The Darkest Prison Read Online Free PDF

the more intense because it was joined by satisfaction. “I’ll have you yet, Nike. That I promise you.”
    â€œJust…go away,” she said, suddenly sounding almost…dejected. She eased to her side, then rolled to her back, facing away from him. “We’re done with each other. Remember?”
    Wrong move. Seeing her back, even covered by that baggy robe, reminded him of what he’d done and that set fire to his blood anew. Whatever he had to do, he was going to have this woman.
    â€œI guess we’ll find out,” he told her before walking away.

CHAPTER SIX
    Atlas pushed past the double doors that led into Cronus’s throne room. Armed guards, immortal warriors Cronus himself had created, were stationed along the edges of the walls. Each held a spear, and swords swung from the sheaths at their waists. They stood at attention, waiting for an order or a threat. They would spring into action for both.
    Of course, there were also warriors lining both sides of the purple lamb’s fleece carpet that led to the bejeweled dais, crowding Atlas as he made his way forward. His weapons had already been removed, but they were taking no chances, eyeing his every movement with distrust.
    He wondered if, when she had been a free woman, Nike had ever been summoned to this room, albeit to meet with Zeus, her king. And if she had, had it been for a reward or a punishment?
    Stop thinking about her. Concentrate on Cronus. He’s wily, that one. The god king was not the same man he’d been before his incarceration. The thousands of years inside Tartarus had changed him; he was harder, harsher. Utterly unforgiving. Any weakness, he pounced upon.
    Nowadays, Cronus refused to stay in the heavens without an army to shield him. But then, a man at war with his own wife couldn’t be too careful. Especially when that wife was a queen with powerful abilities and allies of her own. A wife who—
    Dizziness spun through Atlas’s head, fragmenting his thoughts, and he frowned. Frowned but didn’t stop until he reached the end of the fleece. He kept his attention, foggy as it was, fixed on Cronus.
    The king was seated atop a throne of solid gold. Dark strands were threaded through his silver hair, and his beard had thinned since the last time Atlas had seen him. Some of the age lines had even disappeared from his weathered features. He wore a long white robe, much like the prisoners of Tartarus. Why? He’d   often wondered.
    Only two explanations   made any sense. He’d worn the garment for centuries and now felt most comfortable in it. Or he did not want to forget what he’d once been—and could be again if he weren’t careful. Atlas had been more than happy to shed his own robe. Would Nike do the same, if ever she gained her freedom? Not that she would.
    You’re thinking about her again.
    A woman stood beside the throne. She possessed one of the plainest faces Atlas had ever seen, and had pale, freckled skin. She was reed thin, with dark, curling hair and delicate shoulders. Power did not hum from her. Rather, she seemed…insubstantial. Ethereal, as he imagined a ghost might look. There, but see-through. There, but wavering. Her eyes were shadowy, vacant, as if no one was home.
    When she reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her brow, he could only gape. The elegance of the movement was awe inspiring. More graceful than a dancer, more delicate than a butterfly wing. Someone was indeed home, she just didn’t care about what was happening around her.
    Atlas pulled his attention from the female and studied the chamber. There were thousands of chandeliers overhead, each dripping with glistening teardrops. Multihued glitter sparkled in the air. Odd,   he thought, head tilting to the side for a better view. That air was even sweetly scented with…He inhaled deeply. Ambrosia. Ah. Now he understood the dizziness and the glitter. Dried ambrosia was