Ravaged: An Eternal Guardians Novella (1001 Dark Nights) by Elisabeth Naughton Page B

voice.
    Daphne lurched to her feet and glanced over her shoulder. Six females—six Sirens—emerged from the trees. They were dressed in knee-high boots, slim pants, and tight, sleeveless shirts. All carried the familiar bow and arrows from Olympus, and all were as gorgeous and built as Sappheire. But a tingle of unease spread down Daphne’s spine as she looked over the group. None of the females were familiar to Daphne, and she’d met every Siren on Olympus, even the newest recruits. More than that, though, the look in each of these Siren’s eyes was both dark and evil. And it was a look she’d never seen from any of her sisters.
    “Something’s not right.” She reached for Ari’s forearm.
    He pulled his gaze from the Sirens and looked down at her. And for a moment, the crazed, dark look faded and his eyes shifted back to their normal mismatched colors.
    An arrow whirred through the air. Ari pulled Daphne off the snowmobile and shoved her to the snowy ground. Against her ear, he growled, “Stay down.”
    Her heart beat hard. Another arrow whirred through the air. Ari jerked to his feet before she could grasp him, that crazed look darkening his eyes once more and twisting his features until she barely recognized him.
    “Ari.” She reached out to draw him back to her. “Stop.”
    But he was already was gone, racing toward the females she knew instinctively had never been her sisters.
     

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Ari was in hell. Burning in the fires of Tartarus, unable to escape from the heat. He turned, kicked, punched out at the flames, but they snaked over his body and danced toward his face as if he hadn’t even moved.
    He was going to die. Suffocate from the heat. From the smoke. And he deserved it after all the horrible things he’d done. After he’d left Daphne bloody and alone in those snowy woods. After he’d lost control and—
    He bolted up, gasped in a breath, and stared into the flames across the room. A log rolled off the pile and sent a flutter of ash and sparks upward in the fireplace. Sweat slid down his temple and dripped along his spine as the crackle of wood echoed in the air, drowning out the sound of his heavy breaths, bringing consciousness slowly back into place.
    His bedroom in the hold. He looked down at the soft bed, at the covers tangled around him. Kicking them free, he swung his legs over the side of the mattress, leaned forward, and dropped his face into his hands.
    In. Out. He breathed deep as his heart rate slowly came down. He didn’t know how he’d gotten here or what had happened, but that was nothing new. Whenever he had one of his episodes, he couldn’t remember shit. All he knew for sure was that he was alive, he was naked except for a pair of boxers, and he was alone. But as soon as he closed his eyes, images flickered through his mind. The snowmobile. The Sirens. Arrows flying through the air. Daphne covered in blood, lying in the snow.
    He jerked upright, walked across the room and back again so he didn’t completely lose it, and racked his brain, trying to remember what had happened. He could only see bits and pieces, not the entire scene, and his mind kept tripping over Daphne in the snow, blood staining her hands and shirt and pants, reaching out for him, telling him...
    He stopped. His brow dropped low. Telling him what?
    “Ari, stop.”
    Her voice echoed in his head, the sound of her plea squeezing his chest so hard pain radiated outward from the spot. She’d been telling him to stop. To stop hurting her.
    Bile slid up his throat. The walls closed in until he could barely breathe. Glancing quickly around the room, he spotted a pair of sweats he’d left on the chair days ago. With hands that shook so hard they barely worked, he pulled them on, needing air, needing to breathe, needing to run until the pain of disgust and regret loosened its hold.
    He flung his bedroom door open, stumbled down the hall toward the great room and the wide deck beyond. Darkness pressed in