Remembering she needed to play the damsel in distress, Daphne brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Stonehill Hold? I’ve never heard of it.”
“Not many have.” He moved to the base of the stairs and looked up at her five steps above. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” she answered hesitantly. “Tired.” When his gaze dropped to her side, she remembered her wounds. “Sore.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Daphne couldn’t help but notice the angled scars that ran across his features. A series of thin, white lines that stretched from one cheek, across his nose, to the opposite jaw. Claw marks, she realized.
She wanted to ask about them but decided now wasn’t the time. Instead, she tried to figure out who he was. He wasn’t an Argonaut like Aristokles. She would have picked up on that. As an otherworldly creature, she had the power to sense a being’s race, and she already knew he wasn’t a god or a nymph like her. But to be here with the psycho Argonaut and not be intimidated meant he had to be someone important.
Her eyes widened when his lineage finally registered. “You’re a half breed.”
He moved up the steps toward her. “We prefer the term Misos.”
Misos. The race of half-human, half-Argolean beings. Argolea was the realm established for the descendants of the ancient Greek heroes, a utopia of sorts, one Daphne had studied during her time with the Sirens. But many Argoleans didn’t remain there. They often traveled back and forth between the human realm and their own, and whether they’d intended to or not, they’d created an entirely new race. The Misos. Because of their link to Argolea and the heroes, each Misos was born with a special gift, and their lifespans were longer than those of mortal beings, but they weren’t immortal in any sense of the word. As far as Daphne knew, they weren’t even that special.
“I...” Words faltered on her tongue. If anyone knew what it was like to face a daemon, surely he would. Half breeds had been hunted by daemons for years simply because they were different, and to daemons that meant weak. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Don’t worry. Where you come from, I’m sure Misos are few and far between.”
That was true. He was the first Misos she’d ever met. But that didn’t mean she condoned stereotypes. In the otherworldy universe, nymphs were considered less than the other races, interested only in sex. She hated that perception. It was part of the reason she’d worked so hard to become the best Siren she could be.
Even if she wasn’t all that great.
That’s why you’re here. To fix that point.
He stepped past her and motioned for her to follow. “I’m sure you have a million questions. I’m starving though. We’ll talk while I cook.”
Daphne couldn’t seem to stop herself from glancing toward the doorway where Aristokles had disappeared. “What about him?”
“Ignore him. He’s being moody.”
She had no idea what the male meant, but she wasn’t sure she was with it enough to go exploring on her own just yet. She followed the Misos back up the stairs and into the massive kitchen.
“Have a seat.” He nodded toward the hand-carved barstools near the counter. “I’ll get you something to drink. I remember being extremely thirsty when I first awoke.”
Daphne’s mouth was suddenly bone dry. As she pulled out a chair and sat, she licked her lips, thankful someone seemed to know what she needed because right now, she had absolutely no clue.
He handed her a glass of clear liquid. “Drink.”
Daphne drained the entire glass, then lowered it to the counter and swiped the back of her hand over her mouth. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. Thank you...”
“Silas.”
“Thank you, Silas. I’m Daphne.”
He opened the refrigerator and pulled out lettuce and other salad fixings. “How is it you came to be out here in the wilds all by yourself, Daphne?”
She’d known the question would be asked, she just hadn’t expected it to be asked by anyone but her target. Either way, she needed to relay the same story Zeus had suggested because it might trigger a useful reaction in the crazed Argonaut. “I was... escaping.”
“From?” Silas reached for a tomato.
She thought about lying. She didn’t know this male. He could be Aristokles’s henchmen or even his slave. But he didn’t act like either. His shoulders were relaxed, and there was a look of contentment across his scarred features as he worked. And when she thought back to what she’d seen of the two sparring downstairs, it was clear he wasn’t afraid of the Argonaut.
She suddenly didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t in her nature to lie anyway. But she couldn’t tell the truth either. She figured a half-truth was her best bet. “There’s a god who wants something from me. I was in the wilds because of him.”
“Running from him?”