Poseidon had been raging against the purple robes for a while now, trying to unleash his fury on anyone around him, which was precisely why Hal was staying out of sight. The purple robes had been chanting low and slow since the god of the sea had arrived. He hadn’t even noticed it at first, but he was relatively sure they were getting louder. Not loud enough for him to understand what they were saying, though, which was frustrating.

He was sitting against the back wall of the cave, the musty damp smell of the cave encircling him. The tile mosaic was spread out before him, with Zeus’ face staring out from the center circle, surrounded by smaller circles containing all of the major gods’ faces, around which were even smaller circles containing the symbols of the favorite minor gods. Circles like this one had often been created in temples, with the god the temple was dedicated to pictured in the middle. If that held true, then this should be a temple for Zeus.

When he was a child, the temples had been everywhere, but not all had the circle. Only priests and priestesses of the highest order could request one to be created in their temple, and even then, it was no guarantee the god or goddess would show up when summoned. After all, they couldn’t deal with every minor grievance a human had. That wasn’t who they were.

Hal had been praying in his head to any god he thought would listen, trying to make sure Robin and Nimue were safe. He had even prayed to Zeus, asking him to come down to his temple and lay waste to those who desecrated it. There were no responses, though. He suspected it had something to do with the barrier. No god liked to be insulted, and the big Z-man was probably one of the most sensitive about it.

Opening his magic up and letting it flow out into the world around him, Hal looked at the markings keeping them trapped in the circle. The enchantments that surrounded them were intricate and almost impossibly complex. They all had a flaw, though. He just had to find it. He knew it was possible, but it would probably take more time and concentration than he had.

Someone was watching him; the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end.

Looking up, he met Samuel’s eyes. The man’s hair was the same jet black as Poseidon’s, and his eyes were liquid quicksilver. The penny finally dropped, and Hal realized he was one of the god’s sons. Maybe the only one. He hadn’t heard any recent rumblings of the god having children, and Samuel couldn’t be more than twenty-five years old. Reaching out with his magic, Hal found that the other man possessed skills of his own. Filaments of magic extended from the other man’s body. They were just as strong as his own. Maybe Samuel was a grandson, then, or maybe it was just because Poseidon’s powers were not what they once were.

Pushing up off the floor, the stone scratching his palms, he slowly made his way over, hoping that he didn’t draw too much attention from the purple cloaks or from Poseidon.

“I’m Hal.” He extended his hand to the younger man, hoping that they could work together to escape.

“Sam,” the younger man said as they shook.

“You a descendant of the big guy over there?” Hal kept his voice low as he spoke.

“Yeah. You?”

“Kinda, but not really.”

Sam quirked an eyebrow, but before he could respond, one of the purple cloaks shouted,

“You! Stop talking!”

Hal wanted to laugh. It wasn’t like they could come in there with them, or they would be overpowered, so what exactly was their plan?

“Or what?” he called out. Since his short conversation with Sam had already brought him to their attention, he wasn’t about to back down.

Another purple cloak stepped out of line, approaching the one who had spoken. The silver mask winked in the dim light.

“High Brother, I know this man. He stole my property and kidnapped an initiate.”

“This man?”

“Yes, High Brother.”

There was only one person who could lay that kind of claim against him.

Randall Fields.

“You wish to challenge him?”

“If you would allow it, High Brother.”

Good. Hal wanted a challenge. This man made his blood boil. He had almost killed Alec last time, not to mention putting Robin through hell and kidnapping Aster. If it was a one-on-one fight, then he knew that the mortal stood no chance. His gut twisted at the thought of facing them all. There was no way he would win. Not even if all three of them fought. Poseidon didn’t have his trident, and Sam didn’t look as though he knew how to throw a punch even if his life depended on it, which it very well might.

Opening up his senses, he began examining the magic that allowed them to be held there. The summoning circle barely had anything left. Getting the three of them there must have used up most of its remaining juice. The symbols painted on the floor and walls were another matter, though. The power pulsing through them was strong and would be hard to crack without drawing attention. He had been hoping Sam would be able to assist him, but now it looked like he was going to be fighting Randall Fields, instead.

His purple cloak fell from his shoulders, and he tossed the silver mask to the ground. Hostility radiated out of Randall as he approached the edge of the circle, wearing nothing but a pair of black shorts and a T-shirt.

“Allow us to show you what will happen if you interfere with this,” the High Brother said.

The ground shook, and fire radiated out of the symbols on the wall, forcing the three men trapped in the circle to one side.

