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ORRO

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When Orro woke up, he couldn’t move.

His eyes snapped open, and he yanked on the seven chains that anchored him to the ground. The frigid stone floor bit into his knees as he pulled in vain against the enchanted metal. A growl escaped his lips.

His vision blurred in and out of focus as he slowly scanned the chamber around him. Black curtains lined the walls, blocking out the sunlight beyond the room. Only a thin golden outline of light around the curtains hinted at the world outside. Soldiers in dark garb lined with black feathers stood along the edges of the room, as immobile as statues. The one closest to him briefly glanced his way.

This had gone all wrong.

Hugh—that spineless bastard—had not only replaced them with a crew of merciless cowards, he had left them for dead. Dozens of heists, countless hours running and fighting and stealing together, and yet he had left them all without a word.

Their boss had betrayed them and left them to take the heat for the failed heist. Orro refused to be the scapegoat for that old fuckface, but he had no idea how to get out of this situation.

That was Cade’s specialty, and his friend was currently out of commission.

Orro shifted his neck, enduring the pain of the biting grip of the iron collar just for a glimpse of his best friend. Orro’s chest tightened at the sight of the unconscious blonde man slumped at the base of a wicked winged throne.

He would not let Cade die. Not without first telling him what it meant to have the thief save his life. Cade had taken a dagger for him, and it had nearly killed him. On top of that, Hugh’s dagger had destroyed their one bargaining chip out of this accursed temple.

Whatever power that necklace possessed was clearly coveted. It was far more important than he or the rest of the team had realized, and now it was destroyed. Worse yet, it had done something to Cade.

Something bad.

On either side of him, the rest of the original crew were similarly tethered. Everyone else slumped on the floor, unconscious, and he noted only a few chains were used to contain them.

A cold smile ghosted over his lips as he understood the unspoken message. Scorn’s acolytes thought he was the dangerous one, and the team could play that to their advantage.

Through the corner of his eye, he spotted a young woman with long blonde hair who had stayed back during the heist. Rage and concern flooded every fiber of his being when he saw their resident escape artist, Rayka, pinned to the floor with the rest of them. She had been waiting at a safe house nearby with horses and everything they would need to get the hells out of here. She was Cade’s younger sister, and had been a constant companion since Orro was hired by Hugh all those years ago.

If she was here, then Hugh had gone out of his way to make sure there were no loose ends in his betrayal.

Great.

Just great.

The clang of metal against stone echoed through the throne room. The heavy black curtains that spanned across stained glass billowed softly with each successive strike of that unseen rod.

Orro’s senses went on high alert. Every instinct in him screamed to flee from whatever approached behind them. He strained again, but the chains refused to budge.

“Oh, none of that,” a husky voice whispered next to his ear.

He shifted in its direction, but a wave of dark energy slammed into his face and his entire body shot away, only to be yanked painfully back to the ground as his shackles reasserted their control. A blurred figure walked around him and knelt, but he could only see her outline as the pain rippled through his body.

“Who are—” Orro started, but a gauntleted finger pressed against his lips.

“Shh,” the feminine voice whispered.

When Orro’s vision cleared once more, his blood went cold. Staring into his eyes were twin orbs of crimson so dark they were nearly black. They belonged to a pale woman dressed in raven feathers, a scepter of pale white bone and gnarled iron held in her other hand.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Madness danced within those eyes. Cold, relentless, malice, and he knew her name without asking.

Scorn, the goddess known for almost as much murder and bloodshed as the god of War.

“What brings a Grassblade assassin to my humble halls?” Scorn asked in an innocent voice. “I’m surprised dear old Conflict hasn’t hunted you all to extinction by now. You’re quite the antique, aren’t you?”

She dragged a razor-tipped finger across his jaw, slicing into flesh and bone as easily as his own blade could cut through parchment. His throat tightened as he fought off the surge of agony that followed. He refused to scream. He wouldn’t give her the pleasure of seeing his pain.

