Daphne’s mouth fell open, but words wouldn’t come.
Before she could think of an answer—before she could think of something to do—another daemon stepped out from behind the boulder and growled. “The nymph is mine.”
Fear shot Daphne’s heart straight into her throat. The first daemon turned to the second and roared a menacing, aggressive response. The second bared his fangs and lurched for the first. Bones and fists and claws clashed as the two tore into each other.
Daphne swiveled and ran. Made it ten feet into the trees before another daemon jumped out from behind an old growth Douglas fir, right in her path. She skidded to a stop. Tried to lurch out of the way. He roared, reached out with claws as sharp as knives, and caught her across the side and abdomen, sending her flying into the brush.
A burn like the heat of a thousand suns lanced her side. She smacked into a tree, then dropped to the ground with a thud. Pain spiraled through every inch of her body, but she knew she had to get up. Had to run. She clawed at the dirt and tried to stand, but the wound in her side gushed blood, twisting her to the ground in a cry of agony.
The daemon growled and advanced. With the forest spinning around her, Daphne looked for something—anything—close to use as a weapon. Her vision came and went. But through descending darkness, she spotted a rock the size of her fist with sharp edges.
She dug her fingers into the ground, used every ounce of strength she had left to crawl in that direction. Another roar echoed at her back. She whimpered through the pain and tried to move faster, but it was as if she were crawling through mud. Just when she was sure she would never get there, her hand closed around the rock. She tugged it close, then rolled to her back and stared in horror at the sight before her.
A man—no, not a man, she realized—an Argonaut, battled back not one, but all three advancing daemons. His shoulders were broad, his arms muscled, his waist tapered to strong legs. And he moved like a seasoned warrior, swinging the blade in his hand like a ninja swings nunchucks. She watched in disbelief as his blade sank deep, he pulled it free, then swung out and decapitated the first daemon before moving to the second and third. In a matter of seconds, the fight was over, as if the daemons were paper dolls rather than living, menacing monsters.
The Argonaut turned Daphne’s way. Daphne’s vision flickered, but one look was all it took to send her scrambling backward in a haze of pain. A nose that had been broken more than once. Puckered scars that covered the left side of his jaw, ran down his neck, and disappeared under the collar of his long-sleeved T-shirt. And mismatched eyes—one a brilliant blue, the other a deep green—blazing and focused directly on her as if she were the next threat.
The Argonaut kicked the daemon’s body out of his way and marched toward her. Blood and some kind of vile green goo covered his clothing, and that wild, fevered look in his mismatched eyes told her he was no friend, not to her.
It was him. The crazy Argonaut.
Aristokles.
Fear caused her to jerk back, but her head hit something sharp, stopping her momentum. Pain shot across her scalp, and she cried out, but the sound gurgled in her throat. He knelt beside her and reached one bloody, dirt-streaked hand her way.
She gripped the rock tightly, but before she could lift it to protect herself, everything went black.
*
Ari carried the injured female into the living area of his home high in the mountains and laid her on the couch.
“Holy Hera,” Silas said, grabbing a blanket from the back of a chair and laying it over her limp body. “She’s a nymph. What in Hades was a nymph doing out in the wilds unprotected?”
“I don’t know.” Ari moved back as Silas knelt close and worked on the female. In his old life, Silas had tended to the sick and injured of his village. Now he tended to Ari, which Ari knew was the most thankless job on the planet. “I didn’t seal the wounds. If it was an archdaemon who did this, I didn’t want to make things worse.”
“Smart.” An archdaemon’s claws held a dangerous poison that could prompt infection. Silas peeled the female’s torn dress back over her ribs so he could see her wounds. “But the chances she was attacked by an archdaemon are slim. I’m gonna need rags and hydrogen peroxide from the kitchen.”