Bel shot him a slit-eyed glare. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I guess it’s too subtle.”
Her sharp, acidic huff echoed a little too loudly in the quiet confines of the stone corridor. “I’ve half a mind to only restore magic to women here.”
“If we can even do that,” he muttered. Bel was the only human alive in this place with any magic. Her gods’-given mission was to bring magic back to the people of Atlantis and get them to join Zeus in his battle against whoever was trying to usurp his throne on Mount Olympus.
They’d seen the start of the brewing conflict before coming here. It hadn’t begun with outright battle between the gods but with sly, deceitful maneuverings to divide Olympians into two sides—those who supported Zeus and his undertakings against those who didn’t. The insurrection began with a terrible curse against Thalyria’s newly crowned queen and Carver’s sister by marriage—one they’d barely managed to break—but gods never did things halfway. These stirrings of rebellion would no doubt end in an all-out war for dominion over the kingdom of the gods. Sides had already been chosen, in Thalyria, on Mount Olympus, and their job now was to make sure Atlantians chose Zeus in the impending Olympianomachy—the War of Gods.
There’s no one alive with more powerful fire magic than yours. Use it to fan the flames.
These few words from Persephone, along with a broken amulet and some vague instructions to rekindle magic in Atlantis before the enemy could do it first, had led both him and Bel to upend their entire lives. Carver hoped it would be worth it.
The tightness that abruptly gripped his chest had nothing todo with the danger they might be walking into and everything to do with missing home and family. Parents. A brother and sisters. A new niece he’d never even set eyes on. Thalyria was where both he and Bel belonged, except the gods, with their selfish schemes and looming civil war, had decided otherwise.
“We can do it. Wehaveto.” Bel sounded more worried than sure, which Carver understood after six full moons and zero progress.
He slowed, tilting his head to the left. “There.” All the tracks veered that way.
Falling silent, they followed the chaotic prints down the left-hand tunnel.
“I’ve never fought a satyr,” Bel whispered.
“If—when—we find something,” he whispered back, “wequestionit. We don’t roast it to a blackened crisp before we can gather information.”
“I would never do that,” she protested in a voice that managed to be both muted and strident. Carver tossed her a sidelong look that spoke volumes. “Again.” Bel shrugged. “That thing surprised me.”
“So if I jump out at you, you’ll kill me?”
“Possibly,” she shot back under her breath. “Don’t try it.”
Carver narrowed his eyes. Now he wanted to surprise her and see what happened.
Noises started to reach them, grunting and panting. Light filtered toward them from the cavity around the bend, and Bel snuffed out her magic. Carver motioned for her to hug the right-hand side of the tunnel while he did the same on the left. The damp, uneven surface lightly scraped his back as he moved forward on silent feet, his senses alert, his sword ready.
One of the large caverns they’d already explored finally opened before them. Last time, it had been dark and emptyexcept for that one harpy that sprang out at Bellanca. She’d grabbed its wing and incinerated the creature before Carver could blink. There hadn’t been time for questions.
This time, the cavern was neither dark nor silent. Writhing, moaning bodies filled the underground chamber. Bright torches. Heat and sweat. Empty jugs of wine and half-eaten platters of fruits and cheeses. Satyrs everywhere, rutting with nymphs. Rutting with each other. On top. Behind. In piles. Arms and legs and mouths and cocks all tangled into places and positions Carver had only ever imagined. Blood whooshed in his veins. The scene was so erotic he instantly started to harden.
Standing stock-still, he glanced at Bel across from him. An accidental spark popped in her hair, adding the aroma of hot, sweet cherries to his suddenly overloaded senses. Mouth open, eyes huge, she stared. Then she bit her lower lip, slowly releasing it.
Carver exhaled sharply. He turned back to the wild carousing, heat billowing through him. He hadn’t been with a woman in years and hadn’t really missed it. He’d missed a person, not the act of joining. The orgy in front of him abruptly made several years of celibacy feel like flint on steel, need igniting hot and hard inside him.
Sweat pricked his face. He swallowed, his grip tightening on his sword.
Bel saw the tiny hint of movement in his arm and motioned for him to stay still. “Pan,” she more mouthed than whispered, her eyebrows lifting as she pointed to the massive figure in the middle of the cavern. “He’s still here.”
Worry pulsed through Carver’s already rushing blood as he turned his focus to the lesser god in question. Larger than the satyrs, more imposing and humanlike, Pan gripped a dark-haired nymph by her long, loose locks and tipped her head back almostbrutally. He drove into her from behind. Her hands dug into the sand. She keened in pleasure. Or maybe in pain. It was hard to tell sometimes.
Heat and tension simmered in Carver’s groin, and he fought his growing arousal. Now wasn’t the time for his libido to wake up. It had been mostly dormant for years, killed by Konstantina walking away from him without any warning and thendyingjust months after marrying another man.
A familiar anger swept through him, and he embraced it.Thatwas what he needed now.
His senses sharpening on what was important, Carver motioned for Bel to back up. They weren’t looking for a fight; they were looking for clues. Even if someone here had the answers they needed, they wouldn’t just spout them out, and the satyrs outnumbered them by far. Then there was Pan. Agod. They knew for sure he was in Atlantis now. That was at least more information than they’d had before.
Bel shot him an incredulous look. She jerked her head at Pan and scowled as if he hadn’t understood.
Carver sliced his head back and forth. Magical creatures weren’t known for their friendly welcomes. They didn’t simply die because you burned or stabbed them, and Pan wasn’t going to casually answer questions while he copulated in a cave.
