Son of Hades!
Zagreus’ eyes snapped open. He took in the all too familiar confines of the salon—his salon, his yacht, and now, his prison. He saw his captor, or rather one of them. The big Indian, Bonebrake, was seated on a cushioned bench seat on the opposite side of the cabin, well out of reach. He stared fixedly at Zagreus, eyes flashing a constant warning—Don’t try anything.
Son of Hades!
He knew that the voice had not come from anywhere in the salon, that it was not in fact a voice at all, but merely a thought planted in his brain.
It is time. Deliver your enemies to me!
He didn’t need further prompting. Closing his eyes again, he reached down into the well of his inner darkness—a well that he had been filling for all the long hours of his captivity—and then flexed the muscles of
