Her father expected her to bind herself to Zander and produce an heir. To cement the monarchy so the Council could not overthrow her reign once he was gone. And she would do exactly what he commanded, because her life, now, was sacrificed. But that's where it ended. There would be no follow-up "spare." No matter how nice or agreeable or handsome Zander was, she would not take him into her bed again once her pregnancy was confirmed. And oh, she would rule. Much to the dismay of the Argonauts, and the Council, and most of all, her father.

She had five hundred years before she passed from this life into the next. And once she did, her soul no longer belonged to her, but to Hades. It was way past time she stopped living for everyone else and finally started living for herself.

She opened the blades of the scissors and captured a clump of hair near her temple. Then, without hesitation, she sliced.

Zander paused on the other side of Isadora's closed bedroom door, took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his brow. He wasn't sweating. If anything, his skin was cold and clammy, much like Isadora's had been.

Not important. He headed out of the anteroom toward the grand marble staircase. Walking in on a very naked Isadora had not been what he'd expected. Or planned. Or, skata, wanted. But now that he had, he couldn't get the memory of her out of his mind. Bare as the day she was born. As perfectly formed as any Argolean male hoped. The female that would very soon be his for the taking. And why the hell that didn't excite him, he didn't know.

Before he could stop himself, his thoughts were skipping back, comparing Isadora's body to the heady fantasy of Cal-lia he'd conjured up in that damn study. Only one got his blood going. Only one shot his body temperature into the out-of-this-world range. Only one made him hard with just a thought.

Shit. He stopped with one hand on the banister. Forced out a breath, drew another one in.

Isadora is not the one.

His heart rate kicked up, but he worked to keep it steady. Told himself, okay, so his body wasn't reacting the way his mind wanted, but that didn't mean he couldn't still make this work. There were Argolean aphrodisiacs he could take that would help with his libido. And if those failed, he could always cross into the human realm, knock over a pharmacy and lift some Levitra or Viagra or Cialis. He'd used human drugs before. He knew they'd work in his system. He could use them again for the sake of his marriage and their people.

You never had to use them with your soul mate, dipshit.

"Whatever," he muttered, picking up his pace again. "It's just biology, dumbass."

"Talking to yourself again, old man?"

Zander pulled up short at the base of the stairs on the second floor, one hand on the newel post, as he peered into the shadows.

Near the far wall, Titus stepped out from behind a column he'd obviously been leaning against, waiting. "I always suspected you were a little senile."

"Hey," Zander said. Because, yeah, this was awkward too. "What's up?"

Titus crossed his arms over his broad chest. Stood with his legs shoulder width apart. The stance was defensive, but not aggressive, and Zander was glad. He wasn't in the mood to get his ass handed to him anymore today.

"Theron told me to wait for you. He got a message from Nick. Daemons hit a village somewhere near the North American colony. Seems there was a mix of half-breeds and humans living there. Nick's asked for help locating survivors. Theron already sent the others out. He wants you ready to roll."

Excitement pricked Zander's skin. Theron was letting him fight? He'd expected to be sidelined from now until the time Isadora produced an heir. But maybe since they weren't officially bound yet, Theron was giving him one last job. "Yeah. Sure. I just need to grab some weaponry. Then we can go."

"One thing first." Titus stepped in front of Zander, blocking his path to the next set of stairs, and Zander's back tightened in anticipation of what would come next. Retribution was a bitch, but Zander had it coming.

"What you did before...in the king's chamber. That was..." Titus lifted his hand, looked at it. Seemed to debate whether he was going to reach out and touch Zander's shoulder or plow his fist into Zander's abdomen. Zander stiffened, but then Titus dropped his arm. "That was heroic, Z. I just want you to know all of us...especially Demetrius...we won't forget this."

That pride returned, swift and consuming, to smack Zander in the chest all over again. And yeah, he may be fighting his own personal demons where Isadora and Callia were concerned, but this was why he was making the sacrifice. For Titus, who couldn't touch anyone except in anger; for Demetrius, who was so screwed up no one knew what the hell was wrong with him; for Cerek, who kept his distance from all females. He was doing it for all his guardian brothers who couldn't make the same sacrifice for a thousand different reasons.

"Demetrius forgets everything. Guarantee by next week he won't give a shit about the whole thing."

A smile cracked Titus's usually somber expression. Or at least, what could be considered a smile for Titus. One corner of his mouth quirked. "Probably. That, or he'll come up with a reason you did this to screw the rest of us over somehow."

Zander shook his head. Smiled himself and followed Titus as the other guardian turned and headed for the stairs.

"And just so we're clear on something else," Titus said as he walked. "No way in hell I'm gonna start calling you Your Royal Highness just because you're binding yourself to Isadora. Your Royal Heinie, maybe."

Zander's smile widened as they turned the corner and headed for the Undercroft, the room on the lowest level of the castle where the Argonauts stored weaponry and any other gear they might need. This was more like the Titus he knew.

