TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) (9 page)

This wasn’t who she was supposed to be. This wasn’t the woman her mother had raised. And if either of her parents could see her now…

She closed her eyes, dropped her head under the spray again, and pursed her lips to hold back the groan from working its way up her throat. She’d done all this for them. But they wouldn’t want this. They wouldn’t understand. And every minute she stood here, bending to Zagreus’s will, was another minute she moved further away from what was left of their memory.

“What we did yesterday doesn’t matter. It’s what we do today that determines who we are.”

Her mother’s voice rolled through her mind, and her thoughts centered on Nick in the dungeon below.
 

She couldn’t free him. She couldn’t save him without killing them both. But she could do something to ease his suffering. Something no one else dared do.

Nerves bunched and gathered in her stomach, making her pulse beat faster, making her breaths come quicker. She opened her eyes and stared at the rocks in front of her while her heart pounded hard, wondering if she had the strength to really go through with it.

CHAPTER SIX

S
eated on the floor in his cell, his back resting against the cool rocks, Nick squinted through the darkness to look up at the ceiling above his head.
 

He couldn’t see it, but he knew the chains shackled to his wrists looped up through hooks in the ceiling, then disappeared into small pipes high along the wall. Right now the chains were loose, allowing enough slack so he could sit and move around the back half of the room, but the tension was controlled by a button near his cell door. A button he’d stared at hour upon hour, trying to figure how in all of hell he could access it from clear across the room.

His gaze strayed to his arms resting on his bent knees, then to the metal cuffs, barely visible in the dark. The only light shone from beneath the door and the one small window that looked out at the hall, but it was enough so he could see his callused palms as he turned his wrists, then the scabs on the backs of his hands.

Ancient Greek text ran down his forearms and intertwined his fingers. Text that marked him as an Argonaut. Text that had dictated his life until he’d been brought here, made him think he could be a leader for his people, made him think he was something honorable.

But he wasn’t honorable. He wasn’t even an Argonaut. He was Krónos’s son—which, in a sick sort of way, explained a lot—and though just the thought turned his stomach, right about now he wasn’t averse to a little of his so-called father’s power. Because if he could figure out how the fuck to harness some of those almighty gifts Zagreus thought he had in him, he could break out of this shithole and rain holy hell down on the Prince of Darkness and any other god who got in his way.

Metal scraped metal across the room. Lifting his head, Nick tensed and squinted through the darkness to see what was happening.
 

The door creaked, and torchlight from the hallway flooded the opening, forcing him to blink several times at the increased light. But he didn’t need to see who was stepping into his room to know who it was. He could smell her. The sweet scent of jasmine preceded her everywhere she went, and his entire body responded in an instant, tightening in anticipation.
 

“Stand.” Cynna’s velvety voice slid over him like a caress, bringing every inch of his skin to life.

Slowly, he pushed to his feet, the chains on his wrists rattling as he moved. Torture at night wasn’t a surprise. He’d learned not to relax even in utter darkness, because he never knew when they were going to come for him, but her being here now was a shocker. As was the fact the door was closing behind her, locking them in together alone.

The room grew dark again. She pushed that button on the wall near the door, and the tension in the chains grew taut, dragging his arms up and away from his body, forcing him to step out from the wall. She let the motor hum for several seconds as his arms were lifted, then pushed Stop when his elbows were at a right angle. Not exactly comfortable, but not as painful as when the satyrs wrenched his arms over his head, pulling on his sockets, making him grapple to hold himself upright.

The stones were cold on the soles of his feet, and brisk air washed over his spine. Today—thankfully—he wasn’t naked to start. The cotton drawstring pants might be thin, but they gave him at least a little protection from whatever was coming. Shifting his arms, he wrapped his hands around the chains for balance. Fabric rustled, and then the torch on the far wall flared to life, casting warm illumination over the cell. He looked away as his eyes adjusted to the light, then slowly slid his gaze back her way and nearly swallowed his tongue.

She wasn’t decked out in her usual dominatrix getup. Tonight her blonde hair was pulled back into a neat tail, showing off the supple line of her jaw, and her face was void of makeup, making her look years younger than before. Instead of the skintight corset and skimpy skirt she always wore, she was dressed in a thin black tank and loose-fitting, soft pink cotton pajama pants that accentuated her natural curves. But what surprised him most was the fact her feet were as bare as his. As if she hadn’t planned to come down to the dungeon tonight. As if she’d rushed and forgotten shoes.

He watched her carefully, wondering what she was up to, wondering what she had planned. Aside from the other night when he’d been sick and she’d tended his wound, she never came alone. Quietly, she set a small bag on the floor near the door, withdrew something he couldn’t see and slipped it into her pocket, then pulled out a white plastic bottle and turned to face him.

Her dark eyes found his and held. Eyes that didn’t look as flat and dead as they had in days past. She twirled the bottle in her hand several times, then stepped forward. Heat gathered in his belly and slinked downward as she drew close, and his skin tingled at the prospect of her touch. A touch he shouldn’t want but couldn’t seem to stop fantasizing about.

Her sultry heat encircled him as she drew near. She uncapped the bottle and held it to his lips. “Drink.”

When he hesitated, she tipped her head, and something gentle passed over her eyes. Something he couldn’t quite read. “It’s only water. I promise.”

