It was the queen of the Valkyrie, Furie, so named because she was part Fury—a fire-winged Arch-Fury. Rumor held that she’d been captured by the old vampire king, who’d cursed her to this existence, trapped alive underwater, hidden from her Valkyrie sisters and allies.

As a Lorean, Furie would drown every few minutes before her immortality revived her; she’d been missing for more than fifty years. Five decades of breathing water into her lungs.

Lanthe had almost drowned earlier—once—and it had been horrifying.

The Valkyrie locked eyes with her. Furie’s violet gaze was filled with madness—but also blankness. As if she couldn’t comprehend where she was or how she’d gotten here.

Flames ignited behind her—Furie’s unique fire wings splaying.

Only to be extinguished.

Lanthe had been wrong. There was another sky-born here at the bottom of the ocean.

Realization dawned. As with the other realms, Nïx had wanted Lanthe here. She was the planted spy, conducting Valkyrie recon.

“Do you like my new acquisition?” Nereus asked, as if he’d just pointed out a vase. “I found her along the ocean bed.”

Lanthe turned to him. “Truly an original,” she managed to say with Sabine’s composure. “But really, I need to get back to Thronos.”

“He’s occupied at the moment. You’ll remain with me.”

The god’s ominous tone filled her with fear. “Nereus, I don’t want this.”

“Of course you do. You think I cannot sense such a thing?”

“If you’ve sensed anything, it was my need for Thronos.”

“A shame he doesn’t return it.”

She straightened. “What does that mean? I know he does. He has for centuries.”

“He’s with Nereids right now.”

“That’s not possible.”

“They’re seducing him as we speak. For those centuries, how many times has he prayed to be free of the bonds of matehood? To collect his own sexual experiences, as you have? I’m merely answering a prayer.”

Nereus and his games. He’d known Lanthe and Thronos’s story all along.

“Here in Sargasoe, matehood holds no sway. The Nereids now exude your scent. His body and instinct are as free as if he’d never met you.”

So, physically Thronos could stray. That didn’t mean he would. In Feveris, he’d told her he would be true to her.

Except Feveris wasn’t real. You said so yourself, Lanthe. Still . . . “He won’t go through with it.”

“No one has ever resisted them.”

The god didn’t understand; if there was any male out there who would prove loyal, it was Thronos. He was upstanding, principled, and forthright. He made tough choices. He was going to try to rehabilitate his evil brother, for gold’s sake!

Lanthe straightened her mask. Sorceri were gamblers. She would bet on Thronos to be, well, Thronos. “Care to make a wager on that score?”

Nereus raised his red brows. “I would. If the Vrekener succumbs to their considerable charms, you will spend the night with me. Willingly and lustily.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I will release both of you, giving you use of Sargasoe’s portal to travel wherever you choose.”

“How will we know?” she asked.

Nereus waved a hand, and a new scene played on the waterfall.

Lanthe could see Thronos lying on a bed, much like the one in which she’d woken—with Nereids for a mattress. He was slowly coming to.

A dozen more nymphs loomed over him. The sea-foam skirts they’d worn at the feast had disappeared. Their made-for-sex bodies were completely unclothed, their eyes lambent with desire.

Naked nymphs in obvious heat surrounded Lanthe’s male.

This situation would be any man’s most fevered fantasy—yet Thronos looked agitated. “Where’s Melanthe?” In the face of such splendor, his first thought was of her.

Because he’s mine.

He pushed them away, and her heart soared. He was so handsome, so strong. So . . . good.

“I’ll take your bet,” Lanthe told the god in a smug tone.

Nereus’s smile was unctuous. “Then we have a pact, sorceress.”

Yet before Thronos could reach the door, the nymphs fell upon him. Pale hands roamed all over his body, stroking his wings, his chest, his horns, their touch seeming to daze him. “I just want to find . . . it’s important to find her,” he murmured.

“Find us,” they purred, as if with one voice. “We desire you so deeply.”

Over her shoulder, Lanthe snapped, “They’re bespelling him! That wasn’t part of the deal!”

Nereus shrugged. “A worthy male, one who intends absolute fidelity, could shake off their spell. Otherwise he’ll succumb, and once he does, he’ll never want to leave. In fact, he’ll go into a murderous rage if separated from his harem.”

Lanthe’s stomach lurched as the females led Thronos back to the bed, ripping off his shirt on the way.

“Where is she?” he demanded, but his resistance faltered with each expert caress.

“She doesn’t want you,” they chorused, coaxing him to lie back. “Not like we do.”

I do! Faced with losing him, Lanthe was rocked by a yawning loss. She’d already been having possessive feelings toward Thronos, but now . . .

I want him so much.

Since she could remember, she’d pined for a male who would adore her above all things. Yes, there was a vicious history between her and Thronos, but she’d believed he would eventually fall in love with her.