"Or Your Majesty," Titus went on. "More like Your Major Dumbass. Ooh, wait. Better yet. You know how the Council always addresses the king as His Most Faithful Serene Highness? We'll call you His Most Fucked-up Sperm-donating Heinie." Titus seemed pleased with his own joke. "Yeah, that one fits."

Zander's smile faded as Titus pushed the heavy door to the Undercroft open with his shoulder. Yeah, that one totally fit, didn't it? His future had just been summed up in one lame-ass title.

He grabbed a new scabbard and parazonium, draped the strap across his chest and positioned the weapon at his back, then slid into his jacket and pushed all thoughts of the king, Isadora and, especially, Callia out of his head. "Let's make tracks, Titus. No sense letting Demetrius have all the fun."

"That's the best plan I've heard all day." Titus grabbed his own gear and nodded toward the door. "I'm ready to kick some daemon ass."

So was Zander. In a way Titus or any of the other Argonauts would never understand.

Chapter Six.

Max jerked awake, drenched in a cold sweat and shaking from head to toe.

The air caught in his lungs, stifling, stagnant. He sat up quickly, staring into the dark as his heart raced and his senses slowly righted themselves.

He was in his attic, on his pallet. Moonlight streamed through the high, dirty window on the far wall, illuminating the layer of dust on the barren floorboards until the room looked like it was covered in snow.

Not the training field. He glanced down. There was no blood on his hands. He hadn't just killed in a rage like he'd seen in his dream.

A dream. Just another useless dream.

He took a deep breath. And another. Closed his eyes and worked to slow his racing pulse. The dream had come, just as it always did. And as always, he had trouble separating it from reality. In this one he'd seen his mother-again-looking for him. Only, when she saw what he'd become, what he'd done, a horrified expression had crossed her delicate features and she'd turned her back and fled.

Not reality. Just a dream. Just a stupid, stupid dream...

Feeling steadier, he opened his eyes and glanced around. As his pulse settled and his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized this dream must have been a doozy. The bread that had made up the dinner he hadn't eaten was strewn across the floor, most of it smashed. The plate was broken into at least three pieces and his water was nothing more than a damp circle on the hard, cold wood.

Strange.

With a shrug he shook off the thought and lay back down. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but it must have been hours, judging by the light. Outside and down below, he could hear Atalanta back at work after the dinner break, training her daemons. Luckily, she'd left him alone to sleep, obviously too disgusted with his humanity to look at him. The clash of weapons, cries of defeat and Atalanta's bellowing rage rang up through the air to pound at his brain.

He tossed his forearm over his eyes and tried to block out the sounds. Shivering, he wished for his blanket, though he knew how useless it was to wish for anything here. He wasn't getting that back tonight, so he'd just have to get used to it and suffer.

To keep from thinking about the cold, he rolled to his side, drew his knees to his chest and pictured his mother's face again. He breathed deep. If he focused hard enough, he was almost sure he could feel the warmth of the glass in his hands earlier.

The glass.

He sat bolt upright, very much awake now, his heart racing once more. Only this time it wasn't a dream that haunted him, it was reality.

He jumped to his feet, dropped back to his knees, searched every inch of his pallet for the glass, only to come up empty. His hands shook, and tears blurred his eyes. Why hadn't he hidden it again before falling asleep? Stupid, stupid Max! Where was it?

His hands rushed over the pallet again and again, more frantic with each pass as he searched, but when his fingers finally caught something small and round and metal, he froze.

He lifted the coin into the moonlight so he could see it. Then went cold all over as he stared at the letter A stamped into the gold.

Atalanta's coin. Her marker. She'd been in his room. She'd seen him with the glass. And now it was gone. The ruined food, the spilled water, the broken plate...it all made sense now.

He was on his feet before he could stop himself, fueled by some building rage he'd never experienced. He backtracked down the ladder, hit the fourth floor and raced down the back stairs toward the kitchen, his temper and anger growing with each step he took.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He ignored the kitchen workers and their growls of warning as he raced through the room. A blast of frigid air hit his face when he thrust the kitchen door open, but he ignored that too. Out across the training field he caught sight of the group of daemons huddled around Atalanta and one of her minions.

"Weak!" Atalanta bellowed. "If I wanted spineless maggots in my army, I'd replace the daemons with humans. Put your back into it!"

Max's feet moved with their own purpose. His vision blurred and darkened. Before he knew it he was pushing his way through the crowd and stopping in the center of the ring.

Atalanta caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. The daemon she was fighting-Phobi?-took the opportunity to get the upper hand. But she was quicker than he was and a thousand times more deadly.

Her sword arced out just before Phobi struck, and with a scream that echoed through the frigid night air, his head flew from his body and thumped hard across the frozen ground. His body fell seconds later.

It was a sight Max had witnessed a hundred times before, and every other time a part of him had cried. Death was death, no matter the creature. But this time, he didn't even care. All he saw in his line of sight was Atalanta and his last breaking point.

