Randall stood in the center of the room. The dark rock surrounding him faded out into mist, making it seem like the room went on forever, but he had been in it many times before. He knew the walls were there. Glancing up, he took in the carved stone that resembled people who he had always assumed were supposed to represent the founding members of the Order of Talos. Their eyes, though carved from rock, seemed to stare down at him.

He was completely exposed and at the mercy of the other Order members. He had been stripped of his rank and robes after the last debacle where they not only succeeded in capturing Poseidon, but someone he guessed was a blood relative, and one of the siren brothers. If he hadn’t let his need for vengeance overwhelm him, then he would have been a hero to the Order. Instead, they were all standing there judging him.

“So tell us what happened, Brother Randall,” the High Brother said, and just as Randall took a breath to respond, he spoke again. “Just so you are aware, Sister Margarite was slaughtered by Poseidon after almost giving her life helping you. As were Brother Francis and Brother Edmund.

“You are being held accountable for their deaths, as well as the injuries sustained by the other members of the Order as they tried to find safe harbor. Did you know that Poseidon transported a few of them to Death Valley, and the rest, including myself, were stuck up in the Alps? Frost bite, dehydration, heat stroke, we all could have died. Before you tell me what happened, I want you to take a moment and think about the chaos that would have ensued if the members of this group all vanished at once.”

Rage consumed Randall, and he felt the pebbles around his feet beginning to tremble. He hadn’t figured out how to control his newfound ability yet, but he knew if the Order found out, they would have him executed. It was the way they thought he’d had it easy. Couldn’t they see his prosthetic leg? The hitch in his step? They weren’t the only ones who were injured, and they hadn’t been tortured first.

How much could he really tell them without exposing himself further? How much should he tell them? Going into this meeting, he’d planned on only giving the most basic details, but now they needed something to sink their teeth into, and he needed something that would sway their support in his favor. He took a deep breath. The cold, damp scent of the stone filled his nostrils as he shifted his weight off his prosthesis for a while. The ground he had been standing on was unforgiving.

The memory of what had happened to him was almost too fresh. If he hadn’t been a wealthy man, then he wouldn’t have survived. Fortunately he was, and he did.

Poseidon played with him the way a cat played with a mouse, and Randall was used to being the cat. The beatings came at random times. The god didn’t much seem to care who it was he was unleashing his anger on. The fury that rolled off him was not caused by Randall, but being the god’s prisoner made him the punching bag.

He could still see the remnants of the other beings who had served as punching bags in his cage. A broken fingernail here. A dark stain on the floor there. All of it combined to make him shudder with disgust.

The cell he was confined to was in Poseidon’s palace—he’d known that much—but he had no idea where on the globe it was located. It was cold, even when Randall was able to stand in the light coming through the window that was placed up at the edge of the wall. It definitely wasn’t enough to heat the room, and neither was whatever kind of heating system the god used. Then again, he was a prisoner, so it wouldn’t surprise him if there just wasn’t any heating in his cell.

Most of the time, he dreamed of escaping with the knowledge of the location and returning to the Order. They would worship him if he brought them the god they had lost. Images of him replacing the High Brother filled his mind and made the beating somewhat bearable.

Once, Poseidon had beaten him sufficiently enough that he wouldn’t be able to move for days, possibly even weeks. He suspected that he had a broken rib or two, and possibly even a fracture on one of his cheekbones.

The god seemed to know that he’d gone too far if he wanted to keep his new toy alive. After a point, whenever he was done with the beating, she came in and healed him. Her hands were always gentle and cool on his skin. Her eyes shied away from him most of the time. Innocence radiated out of her, leaving him longing for her touch. There was nothing he loved as much as corrupting innocence.

In many ways, she reminded him of Robin, his banshee, but if he let his mind remember what happened, then the anger would rise to the surface. So he started focusing on their physical differences.

Her hair was black with an almost green undertone to it instead of Robin’s vibrant red, and her eyes were a strange blue. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen before. It reminded him of old glass, when there used to be a bluish tint to it. Her mouth was plump but narrow, and her body was almost waifish in its thinness. She had small curves, showing just enough that she was a woman and no more. He could imagine her walking the runway at a fashion show, showing off the latest daring designer creations.

