She tugged the sleeves down to cover the marks, and as she did, her mind skipped to the dungeons, and her scarred prisoner. That was what Zagreus called him. Hers. As if he were a gift rather than a living being. Nothing in this godforsaken place was hers, though, and neither would she want it, but a place deep in the recesses of her mind was starting to wonder if anything outside it would ever be hers either.
Her jaw clenched. She pushed upright and marched out of his bedchamber, not wanting to think too much about that just yet. Stone steps led downward. Zagreus’s lair was an underground tunnel compound in the cenote systems of the Yucatan. The god was so perverse, he actually got extra pleasure knowing humans were frolicking at resorts and vacation destinations directly above his torture chambers, and if a few “accidentally” stumbled across his lair thanks to morbid curiosity—as he claimed to the Olympians whenever he was caught with a human—well then, that wasn’t his fault, now was it?
Stalactites hung from the ceiling. She passed a porthole window alive with water and fish and coral but didn’t stop to appreciate the view. There was nothing to appreciate in this miserable place, and every day she wondered why the hell she’d sold herself to Zagreus in the first place.
For revenge. To see them pay.
Yeah, but if he wasn’t going to follow through on his end of the deal… Her stomach rolled, and a thought rippled through her mind, slowing her feet.
If he wasn’t going to follow through, then she’d be stuck here forever, repeating what she’d had to do today, reliving what she’d endured tonight.
Her spine tingled, but she refused to accept that reality as she pushed her feet onward. By the time she reached her floor and headed across the landing, all she wanted was a few hours of peace before Zagreus forced her to do it all again.
Halfway to the arch that opened to a cluster of rooms, hers included, a voice called, “Mistress?”
Fuck.
She looked toward the redheaded Nereid, standing near the stairs with a wary expression. She wasn’t a pleasure slave like the Maenads, the orgiastic nymphs trained by the god of ecstasy, Dionysus, which Zagreus had hauled back from the Amazons and whom he’d insisted on using on Nick earlier today. No, she was simply one of Zagreus’s many servants who existed on the fringes of this nightmare, trying hard to blend into the shadows. Something Cynna could never do. “What?”
The Nereid—Cynna couldn’t remember her name—took a hesitant step forward. “I’ve been looking for you. We have a…a problem.”
Cynna didn’t want to deal with any problems. It wasn’t her responsibility. She turned back for her room. “Find a satyr and have him take care of it.”
“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.