Enslaved Read Free Page B

through the door and vanished from sight.
    Skyla had obviously forgotten all about Maelea, evidenced by the way she didn’t even glance back, but that was okay with Maelea. As the door clicked closed behind them and silence settled over the room, Maelea told herself that being forgotten was something she’d just have to get used to all over again.
    Some things can’t be saved, no matter how much you want them to be.
    As she turned for the front of the clinic, she couldn’t help but think that a truer statement had never been uttered.
    ***
    He was nothing more than a caged animal.
    Gryphon paced his bedroom suite. The pale blue walls were closing in on him. The heavy draperies made him want to scream. And every time he looked out through the cathedral-style window toward the glimmering lake below, he had the uncontrollable urge to take a flying leap off the balcony and hurl himself through air and water to smash into the rocks and tree trunks lining the bottom of the lake.
    He’d have done it, too, if he thought death would improve his situation. But he knew it wouldn’t. Even if his first trip to the Underworld had been a result of magic, he’d done enough shit there and since to know that if he died now, he’d wind up right back in Tartarus. This time to be tortured for all eternity. And he wouldn’t go back. The Isles of the Blessed…the resting place of the heroes…it was lost now to him until he found a way to redeem himself. And after what had happened today…
    Bile welled in his stomach when he thought of Titus lying on the ground, unconscious from a blow to the head, blood oozing from wounds in his flesh. Even now, Gryphon couldn’t quite remember what had happened during that fight. But he remembered Nick gripping his bleeding shoulder, surrounded by mutilated daemons, screaming that Gryphon was nothing more than a fucking menace who needed to be locked away.
    Gryphon closed his eyes. Fought the bile rising in his chest. Titus had to live. The guardian was strong. He couldn’t die. Not because of what Gryphon had done.
    Come to me, doulas . Come home…
    “No!” He grasped the ends of his hair and pulled so hard, his scalp burned. “Leave me the hell alone!”
    The voice chuckled. And inside, Gryphon fought back the urge to listen. To do what it wanted. To draw him toward darkness for good.
    A knock sounded at the door. His adrenaline lurched; he dropped his hands and whipped in that direction. Seconds later, Orpheus stepped into the room, and relief swept through Gryphon. But it was quickly quelled when he noticed Orpheus’s drawn features, his tight muscles, and his messy hair, all signs that said he’d been through hell and back in the last hour.
    Considering Orpheus hadn’t looked this bad when he had come back from hell, Gryphon knew something was wrong.
    No, gods. Not Titus.
    “He’s fine,” Orpheus said, closing the door at his back before Gryphon could ask. “He came through the surgery okay. Callia had to do some major reconstructive work, but he’s going to make a full recovery.”
    This time, the relief was sweet as wine. Gryphon dropped into a chair and cradled his head in his hands, thanking the Fates for Callia, the Argolean healer and Zander’s mate. But even as relief over Titus’s prognosis rushed through him, the darkness pressed in, telling him this was not good news. That good news would be to see the guardian die. To see them all die.
    He pressed his fingers against his eyes, clenched his jaw to the point of pain. Skata , he was going nuts. The urge to claw his way out of his own skin consumed him all over again.
    “Listen, Gryph,” Orpheus said, his boots scuffing on the floor near the door. “I gotta talk to you. For the time being, I think it’s best if you and I take a little trip.”
    Gryphon’s head came up. Orpheus shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and worked to keep his shoulders relaxed, but Gryphon saw the tension coiled beneath the tough