Randall started smiling at her when she came in to tend to him. Well, he would smile as much as his bruised, swollen face would allow him. Her eyes would dart to his face and then down, before she began tending to whatever wounds Poseidon deemed needed healing.

The first had been the ribs and the fractured cheekbone, followed by a large gash on his face that ran from his forehead down past his chin. The god’s blade had carved him up that day. When he’d sliced Randall’s face, the blade had slipped and gouged his chest as well.

“What’s your name?” he’d asked after what felt like weeks of torture, not that he was ever asked any questions.

Randall knew it had only been a few days, if that, based on the number of meals he had received and the way the light reflected through the myriad of window and skylights that hung above him in the high ceiling.

Big sea-blue eyes looked up at him through thick lashes that matched her ebony-green hair. “It is not for mortals to know.” The words flowed out of her, reminding him of a flowing stream.

“I would much rather be able to thank the most beautiful woman in the world by name.”

She flushed, and he knew in that instant that she would be his. Their sessions continued after every beating, as did his compliments and vocal amazement at her skills and kindness. Finally, she told him, “You may call me Naida.”

“Well, Naida, it’s truly my pleasure to meet you. I’m Randall.” He smiled his most charming smile at her, and a blush stained her cheeks.

“How long have you been cleaning up his messes?” He dared not use the god’s name, as it seemed to hold some kind of power since they were in his home.

“Centuries. You are just one of many.”

“You are wasted on this work. He doesn’t appreciate you the way he should.” He waited a moment before softly adding, “The way I would.” He looked at her through his eyelashes, making himself appear bashful at the admission.

“That is kind of you to say, mortal, but you know nothing of our ways.”

He moved toward her, asking her to explain their ways to him, certain that the loin cloth he’d been forced to wear flapped to the side as he did so. Her cheeks flamed as her eyes connected with his manhood. She found him even more attractive than he had initially thought. In that moment, he knew it would be a cake walk to seduce her. He might find her attractive and her touch soothing, but she was the key to his escape, and that made her invaluable.

The weeks progressed, and they fell into a simple routine of her healing him and him asking questions about her life. Finally, he made contact, stroking her face with his disfigured hand. In that moment, she’d abandoned her healing powers and her hands had simply touched him. He played up how much her touch pleased him. Encouraging her and praising her until she moved more confidently, her touch becoming sure and strong.

When he kissed her, she gave herself over to him. It was easy from that point to pleasure her. It was like she’d never experienced a kind or pleasurable touch before, and all her reactions were enthralling, each one stronger and more exuberant than the last to the point that he was worried they would get caught. Finally, after many sessions where he’d shown her pleasure she’d never known, he claimed her as a man claimed a woman.

Something was different, though. Maybe it was because she was immortal, or not fully human, but he’d never experienced such a joining of two people. When he came in her, it was overwhelming, and not just because he hadn’t been able to have sex in months by that time, but because he could feel himself inside her, feel his seed spreading through her warm core. He felt so connected to her that it made him uncomfortable, and he almost regretted the fact that he was going to have to screw her over to escape. Almost.

They lay together every night once he was healed from the day’s beating, and shared stories. She would tell him memories of her long life, and he would share ways in which the world had changed. One night after they’d had sex, he brought up the topic of helping him escape. He knew that the longer he stayed there under Poseidon’s thumb, the closer he got to being beaten to death. Her initial reaction was to shy away, but he cajoled and sweet-talked her until she began to come around to his side.

Every once in a while, he would allow himself to wonder what was happening to Eclipse and with the Order, but those were his dark days. Twice he thought about giving up—both times were after particularly vicious beatings—but after he’d released his anger through sex, he’d calm down and reassess his plan. It was working, slowly. Those were also the days when he scared her the most. She always told him that he didn’t, but he could see it in her reaction to him, the way she moved from his touch. In the days following, he would always be extra sweet and promise her that it would never happen again.

When Naida finally agreed to help him, it felt like the sun had suddenly started to shine. Everything was different. He noticed more, planned every aspect of his escape in multiple ways using the information he’d gleaned from his late-night sessions with the strange woman.

