with blood.

He tried to shift more upright and was thankful to discover his feet weren’t shackled. The chain along the top of the metal bedframe slid along the bar while he moved, and he was able to lean back against the wall. His mind tumbled with possibilities as he tried not to make any noise. If she’d done something to piss Zagreus off, he didn’t doubt the sick son of a bitch would toss her in Nick’s cell just to see what Nick would do. And right now, he didn’t know what he wanted to do. This was the female who’d directed his torture over the last six months. He had every reason to want to retaliate against her. But she was also the one person he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about in the same amount of time, proving he was as sick as everyone else in this godsforsaken place.

The chains rattled, and he froze, but she was already waking—her eyes fluttering open, her head lifting from the wall, her gaze searching and finding his across the dim room.

For a split second, guilt crept into her eyes, then she blinked and it was gone as if it had never happened. And as she pushed to her feet and smoothed down her short little skirt, Nick wondered if it had happened at all or if he was finally losing his fucking mind and hallucinating.

She crossed the room and reached for the blanket. His muscles bunched, and he drew his legs up, ready to kick out if he had to.

Her hand stilled inches from touching him. “I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help. You were injured.”

He didn’t know how to read her. He was always injured in this damn place, but no one had ever tried to help him in any way. “Why should I trust you?”

That guilt flashed in her chocolate, way-too-familiar eyes once more. Another quick spark that was there, then quickly gone. And not for the first time, he had that strange sense that he’d met her before. Or someone like her. He just couldn’t figure out where.

“You have no reason to,” she answered in that velvety voice, the one that always amped him up. “But if I’m right, and you don’t let me help, you will die. Not even your superhuman genes can heal you from this.”

Part of him wanted to die, to be finished with this hell, but another part wasn’t ready. Because he hadn’t figured out how to take Zagreus with him yet.

She reached for the blanket again, and this time he let her, not because he trusted her, but because he sensed she wasn’t totally lying. There was something wrong with him, some kind of infection making him weaker than he should be. Something he should have healed from on his own.

She pushed the blanket aside to reveal his bare leg. Cool air washed over his skin, reminding him he was naked beneath the fabric and covered in a thin layer of sweat. A shiver racked his body.