Page 49 of Summer’s Seduction (Sinful Seasons #2)

MORPHEUS

P syche was here— awake —and looking like the epitome of a well adjusted person. She’d been taken against her will, trapped in a prison riddled with the worst types of beings for years, and had somehow managed to turn her cell into a home. She’d grown a fucking garden .

The vast well in the center of the room had been transformed into a glorified plant stand, leaving no trace of The Cornucopia or The Sands of Slumber it once held.

“We need to leave,” I said, more to myself than to them as I felt the pricks of unease slip down my spine.

The ground rumbled beneath our feet, the pots clattering as they knocked against glass. I looked behind us, toward our only exit. Shadows danced beneath the glass floors, bursts of fire illuminating sharp fangs. A hideous snarl sounded as the entire palace shook.

“Larkspur,” I breathed as I sheathed my blade.

“We really should be going,” Psyche said, as if we were discussing what to have for breakfast.

Larkspur urged Psyche to my side as she held onto my other. I pushed from the ground, holding on to both of them as I flew toward the hallway.

The rattling grew impossibly louder, the cool air heating. Fire crashed against the glass floor illuminating dozens of snarling dragon heads a moment before the ground crack and heat scorched across our path.

“Not that way, Morpheus,” Psyche stated calmly as I twisted to avoid the worst of the blast. “Back the way we came.”

I dashed left, only to draw back, narrowly missing snapping fangs. Fuck.

“This is the way we came,” snapped Larkspur, her fear dousing the air as the black wings followed the writhing heads.

He was moving too quickly, his serpentine body slithering through the newly shattered hole.

“Toward the moon,” Psyche said in her melodic voice.

Two taloned feet crawled out, crunching over shattered glass as his torso rose. Bands of muscle were covered in black and red scales, his chest expanding out into broad shoulders with dozens of serpent-like dragons emanating from his back forming a ghastly mane around his face.

“What is that?” Larkspur gasped.

His black hair hung loose to frame a ferocious grin set along a square jaw. The fire dancing in his eyes flared brighter as he fixed his immortal gaze on me.

“That is Typhon,” I said, hating the way the dragons slithered and hissed as they heard their name, loathing how fear pricked through my veins at the amused grin he let show just for me.

I turned, flying as fast as I could for Psyche’s room.

A chorus of hisses rang behind us as I swooped low, snapping my wings close as we careened through the open door. Larkspur and Psyche tumbled, my little monster rolling to a stand and up on her feet while Psyche gave a thrilled giggle.

“The door,” she sang.

Larkspur and I raced forward, slamming it shut as the ground rattled with his thundering approaching steps. Magic flared beneath my palm, sealing the room and trapping us inside.

“Up we go,” Psyche said, climbing back into my arm as if I were a horse ready to heed her command.

Larkspur and I shared a worried glance, before she spoke.

“There’s no ‘up’, Psyche. We’re trapped in the same cell you were in for years. We’re completely fuck?—”

“Hold on,” Psyche cut in a split second before the creature crashed into the sealed door.

Larkspur jolted forward, slamming into my chest. I was somehow able to keep my balance amid the shattering vases and tumbling plants, but Larkspur had been right. We’d played the cards we’d been dealt and now there was nowhere else to go.

“Once more should do it,” Psyche said, lifting her face to the ceiling. “I can almost feel the stars.”

“What are you…” I followed her closed-eyed stare up. A large fissure had formed from Typhon’s impact, streaking from the door, all the way to the tip of the tower.

Larkspur must have noticed too, because she reached around my neck, holding on tight as the sounds of Typhon’s taloned footsteps rocked the ground, his distorted image growing larger through the murky glass.

“Hold on,” I warned, launching us up a moment before Typhon smashed through the glass. It splintered and then shattered, sharp shards raining down as I pushed us up.

“Morpheus,” Larkspur warned, her grip tightening as the crumbling walls shook.

I heard the slither of Typhon’s dragons cramming into the small room. It would only be a matter of seconds before his wings wedged through the door.

Ignoring the burning muscles along my back, I forced my wings to beat faster. The damp, muggy air of The Glass Palace gave way to icy torrents, the wind whipping against me as I soared higher.

A bellowing growl pierced the storm. Unable to help myself, I looked down, finding Typhon poised on the edge of the crumbling glass tower. The dragon heads echoed his call, and his wings stretched wide.

“That’s better,” Psyche cooed, her violet eyes unfocused. “He was locked down there for so long. It must feel nice to stretch.”

Larkspur shot me another worried glance, but I had nothing to offer. I kept us hovering among the clouds, concealed from Typhon’s hunting gaze as she reached for her sister’s hand.

“You’re safe now, Psyche. We’re going to take you somewhere you can hide. Morpheus and I will return as soon as possible, but we intend to stop Hypnos once and for all.”

Psyche tilted her head to the side. The traces of violet in her otherwise blue gaze seemed to grow brighter momentarily, she answered.

“No.”

“No?” Larkspur repeated.

“The war has already begun. We must leave now, or all is lost.”

“We still have hours before sunrise,” I said. “Artemis and Hecate were clear that we were to wait until dawn to attack.”

“Ares made the decision,” Psyche said. “And Typhon will need time to settle into his new home.”

Meeting Larkspur’s perplexed look with one of my own, I dipped beneath the clouds to spot the creature, only to find him already in flight—and headed straight toward the caves.

“The huntress—” Larkspur started, but a pegasus took flight in the next breath, its rider with her bow drawn and arrow notched. She let her enchanted arrow fly, the silver tip pinging off the black and red scales of Typhon’s mighty wings as if it had been made of straw. “I need to keep you safe, Psyche.”

“The safest place for me is to be at your side while we confront Hypnos and the others.” Larkspur looked ready to protest, but Psyche continued before she could. “There’s no time, sister. She’s wielding his bow, and War is brandishing his spear.”

Something twisted in my chest at seeing and feeling how worried Larkspur was for her sister. I’d been prepared for physical wounds, for Psyche to be sick and close to death or still plagued by my father’s slumber magic, but apart from the peculiar nuances, Psyche appeared healthy.

“She’s been right so far,” I said.

Larkspur hesitated a moment longer, watching Typhon’s obsidian wings snap closed as he landed on the very spot we’d spent the last two days.

“Okay,” she breathed. “Let’s go to war.”