Cal fumbled about with the remaining five vials, plucking a sapphire hued one this time. “This should do the trick. It will dull your connection to the dead—well, dying—as long as you take it every morning with your tea.”
“How did you have something crafted already?” Thalia asked, pocketing the blue vial in her leather pouch slung by her waist.
“You know me—always thinking ahead when it comes to my favorite young seer.” Cal wrapped his arms around Thalia just as the final threads of pain subsided. “I would do anything for you,kóri,” he sighed.
Water welled in the rims of her eyes, and Thalia squeezed them tight, wrapping her arms around the old man’s neck. “Thank you, Cal. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Chapter Three
Dimitris
The gods had been in their favor and the winds had been strong. It had taken around four days to arrive on Lesathos, most of which Dimitris spent confined to his quarters, diligently searching through his ship’s logs for any indication of a cure to the curse that bound Thalia. He had thought very little of it before he saw the way she collapsed to the ground, barely able to speak, her tinydaimoncurled in pain next to her. There had to be something out there that could block out that vicious cycle more than whatever Cal had slung down her throat. So, when Thalia had attempted to sneak away in the night to search for her sister, Dimitris couldn’t help but refuse. If she collapsed while throwingherself before potentially vicious men, he could lose her. Losing a member of the crew was not an option.
Ale and something sticky—dare he say vomit—clung to the bottom of Dimitris’s boots, squeaking with every step he took into the tavern. As in most taverns, the smell of stale bread, bubbling stews, and sweaty fishermen lingered in the air so thick he could almost taste it on his tongue. Katrin had told him of this place, of the hidden room behind the library of a seedy-looking bar, named for the home of the very Olympi they hoped remained dead. So, when the thin, gangly man with fingernails painted black like demon claws slid open the bookshelf to the room beyond, Dimitris couldn’t help but stutter back a step.
No couches were hidden by velvet curtains, nor were there patrons dancing about to haunting melodies in ball gowns and masks. There were, however, still women scantily dressed in leather and lace undergarments carrying trays of amber and clear liquor to the ten or so tables set up inside the room. Thick smoke hung in the air from tobacco pipes and tall glass smoking objects boilingoleraefrom Anatole. Dimitris coughed as he adjusted to the secondhand substances floating into his lungs.
“You took me to a gambling house? I thought this was supposed to be a ball?” Dimitris said through gritted teeth.
“I did not take you—you refused to let me go alone. Regardless, I never said it was a ball.” Thalia eyed him up and down with that piercing violet gaze.
“You mean to tell me you wear this,” he traced his finger up the sheer, lavender gossamer material Thalia deigned to call a dress, “to gamble amongst men twice your size?”
A feral grin crossed her deep maroon-painted lips. “It does act as quite the distraction.”
She leaned down ever so slightly, untying a white silk pouch that hung from her silver belt and the top of the dress dipped just low enough he could see right above the curve of her nipples. A heat flooded through Dimitris’s veins, going straight to his cock that now strained against the laces of his leather breaches. The wicked, wicked feline.
“See?” she laughed. “If it can get a rise out of a rake like yourself, it should surely do the same to these merchants. Now, come with me to our table. I’m sure the men will add a seat for a chance to take a prince for all he has.”
“I think you underestimate my skills,gatáki,” Dimitris whispered, tickling Thalia’s ear with his breath.
Thalia turned her face toward his, titling her chin up so her lips almost met his. “I don’t think I do,” she whispered, and that sweet scent of wildflowers replaced all the smoke in the room. He let the scent consume him, thinking of what she might taste like if he only leaned in the slightest bit. But he could never have her—even if all he wanted to do at the moment was play—not when his brother had threatened him if he so much as touched the woman. Not when he abhorred the idea of her.
Wicked, wicked feline indeed.
“So, who are we even playing against?” he questioned after regaining some semblance of mental clarity.
“Those men,” Thalia replied with ice in her tone. Her hand clutched the pouch so tight it turned her knuckles as white as the hair that swayed back and forth across her back.
Four men sat at a low-lying table on top of velvet poufs. They were all muscular and in their prime, shirts too tight across their backs when any of them leaned forward over the table. But it was not the size of them, nor their strangely pale skin and raven-colored hair, that caused a chill up Dimitris’s spine. It was the tattoo that each bore on their forearm—a black hydra with a lambda symbol on each side and beneath the tattoo, a brand of two intertwined snakes. The Lernaen Legion, followers of the Kingdom of Harrenfort and Hades. One of the deadliest crews that sailed these seas.
Dimitris grabbed Thalia’s wrist as she began to walk toward them, whipping her back against him. “You are not going over there and you are certainly not playing against those men. Do you know who they are? What they do to women like you?”
Her violet eyes sparkled with fire as she peered back up at him, flashing her canines. “I know exactly what they do to women like me.” She took her hand and gathered the hair from the nape of her neck, sliding it to the side. Dead center, right above her shoulder blades was the same marking seared into her flesh.
“They did that to you?” Dimitris’s voice trembled and a vein in his throat pulsed.
“Before Ander bought my freedom, yes.” Thalia’s voice had no semblance of tremor to it, only unadulterated violence.
“So, you know more than anyone why gambling with them is a terrible decision. They are cheats and they only bid with one thing…”
“Which is exactly why I need to play.” Thalia dug the nails of her other hand into Dimitris’s arm until he released with a wince, waltzing over to the table with an elegant gait as if she wasn’t walking to her death.
Her hips swished to the side, the two pieces of lavender gossamer that covered her legs slit so high that as she sat Dimitris could almost see her undergarments beneath. It was no doubt the point of the exaggerated movement, catching the lurid gaze of each of the three legionnaires that sat cross-legged on the floor. He hastened behind her, still in disbelief that she would be willing to bet years of service to win what—a few extra drakmeres? Dimitris was certain the seer and every other member of Ander’s crew was paid well, especially after seeing the amount of lavish dresses and jewelry she was returning to Skiatha with. Could she not have used that money to buy her sister’s freedom? With less grace than Thalia, Dimitris sat on a deep mahogany pouf beside her, dropping down to his knees.
“So, Aarin, are you going to allow my friend to play or not? We haven’t got all night.” Thalia placed the small silk bag of coins on the table.
“And does this friend of yours have a name?” the man named Aarin hissed, propping his elbows up on the table and clasping his spindly fingers together.
