There was an explosion of a cold white light that gave Stark the creepy image of a freezer door opening to expose dead flesh. Blinking, his eyes traveled down, and what he saw in front of him shocked him to his very core.

Stark was staring at himself.

At first he thought the archway must have a mirror in it, but there was no blackness reflected behind him, and his other self was grinning a familiar, cocky smile. Stark definitely wasn’t smiling. Then he spoke, dispelling all thoughts of mirror images and rational explanations.

“Yeah, fucknuts, it’s you. You’re me. To get into this place, you’re gonna have to kill me, which is not gonna happen ’cause I’m not so cool with dying. What is gonna happen is that I’m gonna kick your ass and kill you dead.”

While Stark stood there, speechless and staring at himself, his mirror image lunged forward, slashing with a broadsword identical to the one Stark held, drawing a line of blood down his arm.

“Yep, this is gonna be as easy as I thought,” his other self said, and lunged at Stark again.

Chapter 25

“Yeah, light’s on, but there’s definitely no one home.” Aphrodite waved her hand in front of Stark’s open but unseeing eyes. Then she had to snatch her hand out of the way as Seoras, ignoring that he came close to cutting her, too, made another knife wound down Stark’s blood-drenched side.

“He already looks like hamburger. Do you have to keep doing that?” Aphrodite asked the Guardian. There was no love lost between her and Stark, but that didn’t mean she was cool with watching him get sliced to pieces.

Seoras appeared not to hear her. He was utterly focused on the boy who lay before him.

“They are bonded by this quest,” Sgiach said. She’d left her throne to stand beside Aphrodite.

“But your Guardian is conscious and present in his own body,” Darius said, studying Seoras.

“Yes. His consciousness is here. It is also so completely attuned with the boy that he can hear his heartbeat—feel his breathing. Seoras knows exactly how close Stark is to physical death. It is on the cusp between life and death that my Guardian must keep him. Too much one way, his soul will return to his body, and he will awaken. Too much the other, his soul will never return at all.”

“How will he know when to end this?” Aphrodite asked, involuntarily flinching as Seoras’s dirk sliced Stark’s flesh again.

“Stark will awaken, or he will die. Either way, it will be Stark’s doing and not my Guardian’s. What Seoras does now enables the boy to make his own choices.” Sgiach spoke to Aphrodite, but her eyes never left Seoras. “You should do the same.”

“Cut him?” Aphrodite frowned at the queen, who smiled, but continued to watch her Guardian.

“You said that you’re a Prophetess of Nyx, did you not?”

“I am her Prophetess.”

“Then consider wielding your gift to help the boy, too.”

“I would if I had one damn clue how to do that.”

“Aphrodite, perhaps you should—” Darius began, taking Aphrodite’s arm and pulling her away from Sgiach, obviously worried that she’d pushed the queen too far.

“No, Warrior. You need not draw her away. One thing you will find about being bound to a strong woman is that often her words will get her into trouble from which you cannot protect her. But they are her own words, and thus her own consequences.” Sgiach finally looked at Aphrodite. “Use some of the strength that makes your words like daggers and seek your own answers. A true Prophetess gets very little guidance in this world, except through her gift; but strength, tempered by wisdom and patience, must teach you how to use it properly.” The queen lifted her hand and gestured elegantly to one of the vampyres in the shadows. “Show the Prophetess and her Guardian to their chamber. Give them refreshment and privacy.” Without another word, Sgiach returned to her throne, her gaze once again focused solely on her Guardian.

Aphrodite pressed her lips together and followed the ginger-haired giant whose tattoos were a series of intricate spirals that appeared to be made of tiny sapphire dots. They retraced their path back to the double staircase and then went up to a hallway where the walls were decorated with jeweled swords that glittered in the torchlight. A smaller, single staircase finally led them up to an arched wooden door, which the warrior opened and gestured for them to enter the room.

“Would you be sure someone gets me right away if Stark changes at all?” Aphrodite asked before he closed the door.

“Aye,” the warrior said in a surprisingly gentle voice before leaving them alone.

Aphrodite turned to Darius. “Do you think my mouth gets me into trouble?”

Her Warrior’s brows went up. “Of course I do.”

She frowned at him. “Okay, look, I’m not kidding.”

“Neither am I.”

“Why? Because I say what I mean?”

“No, my beauty, because you do use your words like a dagger, and a drawn dagger often causes trouble.”

She snorted and sat on the huge, four-poster bed. “If I sound like a dagger, then why the hell do you like me?”

Darius sat beside her and took her hand. “Have you forgotten that a throwing dagger is my favorite weapon?”

Aphrodite met his eyes, feeling suddenly vulnerable despite his gentle tone. “Seriously. I’m a bitch. You shouldn’t like me. I don’t think most people do.”

“The people who know you like you. The real you. And what I feel for you goes beyond liking you. I love you, Aphrodite. I love your strength, your sense of humor, the depth of caring you show your friends. And I love that which was broken inside you and is only now beginning to heal.”

Aphrodite kept meeting his gaze though she was blinking hard to fight back tears. “All that makes me a terrible bitch.”

“All that makes you who you are.” He raised her hand to his lips, kissed it gently, and then said, “It also makes you strong enough to figure out how to help Stark.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“You used your gift to sense Zoey’s absence, as well as Kalona’s. Can you not use the same road you followed before to sense Stark?”

“All I was doing with them was seeing if their souls were inside their bodies or not. We already know Stark’s is gone.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to touch him as you did the other two.”

Aphrodite sighed. “The same road, huh?”

“Yes.”

She looked up at him, gripping his hand tighter. “You really think I can do it?”

“I believe there is little you cannot do once you set your mind to it, my beauty.”

Aphrodite nodded, squeezed his hand before letting go. She unzipped her black leather stiletto boots and scooted back on the bed, resting against the mound of down pillows.

“Protect me while I’m gone?” she asked her Warrior.

“Always,” Darius said.

He moved to stand beside the bed, reminding Aphrodite very much of the way Seoras stood beside his queen’s throne. Pulling strength from the knowledge that her heart and her body would always be safe with Darius, she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax. Then she drew three deep, cleansing breaths and focused her thoughts on her goddess.

Nyx, it’s me. Aphrodite. Your Prophetess. She almost added “at least that’s what everyone’s calling me,” but stopped herself. Taking another deep breath, Aphrodite continued: I’m asking for your help. You already know I’m not real sure how this Prophetess stuff works, so it won’t surprise you to hear that I don’t know how to use the gift you’ve given me to help Stark—but he does need my help. I mean, the guy’s being sliced up in one world and flailing around trying to use poetry and an old guy’s confusing words to help Z, in another. Just between us, sometimes I think Stark’s more muscle and admittedly good hair than brains. Clearly, he needs help, and for Zoey’s sake, I want to give it to him. So, please, Nyx, show me how to help.