Shelter
CYRUS
Lagos had managed to sniff out the Titans’ magic after they had traveled in the direction the fire witches had indicated.
From there, it had taken Cyrus several tries to manage a faint wisp of his power to crack open a tear through the Titans’ wards.
He was so used to explosive bursts of power that it took more finesse to hone his magic into a singular, precise strike.
Evander and Lagos had had to coach him through the process of projecting bolts of lightning into the sky. Neither of them were experts on the matter, and it had taken the better part of an hour for Cyrus to conjure lightning in the sky without looking at his target.
It was paramount that the Titans be unable to see him. If they discovered his location, they could destroy him on the spot.
But he needed to distract them from one side, while Evander took the other, flying in the air to avoid the Titans’ strikes.
When Cyrus revealed himself, he had faced Oceanus. He had demanded to speak face-to-face with Hyperion and Atlas. His goal was to gather as many Titans as he could. If they were negotiating with him, they wouldn’t be focused on Prue and Mona.
The moment he’d seen his wife’s face half covered in blood, a riot of emotions overcame him. Rage at the sight of the wounds that marred her perfect body. Pure, overwhelming relief that she was alive. That she was only steps away from him…
And then—Lagos.
Cyrus still couldn’t believe it. He’d watched Atlas twist Lagos’s neck. And in that moment, he had known it was too late. Prue was screaming, reaching for her friend, but if they returned for him, the Titans would capture them all.
Cyrus had to close the tear in the wards. They couldn’t retrieve Lagos’s body.
They could not revive him.
Prue continued to sob and scream until her body was overcome with tremors. Cyrus held her tightly, swallowing down his own grief and despair. He hadn’t realized how close a friend Lagos had become until the demon had died.
Now, Cyrus’s insides twisted and his chest cracked in two.
His friend was gone. His strong, courageous friend was gone.
Eventually, Prue lost consciousness, but Cyrus refused to set her down. He marched alongside Evander and Mona, trudging through the sandy desert as they made their way back toward the fire witch coven. His steps were slow and clumsy, especially with Prue’s weight in his arms.
Even when Evander offered to carry her—even when his arms and legs screamed in protest—Cyrus pressed forward.
The pain distracted him from his devastation.
And a heavy part of him felt he deserved it. He deserved far worse. Lagos had been there to help him. It had been Cyrus’s plan.
Cyrus had been the one to close the tear. To abandon Lagos to his fate.
It was his fault. The burden of that loss would rest on his shoulders for the rest of eternity.
Cyrus would never be able to escape it.
Mona and Evander remained silent during their journey. Tears streamed down Mona’s face, and Evander’s mouth was set in a grim line, his hand clutched tightly in hers. Cyrus wondered if his brother was thinking of Lagos, or the bargain he now had to fulfill with the Wild Spirits.
When Cyrus’s face and lips were caked with sand, and his legs throbbed so painfully he thought they might snap in two, he finally recognized the entrance to the fire witch coven.
Wind whipped around them, flinging sand particles into their eyes.
Evander descended first, climbing between rocks until he found the hidden cavern underneath.
With a hand on his arm, Mona guided Cyrus down, ensuring he didn’t fall while carrying Prue.
As soon as they entered the cave, darkness and cool air greeted them, a blessed respite from the heat and sand of the desert.
The fire witches surrounded them, peppering them with questions.
Thankfully, Mona answered most of them. Cyrus could only stand there, holding Prue, his body numb and unresponsive.
Now that he’d made it here, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.
He didn’t want to think about the next step.
The Titans were still out there. Two had perished from the attack, but that still left three—Atlas, Oceanus, and Prometheus. They were few in number, but they were still powerful. Dangerous. Hell-bent on exacting revenge on Cyrus for tricking them.
There was nothing more deadly than a vengeful Titan.
“Cyrus!” shouted a voice.
Cyrus blinked, realizing Farah stood in front of him and had likely said his name several times. He blinked slowly at her. “What?”
Farah gestured to Prue, still lying limply in his arms. “Would you like our healer to tend to her?”
Cyrus’s gut response was no. He didn’t want to part from Prue. He wanted to keep holding her, touching her, proving to himself that she was real and she was alive.
But her body was covered in blood. He had no idea how much of it was hers. Her eyes were sunken and her skin pale. She had clearly been through an ordeal.
Reluctantly, Cyrus nodded, the motion stiff.
