Bel narrowed her magic-charged eyes at him, and a bad feeling swooped through Carver the second before she stepped out, her hands blazing to life. “Kneel!” she cried, her voice rising above the revelry. “Kneel before the future queen of Atlantis!”
Carver’s stomach hollowed. All lust died in an instant, and his heart zoomed sideways as he sprang forward to flank her. “Impetuous much?” he ground out. And maybe premature in her claim—they hadn’t accomplished anything yet.
She smirked. Her flames blazed brighter, engulfing her armsto her elbows and throwing huge shadows onto the rock walls as the nymphs and satyrs scrambled away from one another and fled the chamber. Pan released the female, pulling out of her and turning to face them. His eyes blazed an angry ochre. His erection jutted out like a ruddy marble column.Good gods.It was a good thing human men weren’t held to the same standards as gods, because that thing was enor—
“You command a god to kneel?” Pan shoved the nymph aside and sent her stumbling after the others. The creatures must not have been looking for a fight, either, because the revelers all raced past them and out. The cavern turned eerily quiet except for the sound of the waves. They crashed louder, creeping closer to the entrance.
“You’re a goat, not a god.” Bel looked Pan up and down with the disdain she’d perfected over years as a seemingly ice-cold Magoi princess in Thalyria. That frozen veneer cracked the day she threw her lot in with Cat and Griffin and let out all her fire to help them claim a throne. “Who sent you here?” she demanded.
Instead of answering, Pan opened his mouth and spewed out a Great Roar. The terrifying noise—long, loud,horrible—slammed into them, but they’d heard it before and somehow stood their ground. Gritting his teeth, Carver beat down the primal chill it dredged up inside him along with the vivid memories of a harrowing clash and lives almost lost. He locked himself in place by sheer force of will. Pan’s roar had once sent gods fleeing. He battled the impulse to do the same, hoping Pan’s legendary shout couldn’t reach greater Atlantis. If the cavern didn’t muffle it, the dreadful, all-encompassing sound would cause panic, stampedes, mass hysteria… They’d seen it all before.
Carver rejected irrational fear even as his body reacted on instinct. His pulse surged. His heart pounded, and cold sweatdotted his brow. The roar beat at his eardrums and rattled the cavern, shaking rock dust to the ground.
Bel suddenly leaned forward and roared back. Her unexpected shout wasn’t anywhere near as loud and hair-raising as Pan’s, but it surprised the duplicitous son of a Cyclops into shutting up.
Carver smiled despite the danger. His fake wife just one-upped a god.
Pan’s knife-sharp amber eyes sliced over them, back and forth. “Who sentyouhere?”
Bel huffed. “Answering a question with a question has got to be the most annoying thing anyone can possibly do.” Her magic flared stronger, throwing a surge of heat into the underground chamber and half cooking Carver’s right arm.
“Who’s behind the Olympianomachy?” Carver growled, Bel’s fire almost too hot to bear. He didn’t move away from her, presenting a unified force. She wouldn’t burn him, even if she’d burn everything else. “Who’s trying to steal Zeus’s throne?”
“A true leader,” Pan spat. “Not one who leads puppets to war.”
“So you’re not a puppet?” Carver scoffed. “Isn’t that exactly your role?”
“I’m a general.” Pan squared his shoulders, growing in size. His horned head nearly scraped the cavern’s ceiling. “And the first to answer the call.”
“Yes.” Bel eyed Pan’s diminishing erection. “I can see how staunchly you’re gathering troops and leading the charge.”
Pan hissed. His lip curled, and the pointed beard trailing from his chin quivered in rage. “You should not be here, Firebringer.”
“I see my reputation precedes me.” Bel looked pleased.
Carver couldn’t smile this time. Unease thumped behind his sternum, tightening his ribs. How much did Zeus’s mysteriousenemy already know about their mission? He and Bel had next to nothing so far. Only a medallion with a missing jewel—“the key” to rekindling magic in Atlantis, according to Persephone. And the instructions to spark magic here before the enemy did. Pan had already placed himself firmly in the adversary’s camp in Thalyria, which made Carver think the lesser god must be in Atlantis to find the key, too.
“We’re here,” Carver said flatly, fearing the race was on to locate the lost piece of Bel’s necklace. “The question now is, what are you and your master going to do about it?”
A long, strong, whiplike vine of ivy appeared in Pan’s hand. A menacing smile curved his mouth. “Turn a problem into an advantage. Let’s see how long your confidence lasts.”
Horns, hooves, and a whip? Carver shook his head. “Your companions have all fled, and we’ve fought worse than you.” The Minotaur came to mind. The Gorgons, too. Between his sword and Bel’s magic, he had faith they could defeat a being known for startling easily and screaming in terror, even if he was a god.
Pan’s slow smile didn’t bode well. “Fled? No… They were just telling the reinforcements that you were finally here.”
Noise scraped behind them, and Carver’s hair instantly stood on end. He glanced over his shoulder. Dozens of satyrs stalked back down the tunnel, blocking their exit. One grated a horn against the rock, sharpening it to a lethal point. Several carried weapons—daggers and short, curving swords. Carver ground out a curse.
“Is outnumbering us supposed to scare us?” Bel sounded genuinely confused.
Carver just regretted being stupid enough to believe the creatures had fled. The nymphs were gone, but the satyrs had circled back. And brought friends.
His nostrils flared, catching the scents of seawater and sex. Menace rolled off the creatures in waves. Violence rose inside him to match. He and Bel hadn’t been on the losing side of a battle since the day they teamed up, but he still worried this had just gone from a fight they could win to anyone’s guess.
Bel shot him a look. Then her eyes flicked to Pan. Carver nodded. He’d take the god with his sword. She’d take the rest with her flames.
He moved first, lunging at Pan without a sound. Pan turned with a sharp, athletic twist, narrowly avoiding the blade that sailed past his ribs. Carver spun while Pan was still off-balance, the ball of his foot gouging into the sand as he brought his weapon around at the level of the god’s neck. Gods were immortal, not unkillable, and a severed head would do the trick.
Instead of cutting into flesh, his blade pounded against a bronze-studded shield that Pan conjured from thin air. They both stumbled back. Carver’s arm rang from the impact.