His mouth felt suddenly dry. Fresh water was a rarity in this place. One he craved.

She pressed the tip of the bottle to his lips, and he opened slowly, feeling the smooth plastic against his skin. In a rush, cool, clear water washed over his tongue, flooding his mouth, awakening his taste buds, making him groan.

One side of her lips ticked up, just a touch, just enough to change the entire look of her face. In an instant, she went from hard and jaded to soft and…gorgeous. “I guess it’s safe to say you like that.”

He did. But not just the water. He liked that she was the one pouring it into his mouth. Blood rushed from his belly into his cock as he watched her watching him. And excitement he knew he shouldn’t be feeling energized his body and made his pulse beat hard in his arteries.

“Careful,” she said in that sexy, alluring voice as she pulled the water bottle away. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

Sickness was the last thing on his mind. She had suddenly become the center of everything. He licked his lips while she capped the bottle and set it down, watching her every movement.

Drawing a deep breath, she stood in front of him once more and nodded toward his leg. “I need to check your wound.”

She didn’t wait for his answer, simply lowered to the floor and braced her hands on her thighs. And in the silence, as he waited for that first touch, Nick couldn’t help but think back to those nymphs kneeling in front of him yesterday just like this, to the way they’d ripped off his towel, to the things they’d done with their hands and mouths.

His cock stiffened and swelled, but not with remembered arousal. No, this arousal was purely from the prospect of watching Cynna kneeling so submissively in front of him, preparing to touch him in any way she wanted.
 

And
skata
, how fucking twisted was it that he knew some kind of torture was coming, but he couldn’t wait to see what she did next?

His pulse roared as her soft fingers grasped the hem of his left pant leg. The pants were loose enough for her to push the thin cotton all the way up his knee, past his wound. Tingles raced across his skin as she lifted the fabric higher, and he swallowed hard, fighting back his traitorous body’s reaction. Only when she bunched the fabric together around his upper thigh did he realize his ankles weren’t shackled as they had been
 
yesterday.

He was always shackled—arms, legs—and the guards knew never to get close enough to his mouth where he could bite. But tonight, either she’d forgotten he was capable of retaliation, or she just didn’t care. If he wanted, he could wrap his legs around her and squeeze the life out of her in a matter of seconds.

But even as the thought circled, he knew he wouldn’t do it. Not because she didn’t deserve it after everything she’d put him through, but because that dark place inside him was anxious to see where this was headed. And because every time her silky fingers brushed his skin, the electrical vibrations shooting through his limbs were better than anything he’d felt in a long time, even if he was chained and completely at her mercy. Even knowing things could turn straight to shit.

She freed the end of the bandage and slowly unrolled it from around his thigh. As the last of the cotton pulled free, cool air washed over his skin but was immediately replaced by her heat as she shifted forward to get a good look at his wound. And just seeing her lean in like that, so close to his groin, her warm breath fanning the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, his cock pulsed and grew painfully hard.

“This looks better.” She pressed her fingers all around the wound. A dull ache radiated outward from the spot, but it was quickly replaced with the heat of her fingers and more of those tiny electrical vibrations that felt so damn good.

Slowly, she lowered her hand and eased back onto her heels. “Cutting the wound open obviously worked.”

His pant leg fell to the floor, covering his skin once more. Disappointment was swift. He wanted her to go on touching him. Didn’t even care if it was just his wound. He wanted her hands on his body, anywhere. Everywhere.

Pushing against her knees, she rose to her feet, then moved around behind him. His muscles bunched when he could no longer see her, but he could feel her. Close. Once again her body heat washed over him, followed by her warm, seductive breath skimming the sensitive skin of his nape.
 

“This looks better too.” Her fingers landed against the wound on his upper right shoulder, and an uncontrollable shiver raced down his spine.

Her hand stilled. “Are you cold?”

Cold? No way in Hades. He was fucking hot. Hot and hard and aching right now. And even though he knew he shouldn’t be, he didn’t want her to stop.

“No,” he managed in a voice even he could tell was thick and heavy with desire. Did she hear it? She hadn’t made any overtly sexual moves, but he was already harder than he’d been with the nymphs, even though they’d pulled out every technique they knew and she was barely touching him. And she had to know it. The thin cotton pants weren’t hiding anything.

“The salve trapped infection in your wound,” she said, probing the edges of the cut on his back much as she’d done the one on his thigh. “I’ve no doubt you’d have healed fine without it. This one wasn’t as bad, but the injury on your thigh needed to be reopened.”

“What was in the salve?” He wanted to keep her talking. If she was volunteering information, he was going to use it.

“Healing herbs that sealed your wounds.”

And…?

“And,” she went on as if she’d heard his thought, “a chemical to enhance your reaction.”

That explained the heat. And the fact he’d been instantly hard even though those nymphs hadn’t interested him in the least. It also explained how they’d been able to hold him on the edge of release for hours.

Orgasm denial was an effective torture technique. Zagreus obviously hadn’t been able to break him physically, so he was trying to break him sexually. Nick had only been through one session, but just that one had been worse than all the physical shit he’d been subjected to in the six months he’d been there. He wasn’t sure how he’d make it through months of this kind of torture without losing his mind, especially when just looking at Cynna—just smelling her wild scent and knowing she was watching—made him instantly hard, jump-starting each session and making it all that much easier for the nymphs.