The goddess of vengeance shot him a mirthless smile. “I see you’re not the talkative type. We’ll have to change that.” She clicked her tongue in mock disappointment as she wagged her now-bloodstained finger in front of his nose. “You see, pain is all about perception. It’s about putting pressure in just the right spot.”

She dug her index finger into his side, directly below his ribs. He stifled a groan of agony, unable to resist the excruciating misery that coursed through his chest. She gouged a lazy arc through his insides before retracting her steely claw.

His jaw tensed as he looked up at the ceiling, forcing himself to simply endure. No one could break him that easily.

“You stole from me, assassin,” Scorn accused with a manic gleam in her eyes. “You and your crew. You stole from me and even managed to have one of your foolish underlings absorb that which I held most dear. I was waiting for just the right acolyte to give it to, but now that chance is forever robbed from me.”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” Jer spat from somewhere behind Orro. “You’re the one who is robbing me, lady! I get that this is totally your thing and all, what with you getting scorned as… well… Scorn, but I’m the victim here!”

One of the goddess’ eyes twitched.

“And how is that?” Scorn demanded impatiently.

“It’s obvious you’re going to kill us after you’re done fingering our friend over there,” Jer stated flatly. “And—”

“Word choice,” Orro muttered, though he slumped in relief at seeing his friends awaken around him.

One by one, everyone rose as much as the chains would allow, and their eyes darted wildly around as each tried to make sense of what was happening.

At least everyone was alive.

For now, anyway.

Jer cleared his throat as he continued. “And that means I will never find her. I will never get to meet the one Destiny has chosen to be my partner for life!” Jer yelled passionately. “You kill me, and you rob us both of our divine fate!”

Scorn lifted one finger. Black lightning sizzled through the air and pierced Jer’s chest. He yelped in pain and twitched wildly in his chains.

Damn it.

This was getting bad, and they needed a plan.

Wake up, Orro thought urgently as he looked at Cade’s still form.

“Your petty understanding of fate is an insult to my intelligence, mortal.” Scorn stalked back toward Orro. “Be silent while I take what is rightfully mine.”

Rayka gestured toward Scorn, but the chains stopped the movement. “We can just give you back the necklace and you’ll never see us again! Right, guys?”

When the rest of the team squirmed uncomfortably at her desperate attention, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Her glare shifted toward Orro. “What happened?”

Before Orro could answer, Cade moaned on the floor and slowly rolled to his side, his head tilting up slightly.

Orro breathed out in relief.

Good, the assassin thought. I hope Cade thinks of a way out of this. Because I have no gods-damned clue what to do.

“Guys, you would not believe the dream I just had,” Cade groaned softly as he sat up. His back was to the goddess, who raised a dark eyebrow in his direction.

“Oh, good, you’re awake too.” Scorn slammed her scepter into the ground and the entire throne room shook with its echo. “I think I’ll start with you, and then let your friends watch as I extract every morsel of vengeance from your pitiful body for absorbing what was rightfully mine!”

Cade stiffened.

“Morana!” Scorn demanded, her voice echoing through the room. “Come!”

A finely dressed woman emerged from behind one of the long curtains, her unhurried steps silent across the obsidian floor etched with gold.

“Yes, your Divinity?” Morana crooned seductively.

Orro shuddered at the sight of this newcomer. It was evident that her weapon of choice was her appearance, and she wielded it to incredible effect. Every lock of her dark hair and pursed violet lips lured his attention in like bait on a hook.

He shifted his gaze away.

“Watch closely, little siren of mine.” Scorn’s hateful glare shifted toward the woman. “Bear witness to what happens when mortals are arrogant enough to think themselves deserving of a god’s possessions. Steal from me, and all you love shall burn.”

A siren.

Orro’s eyes widened as he looked at the woman once more. He had never seen a siren in person before, but their legends permeated the continent. He studied her face once again, but she never once looked his way.

Scorn raised her scepter, and its abyssal crown glowed with malevolent light as she pointed it directly at Cade’s chest. Scorn smiled, and it was like one of the hells cracked across her face.

“Scream for me, thief.” Scorn’s voice dropped to a deadly growl, and a wicked smile spread slowly across her face. “I want to hear you scream.”