The sword was his. Demoleon, Lord of Krete and Commander of Fire, paused, wiping the sweat from his brow, and stared at the famed blade. The sword of Aegeus. The one weapon capable of vanquishing a Minotaur. Without it, his centaur race would have no hope of victory.

His lips tugged into a grin and he chuckled. This had been easy. Well, not for anyone but him, as his abilities had allowed him to sear a path through the rock, down into the depths of Mount Ida, where the famed sword had been lost, after the hero Theseus had used it to kill a Minotaur so many eons ago.

Now, it was his.

Demoleon leapt from the tunnel he’d carved, onto the rock floor of a subterranean cavern. The sword’s silver hilt glinted at him from across the vast chamber, its blade embedded in a man-sized boulder. He shook out his hands and rolled his shoulders, the ochre flames dissipating from his flesh. This blade was precisely the hope they needed. It would bolster his people. Especially when it rested in the hand of their rightful King, his bloodsworne brother, Rhoetus, as they descended upon the battlefield together.

Aye. He couldn’t bloody wait. Demoleon strode forward, rubbing his hands together, sparks jumping off his skin, in anticipation. At the base of the boulder, he blew on his hands, once, and then wrapped both around the hilt of the sword.

Power sang through his blood. He jolted, but tossed his head and focused on freeing the blade. On saving his people.

He gave one swift, legendary tug.

Nothing happened.

Furrowing his brow, he wrenched again. And again. But the bloody thing wouldn’t budge.

What in Hades?

Damn. The Oracles and elders he’d consulted had mentioned a thing about an enchantment. Growling, he released the sword and straightened, frowning at the blasted thing.

“Nice try.” A soft snickering resounded from up above.

Demoleon staggered backward, craning his neck. No one else was supposed to be down here. No one else could be.

He tilted his gaze, higher and higher, until he caught sight of a figure perched on an overhanging ledge. A pair of feathered wings framed the creature, the shadows obscuring all details save for the luminescent, glittering golden orbs trained on him.

“The sword is mine,” the creature, nay, the female, hissed.

“If ’tis yours, lass, then why haven’t you claimed it?” He backed to the blade, standing between it and the maiden.

“Argh!” She swooped, charging, spiked claws swiping at him. “I’m no lass.” Her wings beat a rush of air between them while he blocked her blows with his forearms, ducking this way and that.

One claw caught his upper arm, slicing through his flesh like a blade. Hell.

He grimaced and grabbed for the creature, but his hands snatched leather instead. Shrugging, he tugged, and his opponent screeched, crashing into the ground. He leapt atop her, winding the leather strip around his forearm and pinning her against the rock. Without her wings thrashing between them, he finally caught a glimpse of her.

By the gods.

He swallowed. Hard.

She was a beauteous thing. And not a lass? Ha! Not a stitch of clothing on her. It didn’t take a second scan to determine her sex, not with those full breasts straining from each of her heaving breaths. Or the delicate scent of nectar perfuming from the soft flesh between her legs. Strangely, two matching arm bands wound across her upper arms, long strips of leather dangling from each. He seized hold of the other one, winding it, too. Just in case.

“Are you quite finished leering at me?” she snarled, writhing beneath him.

He jerked his stare from her breasts. “Ah, forgive me.”

“You’re not forgiven. Now, get off me, you filthy beast.” Those piercing eyes narrowed, the pupils were slits like those of a raptor. Indicative of one thing. She was a predator.

She tossed her head, waist-length tawny locks woven with several intricate braids thrashing against the ground. Her small nose, with a slight hint of a break-like curve, scrunched at him in distaste.

“Afraid I can’t do that, lass. Not until you agree not to attack me again.”

A perfectly sinful smile crossed her blood-red lips. “That’s a promise I’ll never make.” Then she opened her mouth wide and a piercing cry shattered across her lips.

Enyo of the Harpies scoffed and tossed the incapacitated male off her, dusting herself and rising to stand. “Ignorant, assuming, thieving, lecherous beast,” she hissed.

He rolled onto his back, braced his hands over his ears, and grimaced. “You forgot obstinate.” Then he kicked out his leg toward hers, crashing her onto the floor again.

Before she had a chance to respond, he was upon her once more, caging her in against the rock wall.

“That sword be mine, sweetling.” His breath was close enough for her to inhale. His lips were full and firm, with a wickedly seductive tilt to them. Who was this male?

“I’m not your sweetling, either.” Ugh. She narrowed her eyes. His arms were thick and brawny, bulging and rippling with muscle. Upper chest bare, he wore dark leather breeches and tall boots. There was something off about his gait, a slight limp and favoring of his left leg. She made note of that weakness.

Eyes that swirled like molten copper studied her, and the timbre of his deep lilt continued to rumble through her. Glints of copper glimmered in his tightly clipped locks, too. Despite her animosity, he was not displeasing to her eyes. Not even with the scorched markings across his left cheek that lent to his fearsome presence.