Farah sent for the coven healer, and Cyrus insisted on remaining by Prue’s side the entire time.
The healer used poultices and elixirs, murmured incantations, and spread a balm along Prue’s split lip and the jagged gash on the side of her head.
Only when the healer had cleaned away the blood did Cyrus realized what had happened.
Prue’s ear had been sliced off.
White-hot fury raged through him. He wanted to ram his fist into the wall. He wanted to flip over the table and smash the bottles on the shelves.
He wanted to gut those Titans one at a time, making them suffer for what they had done to Prue.
When the healer was finished with Prue—who still hadn’t woken—she asked to inspect Cyrus for injuries. He waved her away. Oceanus had managed to strike him in the abdomen, but the blow had only grazed him. The trek through the desert had exacerbated the wound, but it was the least of his concerns.
“Mona,” Cyrus said, gesturing to the earth goddess who was speaking in hushed tones with Farah. Evander lingered nearby, and Cyrus wondered if he felt the same desperate need to be alongside the one he loved, just to ensure she wouldn’t disappear. “Please see to Mona’s injuries.”
The healer nodded and shuffled away, leaving Cyrus to sit on the bench next to Prue’s prostrate form. He looked at her, then gently tucked a few loose curls behind her ear.
Her only remaining ear.
Hot tears stung Cyrus’s eyes, and he quickly blinked them away. Gods, this was his fault. His damn fault. The Titans had taken Prue because of him. It had all been about negotiating with him.
If Prue wasn’t his wife, this never would have happened. She never would have been caught up in this war.
She would have been safe.
“Gods, Prue,” Cyrus said thickly, running his thumb down her jaw. “You would have been better off if you had just stayed on that island.”
Prue did not respond. Her chest barely moved with her shallow breaths. Cyrus kept checking often to ensure her pulse was steady. He was so terrified she would simply wither away in her sleep.
At some point, he leaned his head against the rocky wall and fell asleep. When a hand came down on his shoulder, he jerked awake with a sharp gasp.
Farah raised her palms and backed up a step, her eyes full of concern. “I have spoken with Mona. She relayed the events of your battle to me. I am so sorry for your loss.”
Cyrus could only nod. His throat was so tight he couldn’t speak.
“The Titans will seek retribution,” Farah said grimly. “I doubt they have enough power to travel to a different realm. We must expect their retaliation here in the Realm of Gaia.”
Cyrus nodded again. He had considered this. As much as he yearned to bring Prue back to the Underworld, he could not leave the fire witches and all the mortals here to the whims of the Titans. Whatever they had planned could not be good.
“If you’ll allow me to leave Prue with you, I can find my own way to the village for shelter,” Cyrus said in a hollow voice. “I will not impose.”
Farah’s lips thinned. She sighed, then crossed her arms. “You and your wife may stay with us.”
Cyrus looked up at her in surprise. “But my magic—”
“You managed to rescue two fellow witches from the clutches of the Titans. I think it’s safe to say you can be trusted amongst my sisters.”
A sour taste filled his mouth. He couldn’t be trusted at all. His choices and consequences brought nothing but tragedy. Lagos was dead because of him. And Farah thought she could trust him?
It was absurd.
But Cyrus would not argue. If it allowed him to remain with Prue, he would let Farah believe this lie.
“Your brother has insisted he must return,” Farah continued.
Cyrus followed her gaze. Evander stood on the opposite end of the cavern, his hand casually resting on the small of Mona’s back while they conversed with two other witches.
“Yes, I’m sure he did,” Cyrus said in a low voice. Evander had debts to pay. Had he already told Mona?
“In exchange for providing you shelter, we only request one thing,” Farah said, her voice solemn. “We ask that when the Gorgon sisters return, you confer with them about the Titans.”
Cyrus met her gaze. “I vow to do everything in my power to eliminate them from the realms. It’s my fault they are here, and I will not rest until I fix the mess I’ve made.”
Farah’s eyes shone with something akin to respect. A small smile quirked her lips. “You are certainly not like what I imagined, death god.”
Cyrus frowned. “What did you imagine?”
“Someone arrogant, believing himself to be all-powerful and untouchable. Someone who answers to no one but himself.”
Cyrus snorted. “Yes, that’s still me.”
Farah chuckled. “Perhaps so.” She waved a hand to a curly-haired witch standing behind Cyrus. “Wren will show you to the more secluded caves we use for sleeping. You and your wife are welcome to stay there.”