"Maximus," she said as she wiped the dripping blade against her bloodred skirt. "How nice of you to join us."

"I didn't come to join you," he barked as he threw the coin at her. "I came for what you stole."

The coin landed with a soft thud against the earth at her feet. She glanced down, but not even a flicker of recognition passed across her face. Her features remained as cold and blank as always.

She looked at him, stuck the tip of her blade into the ground so the weapon stood straight and without so much as flinching extracted the glass from the pocket of her robe.

Max's breath caught when he saw his treasure in her hands. Fear pushed its way up his throat. He knew without even asking what she wanted. For him to beg. To show his weakness in front of the others. And he would. For that glass and his one connection to his mother, he'd do anything.

"Is this what you want?" she asked in a sickeningly sweet tone. "This...trinket?"

He didn't answer. Couldn't. Words lodged in his throat.

She turned the glass slowly in her hands, but her eyes never wavered from his. "It's so pretty, Maximus. I wonder...Wherever did you get it?"

He knew better than to tell her a lie. The way she was staring at him, it was obvious she already suspected it had come from the gods. But he also knew better than to tell her the truth too.

She gripped the glass in her hand and tossed it to her right. Max gasped, his gaze following the glass as it hurtled through the air. Twisted and gnarled fingers caught it before it smashed to the ground. Zelus chuckled with amusement.

"Gorgeous, isn't it, Zelus?" Atalanta asked, still staring at Max.

"Yes, my queen," he growled.

A slow smile spread across her features. "It's yours, then."

Zelus lifted it over his head.

"No!" Max screamed, every muscle in his body coiling tight.

Zelus's arms moved so fast, Max barely tracked them, but his heart lurched in his throat, and when the glass shattered against the frozen ground with nothing more than a soft, tinkling sound, every one of his dreams shattered with it.

She'd never be able to find him. Not now. Not ever.

Max's vision turned red, and he charged without thinking. His hand darted out, and he snagged Atalanta's blade before she could kick it from his grasp. A roar echoed across the training field, but he didn't look to see where it had come from, didn't even realize it had erupted from him. He felt something strike his face, but he ignored it. The blade in his hand swiped out, connecting with Zelus's flesh, dug into bone. The daemon howled, tried to fight back, but Max was too quick. He darted close and away before Zelus could react, and when Zelus was finally on his knees, Max didn't even hesitate.

Behind him he heard Atalanta whisper, "Yes."

His blade pulled back. The need to destroy overrode every one of his senses. Even that of morality.

A slicing sound echoed in the wake of his swipe. Zelus's head rolled across the ground to land next to Phobi's. His body landed with a thud seconds later.

Long, rolling, female laughter erupted behind him. "Yes, Maximus. Yes!" Atalanta clapped her hands together and then slapped them against his upper arms, jostling him in exuberance.

Sweaty, breathing hard and staring at his carnage, Max expected to feel remorse. But he didn't. Not a thread. This time what he felt was victory. And instead of the decapitated daemon what he saw was every one of his stupid and useless hopes and dreams ripped apart at his feet.

He let her pull him back to hug him against her body. Didn't fight her touch or tense like he normally did. "I knew you had it in you!"

She let go as quickly as she'd grabbed him and gestured to the others. "Hybris, quick. Go tell the cooks to prepare a feast. Tonight we celebrate my yios's victory!"

Hybris rushed off toward the lodge. The other daemons broke up, heading toward their barracks across the field at the edge of the woods, grumbling words Max couldn't hear and didn't care to know. He still didn't move.

Feel something.

But he didn't. He didn't feel anything. Only a whole lot of...nothing.

Atalanta stepped in front of him. Her robe blocked his view of the headless daemon, but he didn't need to see the destruction to remember. He could call it up in his mind anytime he wanted.

She knelt until they were at eye level and stared at him with irises the color of coal. The kind that could spawn diamonds. If only it wanted to.

"You have just taken your first step toward me, yios, and I know how hard that is for you. I was once like you. Fighting what I was meant to do and be." Her voice was soft, not condescending as it usually was. And for reasons he couldn't explain, he found himself listening, falling into the lilt of her words. "You and I, Maximus, together we have the power to do anything. Together, we're strong enough to rule the world."

The metal disk she always wore around her neck slipped free of her robe to hang in front of him. He'd seen it before, but tonight it glowed as bright as the moon.

She cupped her hand against his cheek. "You do believe me, don't you, Maximus?"

He stared at the disk with its four empty chambers and tried to remember what he'd heard Thanatos, the archdaemon, tell the others about it. 'Tis the key that opens the doors of the world. Forged by the gods. Stolen by her.

It didn't look like much of a key to him, but what did he know?

"Maximus?" One red-tipped fingernail tilted his face up toward hers.

"Yes?" he whispered, refocusing on her irises. Circles. Just like the medal at her chest.

"Yes, what?"