“That is not the only weapon at our disposal. If the two of you interfere with the fight, then you will find out what some of the others are.”

Hal’s ears popped as the High Brother nodded and the pressure changed. Randall walked through the symbols, and the pressure changed again. Rage shimmered around him like a magnetic field. Without a word or sound, the man who had caused pain to so many people Hal cared about came charging at him. Stepping to one side, he let Randall smack into the barrier that kept them in the circle. He didn’t fall, which surprised Hal. As he turned, Randall pressed his arms together. The tattoos that were on both forearms pressed together to become one giant symbol. He chanted as he had when they’d first faced each other at the farmhouse.

“Order of Talos, grant me your strength. Order of Talos, grant me your speed. Order of Talos, grant me my power!”

The runes and markings that were etched into his skin swirled in place but didn’t form a bond as they had done previously when Randall had been completely connected to Nimue. A look of confusion flashed over his face before he schooled it into a careful mask.

As they began circling each other, Hal waited for the mortal to throw the first punch. The kick came, and while it was powerful, it was nowhere near as powerful as he had been during the fight at the farmhouse. Nimue had to be free. His last burst of power to set off the chain reaction to break the enchantments had been successful.

“Something wrong, Randy?” Hal smiled innocently at the man he planned to beat to a pulp.

“What have you done?” Fury pulled at his face, white lines bracketing his mouth while his cheeks turned a mottled red.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did you hurt her just to spite me?”

“Who would I hurt?”

“You know damn well.”

“Robin is doing just fine. I haven’t hurt her at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.” He waggled his eyebrows at the other man, letting the implication speak for itself.

“You couldn’t. Nim promised me . . .” Randall’s voice trailed off as he remembered they had an audience.

“She promised you . . .”—Hal definitely got the feeling good old Randy had done something he wasn’t supposed to—“that only you would be allowed to touch Robin?”

“I’m going to kill you.” He ground the words out, spitting in the direction of his opponent.

“You can try. No one’s succeeded yet, though, so good luck.”

Without warning, Randall turned away, walking to the edge of the circle, facing the High Brother.

“Something has happened to my Key. When I call on the Key’s power, nothing happens. Would any of you be willing to channel your Key’s powers into me?”

“Is what the creature says true? Did you harness your Key’s power to keep your initiate to yourself without her permission?”

“No! Of course I had her permission.”

“Liar!” Hal called from across the circle. He wanted to attack him, teach him the harsh lesson of not showing an enemy his back, but he also didn’t want the purple robes to attack them out of vengeance.

“I will stand with Brother Randall,” a woman’s voice called out as another of the purple cloaks broke rank and came to stand before the High Brother.

“Why would you risk yourself for Brother Randall, Sister Margarite?”

“Because he has often proved to be an honorable man, and I would hate to see him lose that honor on the word of a monster.”

“You have Sister Margarite’s support.” The High Brother nodded.

Hal could see some kind of movement between the woman still hidden in the purple cloak and mask, and the man he wanted to punch, but Randall’s body blocked most of it. All he knew was that when the mortal turned around, the marks on his arm swirled and connected as they had at the farmhouse. At least now it would be a fair fight.

Randall came toward him with a yell, swinging a little too wildly to be effective. Hal ducked and moved to the side, allowing the punch to pass by him without harm. The kick was unexpected and caught him in the ribs, possibly cracking one of them. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before, and he was more than capable of fighting with a cracked rib. Hell, it could be completely broken and he would still be up and moving. As the mortal came toward him again, Hal’s fist popped out, catching him on the jaw before sweeping his legs out from under him. Randall managed to stop his fall so he landed on his knees.

“Nimue sends her regards,” he said as he kneed the man in the face. The coppery tang of blood scented the air a moment later.

The crunch of bone only built his blood lust even further, but before he could hit him again, Randall rolled out of the way and came at him again from the side. Grabbing Hal by the hair was an unexpected move, one that he would expect from someone fighting for their life, but not at the beginning of a confrontation like this. The pain from Randall’s grip was fire spreading over his scalp. He twisted to face the man and kneed him in the groin. His opponent crumpled, his black shorts not providing any sort of protection.

If Randall wanted to fight dirty, he would fight dirty, but he suspected the mortal wouldn’t like the results.

