TWISTED (Eternal Guardians Book 7) Page 2

  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.

  The guards came in as Nick finished knotting his towel. One stood to the right holding a spear, glaring at Nick. The red gash across his cheek was Nick’s doing, from yesterday, when the son of a bitch had come at him in the hall for no apparent reason. Nick had gotten in three good punches before a handful of guards had come to the fucker’s rescue. Nick smirked.

  “Something funny, mortal?” the injured guard growled.

  Nick didn’t answer. Taunting would only garner him a beating. And though he’d love to have another go at this prick, right now he was too interested in seeing what Cynna had planned to care what these two thought.

  They led him out of the baths and back down the corridor toward his cell. The rocks were cool against his feet, and a chill swept through the tunnel, bringing the fine hairs along his nape to attention.

  The guards swung the steel door open and pushed him into his cell. No windows, no light. The injured guard lit a torch on the wall, illuminating the damp space made up of nothing but rock walls and his pile of blankets where he slept in the corner.

  They maneuvered him around until he was standing in the center of the room, facing the door. One guard uncuffed his wrists, and for a moment, he thought of taking them down. But voices were already resonating through the corridor, growing stronger, coming closer. And one stood out, causing his stomach to tighten and arousal to rush back through his body, bringing every other thought to a halt.

  The click of heels sounded as the guards hooked chains to D-bolts in the ceiling Nick didn’t remember being there, then reached for his arms. As they attached the first chain to his left wrist, stretching his limb up and away from his body, he winced, the injury in his shoulder sending a sharp shot of pain across his muscles. They grasped his other arm and locked him to the chain, then closed the metal cuffs around his ankles, kicked his legs shoulder-width apart, and chained those to hooks in the floor as well.

  Cynna appeared in the doorway to the room.

  The pain dissipated as Nick focused on her. She was wearing the same revealing outfit she’d had on when she’d watched his fight in the training ring, and it distracted him from what was going on around him. Excited him. Sent a wicked thrill through the dark part of what was left of his soul.

  “Mistress,” the injured guard said, standing straight. “The prisoner is ready.”

  Cynna’s gaze flicked over Nick, over his bare torso and the small white towel covering his awakening erection, then up to his face to hover on the scar on his left cheek. Without sparing a look toward the guards, she said, “Leave us.”

  Her voice was like sandpaper and velvet, a voice made for sin, just like her body. In her hands she held a jar.

  Two females—no, nymphs—rushed into the room as soon as the guards left. One was blonde, the other with short dark hair. They were both petite, both submissive with their eyes cast downward, and both were wearing flimsy pale pink dresses made from thin fabric that barely hid their bodies from view. They were also wearing metal collars. Collars he’d seen on other submissives in the tunnels. Collars that marked them as sex slaves.

  Nick’s stomach
tightened. His gaze skipped past the females, toward the steel door, which was now closed, and through the small window to see who was watching.

  Darkness reflected in the glass. But that didn’t mean they were alone. Zagreus was always somewhere watching Nick’s torture. Feeding off it. Waiting for him to break.

  Turning to the dark-haired nymph on her right, Cynna handed the female the jar and said, “Use this. But do not touch him anywhere save where he bleeds.”

  The nymph nodded and approached, her cheeks a deep cherry red, her breaths shallow. She unscrewed the lid and set it on the rocks at her feet, then gathered a scoop of whatever was in the jar and lowered to her knees in front of him.

  Nick sucked in a breath. She was inches away, his groin hidden only by the small towel. Her fingers grazed the wound on his thigh, a tickling sensation that made his muscles tense, but the healing balm was cool where it coated the gash. He relaxed as she rubbed the balm into the wound, feeling the jagged skin already knitting back together, feeling his body healing faster than it would on its own, feeling a heat he didn’t expect warming his skin.

  “Enough,” Cynna said. “Now the other one.”

  The dark-haired nymph pushed to her feet, still didn’t look Nick in the eye, and moved around behind him. Again he felt her fingers gliding over his skin, and he tensed, then the balm slathered the wound in his shoulder, slowly warming his skin, repairing the damage and relaxing him from the outside in.

  Cynna’s deep brown eyes remained blank as she watched the nymph work. No emotion crossed her face. No pleasure or excitement over what was to come, as Zagreus always showed. Nothing but emptiness. An emptiness Nick had gotten used to seeing on her flawless face.

  Only…that wasn’t true. When he’d been in the ring earlier, when he’d dropped his weapon in defiance of Zagreus’s desire to make him fight, he’d seen something in her eyes then. Something that had looked a lot like panic.

  “That’s enough,” Cynna said.

  The nymph’s fingers lifted from Nick’s skin, and she stepped back. Moving around him, she knelt to pick up the lid, recapped the jar, then sank back against the far wall near the other nymph.

  Cynna moved forward, her eyes never wavering from Nick’s, and the scent of jasmine hit him as it always did when she drew close, filling his senses, messing with his mind. She was tall for a female, at least five ten, and in those ridiculously high-heeled boots, only a few inches shorter than him. Today her blonde hair was swept over one shoulder, a blue streak near her temple contrasting sharply with her caramel skin. Her face was heavily made up, her eyes rimmed in thick black, making her look every bit the dominatrix. And though he knew he should be anxious over whatever she and Zagreus had cooked up for him next, he wasn’t. Because there was something about her that interested him. Perplexed him. Made him want to know more.

  He’d never admit it, but the mystery of who she was and how she’d come to be here had saved him. Saved him from going mad or giving in to all that dark energy Zagreus was waiting to claim.

  “You just…won’t…break.”

  Her words were a whisper, a frustration, a surprise. She never spoke to him. Though he’d spent more time with her than anyone else in this hellhole, she never addressed him directly. She gave the commands to her grunts, and they did her dirty work. She never even got near him.