She left his cage unlocked while she went to speak with Poseidon about his injuries. Randall was supposed to make his way straight to the exit where she would meet him and transport him to the closest city. He heard them talking as he skulked down a hallway.

The sound of the god’s voice had filled him with a white-hot rage that burned in every cell of his being. He no longer cared that the door was only a few feet away. All he cared about was hurting his captor. Vengeance drove him back down the hall toward Poseidon, just as it drove him to survive the beatings and his captivity. The sirens were going to pay for stealing from him and damaging his reputation with the Order.

The deep booming voice echoed down multiple hallways, so it took longer than it should have to find them. When he did, though, the sight of the god brought on a bloodlust in Randall’s veins that he’d never experienced before. The trident that had pierced his skin so many times was resting against the wall off to the side of his throne. Rushing in, Randall grabbed it and swung it at the god. A startled grunt filled his ears, and then the trident was out of his hands.

He knew he’d injured Poseidon, which made him rethink how powerful the gods really were. What if all this time, the Order had been fighting a weak enemy who only appeared strong? It was that idea more than any other that made him leave and abandon the fight. Before the god could take his life, Randall fled, running full tilt out of the room and out of the palace.

Somehow Naida had made it away from Poseidon and had transported him somewhere. It wasn’t the closest city like they had agreed on, but then again, they hadn’t agreed on him attacking Poseidon, either. She probably wasn’t able to be away for more than a few seconds.

He later learned that she had taken him to Greenland. All he knew at the time was that it was cold. There was blood on his legs, but when he went to wipe the wound, he discovered that it wasn’t his blood. His instincts that he’d injured Poseidon had been correct.

Half of him rejoiced in having his freedom and having hurt his captor on the way out. The other half was screaming about the fact that he was only wearing a loincloth and was surrounded by what felt like the dead of winter. Snow covered every surface in sight except for either the ocean or a large lake to his left. A mountain rose in the distance, but it was all white. The only way he knew it was there was from the angular peak framed by the blue sky. The sun burned his eyes while the wind, which stole his breath, brought him sounds that didn’t make any sense in his head. Dogs barking and a buzzing sound he couldn’t understand.

Fury pulsed through his system. Randall knew this was all the fault of those infuriating sirens. Ever since they had started interfering with his business and his life, nothing had gone to plan. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became.

The ground underneath him began to shake, and small pebbles rose up through the snow, hovering in front of him. When he reached out to touch one, they all fell under the snow once more. He was losing his mind. The thought swam around in his head like a shark through the water he walked next to. It was ready to latch on to any doubts, exploiting them and making them seem larger than they were.

His skin was mostly numb with a slight prickling sensation. A wave lapped up his left leg, making the cold feel bone deep. Randall stumbled from the numbness, or from muscle stiffness—at that point, he wasn’t sure. Watching his leg, he tried to bend his foot, to no avail. All he knew was that he had to keep moving, keep searching for any signs of life.

When his foot didn’t connect with the ground correctly, he tripped, falling on his face. Stones and pebbles from the rocky shore hidden under the snow dug into his hands and knees. It didn’t hurt too much, but then that was probably because everything felt numb. Lying there, he struggled to find the energy to get up, and when he attempted it, he only fell once more. Soon after, he lost consciousness.

The next thing he knew, he’d been in a hospital bed with a searing pain in his left leg. As consciousness slowly seeped back in, so did the awareness of pain throughout his body. The stringent smell of cleaners scoured his nose, and when a nurse came in to check on him, her floral perfume overwhelmed him. A couple coughing fits later, he was able to communicate who he was and where he lived.

Once his own people had been contacted, he’d been flown back to the US to heal. The reality of his situation only hit him as they were transporting him to the plane. He’d lost part of his left leg to frostbite. The surgeon had taken everything below the knee, and he had robotically commanded his new secretary to search for the best in physical therapists and prosthetists she could find. Money wasn’t an obstacle.