Before he could do anything else, Randall rolled and lunged at him, bringing them both to the ground. The wind rushed out of his lungs, and Hal lost precious seconds trying to breathe again as Randall rolled them over. He tried to get an arm lock on the scrappy man but couldn’t get enough purchase, his bigger form unhelpful when fighting on the ground. Hal was plenty strong enough, but lacked the agility his brothers had. When they wrestled, Alec and Thad usually won, able to contort themselves into shapes that were beyond him. That couldn’t happen this time, though. Too much was at stake. He wasn’t about to give Fields the satisfaction of beating him a second time. The first time, it was two on one. This time, they were equally matched. There was no reason he shouldn’t be able to kick the other guy’s ass.

Kicking the mortal away from him, he was able to get to his feet before the other man.

Hal could hear muttering as Randall repeated something over and over to himself. He wasn’t about to get close enough to try to hear, though. He’d seen enough horror movies to know what happened when someone did that, and he would definitely not open himself up to be bitten on the neck, or something like that. He pulled his leg back to kick the mortal while he was down. Not very sportsmanlike, but it wasn’t a game, either.

His leg froze.

Movement was suddenly impossible.

Randall stood with a brutal smile on his blood-smeared face. Whatever he had been muttering had caused this. Pulling his fist back, he let it fly at Hal’s face. Pain burst over his jaw. A second punch hit him in the stomach, followed by a kick to the ribs. Hal’s body turned into a punching bag for the other man. Pain exploded like fireworks all over his body, some making more noise than others. Fields started laughing maniacally as his fists connected with ribs, face, shoulders, kidneys, anything he could reach. Kicks came into play, as well, and Hal was forced to stand there and take it.

A particularly nasty punch landed square on Hal’s nose, and blood gushed from it, trailing over his mouth and down his chin. He couldn’t even wipe his face. This wasn’t a fight anymore. This was a beating. Magic was something most people didn’t understand. The repercussions, the price—mortals always failed to account for those in their quest for power.

Hal reveled in the rush of magic that washed over him. Poseidon was staring at him—the power had come from the sea god himself. It had been enough to break the spell that Randall had used without alerting any of the other members of the Order of Talos to the interference. He wanted to sag with relief at the knowledge that he could move again, but that would give him away. He was sure that Randall would notice that he had moved slightly, but the man was too busy feeling victorious and didn’t suspect a thing.

Once he was in range, Hal leaped onto him, driving him to the ground with a knee digging into his opponent’s back. The singular sound of Randall’s head smacking onto the cave floor sent a chill through his bones. As much as he hated this man, he hated the loss of life more. It was why the brothers used tranquilizers when they were on missions. Of course, if someone did deserve to die, it was probably any of these people in purple cloaks. They had magical beings imprisoned and used them, used their life forces, for their own gains, treating them like nothing more than caged beasts.

Randall wasn’t unconscious like Hal thought. The scrawny man pushed up, rolling to try to get Hal’s weight off him. That wasn’t about to work, though, and Hal just dug his knee in further before adjusting himself so he could hit a kidney. Fields grunted in pain and stumbled for a moment. For the first time, Hal noticed that the woman who was supporting him stumbled as well.

He tried to focus on the man in front of him. Grabbing his arm and pulling him into a lock, he was prepared to dislocate the man’s shoulder. Blood was on the woman’s purple robe, dripping from under her mask. Hal’s mind reeled at the possibility that occurred to him.

The man wasn’t just siphoning magical energy off this woman; they had tied their abilities and life forces together. She wasn’t just supporting him magically, but physically as well. Any damage Hal did to Randall was also inflicted on this woman to some degree. The idea turned his stomach.

Could he justify this to himself? Murdering Randall in a fair fight, yes. The additional murder of a woman he had no information on, no. He knew he should just write her off. After all, she was a member of the Order, but what if she had been like Robin, forced into it? He had killed enough people in his long lifetime that he should be numb to it, but he wasn’t, and the idea of taking this woman’s life was too much.

That didn’t mean he was going to let Randall turn him into a punching bag again.

With that thought, he dislocated his opponent’s shoulder. The woman cried out in pain, falling to her knees, clutching her shoulder. Hal felt sick. He didn’t want to do that, but he also had to stay alive long enough to figure out how to get out of there.

Randall staggered to his feet, his arm waved with the movement, completely out of his control. At least if he was going to get punched again, it was with the man’s less dominant hand. He backed away when he should have been pushing his advantage, but the pained sounds of the woman who had bound herself to Randall still rang in his ears.

Fields began to circle him again, hitting out with his functioning hand but rarely connecting. The hit that almost took him down he didn’t see coming, too focused on the woman he had injured. His opponent’s fist connected with his head, just behind his ear, leaving his brains scrambled.

Darkness floated around the edges of Hal’s vision, but he kept moving as best as he could, knowing now that this fight would only end when one of them was dead.