Or perhaps, it was a century of being captive that made any new flesh appealing. Yes, that must be it. Surely not the rough edge of his firm jaw nor the way his thick brows drew together above his hooded eyes, darkening his stare into something lethal and predatory and…possessive. He was a large male, burly and powerful, far bigger than she. A formidable opponent. But she would best him yet.

She curved her lips into a smug grin. “You tried to remove the sword, and you failed. It isn’t yours to claim.”

His stare centered on her, assessing. “Can you unsheathe it, then, Siren?”

Ha! He mistook her species for another race. Sirens. Granted, most confused the two. Sirens were also birdlike females, who lured sailors into the depths of the sea with their enchanting voices, where they feasted upon their flesh. Harpies were far more fearsome than that. They were the hounds of Zeus, sent to crush his opponents.

But let the male think what he liked. He would soon join the others, those who attempted to thieve from a harpy.

“Argh!” She lashed out at him, thrusting him backward, and braced for his attack.

“I’ve no wish to fight you, Strinklia.” Screech. Oh, he had no notion of the force of her cry. She could kill a man with one piercing scream, if she so chose.

Enyo opened her mouth, another shriek forming in her throat, but the male lunged forward and snared her lips with his, muffling her cry.

She froze. His lips were firm, hot, and the taste of him was…delectable. She snatched his shoulders, digging her claws into firm flesh, and dragged him harder against her mouth, fervent, demanding. She would have his kiss.

The male growled and retaliated, his hands cupping her cheek and throat, directing her head, his tongue thrusting inside her mouth to stroke her tongue.

She moaned, consumed by unbidden desires for this male. Why, oh why, hadn’t she eliminated him before he’d kissed her?

The ground vibrated beneath her, small rocks sprinkling down the cave walls. She pulled back, panting and relief rushing through her. No harm done. It wasn’t too late to remove this male. They would do the task for her.

Demoleon’s chest rose and fell with his straining breaths as he attempted to process what had just happened between him and this vixen. She hadn’t balked at the scars on his left cheek, hadn’t flinched or hesitated to touch him as most females did. He blinked, and the grin on her lips seemed almost…victorious?

Bloody hell, that was what sirens did, wasn’t it? Seduced males to their deaths.

A rumble thrummed beneath his feet. He glanced down at the vibrating pebbles on the floor, then up again, only to find the lass had retreated to the safety of her perch.

And left him to battle whatever was coming.

He scoffed and braced for an attack.

An inky nebula flowed across the ceiling and walls, amassing toward him. At first, the wave appeared to be some form of shadow, but as the blackness neared, he detected minute parts.

It was a rush of…ants?

“Myrmekes,” the female sneered. “They think you’ve come to steal their gold.”

“I’m not here for bloody gold,” he snarled.

“Try telling them that.” She barked a haughty laugh.

Damn, these were no ordinary insects. Some were the size of small canines. Others, as large as a boar.

And they were all charging toward him.

Demoleon tossed his head. One way to end this. He performed the morphos into his dragon shape and blew a rush of fire at the pests. Their wailing and sizzle crashed through the air, but they backed off…and swarmed the female instead.

She yelped and leapt down, onto the opposite boulder from him. One glance at him, then she lunged for the sword.

No way in Hades was he letting her take that blade. Demoleon shifted into his human form and leapt toward the blade, his fingers wrapping around the hilt just above hers.

A blast of light erupted through the chamber. Stinging jolts pierced his flesh. But the blade pulled free, into both their grasps. The female grunted, her grip as firm and unrelenting as his.

One ant leapt toward them and together they swiped the sword at the creature, slicing it in twain amidst a blaze of radiance.

The other ants wailed and, squinting at the fierce illumination, skulked back into the darkness. An agonizing pang slammed into his left foot as the Siren smashed her foot down upon his lame one, and his grasp sprang free. On instinct, his body shifted into his natural centaur form.

But instead of the Siren stealing away the sword, it flung back toward the boulder, embedding itself once again in the rock.

He gaped and glanced at the female. Shock crossed her features too, wide eyes and rounded lips. She looked him up and down, something like terror seizing her panicked features, before she raced from the chamber.

He stared at the blade. Then at the path she’d taken. He couldn’t retrieve the sword on his own. That much had been proven to him. But somehow, they’d been able to extract it together. Damned if he didn’t haul her back here to remove the blade. Hell, he’d shackle himself to her and the sword and drag them both back to his brothers if need be.

He’d do whatever it took to secure this most precious weapon.

Demoleon pounded his hooves through the winding tunnels, twisting this way and that through an almost blinding blackness, until suddenly, vine-like tendrils seized his limbs, winding across his ankles and wrists. He performed the morphos into his human shape but, even as man, he couldn’t break this hold. The coils closed, tighter and tighter. Then the ropy manacles hefted him upside down, fifty feet into the air.

Mercilessly trapping him.

For all eternity.

* * *