The doctor had told him it would be months before he could be fitted for a new limb, but that simply wasn’t acceptable. Neither was the fact that he knew he’d spent weeks being tortured by Poseidon, but only two days had passed in reality. The idea that time moved differently in the god’s home was one that stretched the limits of his mind. Why could he find magical creatures and powers so acceptable, but not the time difference? It was one of the thoughts that plagued his already beleaguered mind.

His anger drove him most days. It was how he learned more about his ability to control rocks. Even having a fancy new ability didn’t stop frostbite, though. He’d still lost his leg. His vengeance turned into a knife point as he met with physical therapists and was fitted for his first prosthesis. Every day had been a fight to get on two feet, to learn to walk again, to rein in his fury so the ground didn’t split beneath his unsteady feet.

A cough sounded, startling him out of his memories. He took a deep breath in lieu of shaking his head, which would make it obvious that he’d zoned out, and decided that they didn’t need to know any of what had happened to him.

“I was transported to Greenland. Alone. Lost on the coast of a freezing foreign country, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and boxers. I’m lucky in a way that the small amount of clothing I was wearing was black. It helped a local fisherman see me and rescue me. As you can see, it was too late for my leg.”

He gestured down to his prosthesis, the lies tasting like metal on his tongue. “It was the side that was constantly getting hit with waves as I wandered along the coast. I’m lucky I didn’t lose both legs or my hands.” He sighed. This was the part he was dreading. The groveling and prostrating himself before the members of the Order. “I understand how you must feel. Believe me, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it as I recovered from surgery. I was selfish. We had a god on a leash and I risked it all to seek vengeance of a theft that was petty in comparison. I apologize to all of you and am willing to take whatever punishment you deem worthy.”

The room turned into a volley of hushed whispers. They all stood far enough away that he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Finally, the noise subsided.

“The other members have decided to give you one more chance, due to your loyal service up until this series of unfortunate mistakes. That being said, you are still on probation, and as such will not be assigned another Key until we deem you worthy once more.”

“Thank you, High Brother.” He bowed his head and wanted to spit on the other man’s shoes. “If I may, I have an idea of how I can make this up to the Order.”

The High Brother crossed his arms over his chest, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Taking the silence as permission to continue, Randall said, “If we capture the sirens who have caused us—” A snort from the High Brother had him amending his pitch. “They have caused me such trouble and robbed the Order of some of their brightest opportunities we have had to date, but if we capture them, we can harness the power of their abilities. If they have a song of compulsion like the legends state, then think of what that could mean for us in terms of our business dealings.

“Not only that, but based on Poseidon’s reaction to one of them being locked in the circle with him, I believe that they have some kind of affinity or power over water. I’m not sure how their abilities work, but once we have them, we can exploit them for everything they are worth. Everyone and everything breaks eventually if you find the right pressure points. If the Order would but allow me some leeway and some resources, I believe I can locate them.” By the time he was done, Randall was pacing back and forth as much as his leg would allow.

He had tried to keep his need for retribution locked tight so they didn’t pick up on it, but judging by the High Brother’s expression, he hadn’t done a good job.

“I will leave this up to individual members. You will have to individually petition them for their help. I can tell you that if you fail in this, you will be cast out forever. The Order will not welcome you back. Are you sure that is something you want to risk?”

“Yes, High Brother. I have had time to plan, and I have a strategy that I’m sure will work.” He felt like a kid in school again, having to show his work on a math problem. Except he wasn’t going to give up the details so some other schmuck could take the opportunity out from underneath him.

“Fine.” He glanced behind him, seeming to assess the mood of the other members as he moved to the side so they could see both of them clearly. “Brother Randall’s case has been made and an agreement has been reached. He will be petitioning each of you for help. It is up to you whether or not you give it. No matter what you choose, there will be no repercussions for you.” He turned slightly back toward Randall. “I will save Brother Randall the time of petitioning me. My answer is no. I will not allow you to pull me into another scheme, nor will I risk the health and safety of my Key. Others may assist you as they will.”

That last part had been a sucker punch.

If the High Brother had said he would give him support, then every single member there would have followed in his footsteps. Now it was going to be an uphill battle. Not that he thought it was one he would lose. Hell, he had escaped the clutches of a god and come out even stronger for it. This would not defeat him. He would have his vengeance, and he would rise to the top of the Order because of it.