  Something about today was different, though. A tiny voice in the back of his head screamed what was about to happen in this cell was on a whole different level from what he’d been through before.

  She stepped close, so close he could feel her heat but not close enough to touch, then moved to her right, slowly making her way around him. His stomach tightened, and that blistering arousal came rushing back.

  “This isn’t a game.” Her warm breath fanned his nape, sending a shiver across his bare skin. And in his wounds, where the nymph had spread the balm, heat gathered and grew, radiating outward, heading for his belly. “You cannot beat Zagreus. No one wins against the Prince of Darkness.”

  Nick’s arms flexed, and the chains rattled above his head. He didn’t want to beat the fucker, he only wanted to destroy him. Not just for what he’d put Nick through during the last few months, but for what he put everyone in this wretched place through—Cynna, his gut told him, included.

  “I can’t stop what he has planned for you.” She circled around and stopped directly in front of him again. “Give in, and you save yourself the torment. Give in, and this ends now.”

  “Give in,” Nick repeated, staring into her dark eyes. But unlike before, they weren’t empty. They weren’t dead. There was something there. Something that looked a lot like…desperation.

  Was she warning him of something horrendous to come? Why would she do that? She was Zagreus’s puppet. Or was she simply afraid of what would happen if he didn’t break?

  “You want me to give in?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer. Only stared at him.

  “The way you gave in?”

  The desperation in her eyes faded and was replaced with that lifeless, vacant look, the one he’d seen so many times when she’d ordered Zagreus’s satyrs to torture him. Without a word, she stepped back, but she didn’t break eye contact.

  “You were warned,” she said in a low voice. “Females?”

  Nick’s gaze swept from her to the nymphs, approaching from opposite sides. The blonde, the one who’d stood in the back of the room, reached him first, grasped the towel at his hips, and yanked it away. The other drew close and moaned as she stared at his dick. And though he couldn’t see their eyes, he could see their faces, flushed now with lust, with an obsession he knew was his next form of torture.

  Shit…

  They both sank to their knees in front of him. And holy fuck…heat—a heat he did not want—spread from his wounds and straight into his cock. Whatever that nymph had slathered all over his wounds hadn’t just healed him, it was making him instantly hard. He wrapped his hands around the chains above and tried to move away, but his legs were locked in place, his body on full display. And when he felt a hand land against his thigh and warm breath skitter across his bare hips, he couldn’t stop the groan that rumbled from his chest.

  “Do with him as you please.” Cynna’s husky voice echoed in the room.

  The nymphs both stilled and turned to look her way, but Cynna didn’t spare them a glance.

  Torchlight reflected in her blank, dead eyes locked on his, and not a single emotion flickered anywhere in her expression. “Bring him to the edge as many times as you like, but do not let him come. If you do, your punishment will be severe. Now. Begin.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cynna couldn’t breathe.

  She’d been forced to do some horrendous things in the year she’d been with Zagreus, but this—watching what those nymphs were doing to Nick—this was the worst.

  Her stomach tossed. The nymph on her knees bobbed her head between his legs. The other tweaked his nipples. Each time he neared release, they would let go and switch positions, then restart his torment all over again. Thankfully, Cynna had positioned herself far enough back so she couldn’t see the specifics, but she could see Nick. His sandy blond hair was drenched, he was hanging limply by his arms, and his legs were no longer holding his body upright.

  She couldn’t look into his eyes. Couldn’t focus on his insanely handsome face—dammit—now that his beard was gone. Five minutes into the session, she’d had to stare at a spot on the far wall behind his head and disassociate herself from what was happening. That was how she got through everything Zagreus made her do—mentally shut down from the moment, drifted in her mind, focused on the reason she’d sold herself to the sadistic god in the first place.

  Only today—now—she hadn’t been able to do that. Every moan, every labored breath, every time Nick rattled those chains while the nymphs took him to the brink with their mouths, with their hands, it cut through her mental barrier, dragged her back to the moment, made her stomach to
ss with a queasiness she only barely held down.

  “Enough.” She turned away as the nymphs reluctantly released him, unable to look at the beads of sweat sliding down the rugged and mysterious scar on the left side of his face, more prominent now that he’d shaved. Unwilling to draw in another image of his chiseled, naked, very aroused body and what the nymphs had done, she ushered the slave girls out into the hall and quickly followed.

  Zagreus had two satyrs waiting for them. Two who grabbed the nymphs and dragged them away, moaning and shaking. Cynna didn’t want to think about what the satyrs were going to do to the nymphs. Didn’t want to think about the fact that what those females were feeling was a high like that from a drug, one they couldn’t control. Didn’t want to acknowledge that by being forced to use them to torment Nick, she’d also been guaranteeing their impending torture.

  “Agapi.”

  My love. Revulsion sent a shudder down Cynna’s spine, but she swallowed hard and looked toward Zagreus, stalking toward her down the long, cold corridor. She wasn’t his love. Nor did she ever want to be.

  “How is our prisoner?”

  Her spine stiffened, and she met his dark gaze, knew not to back away from it. “He didn’t break, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  A wide, evil smile spread across Zagreus’s lips. “I wouldn’t want him to break too soon. Takes all the fun out of it, don’t you think?”

  Cynna’s eyes narrowed. Since Zagreus had bound her gift in his lair, she couldn’t tell when he was lying or being truthful, and she hated that—hated how that crippled her—but something told her this time, he was being honest. He got a sick sort of pleasure putting her in shocking situations. And right now he knew she wanted to run, and he was loving every moment of her misery.

  She lifted her chin, refusing to show even an ounce of weakness. “The same two tomorrow?”