Author's Note: Well, there you go!

After nearly two years this story gets an update. I know, I know, it's been a ridiculously long time. And I really apologize for making all of you wait so long for this update, especially after the huge amount of feedback I've received. I'm thankful for all of you, seriously. Thank you so much, guys! I'm flattered beyond belief.

Anyway, this story is back on board, and I hope you like this chapter! It took me some time to find my way back into writing, so hopefully, I didn't mess up too badly.

Let me know what you think about it in the comments!

Cheers!

2. Captive

Apollo has always had a complicated relationship with Aphrodite.

He cannot stand the sight of her because of everything that she personifies, everything that has been denied and taken from him, and she … well, she believes him to be tragic.

There are times when he looks into her eyes and instead of seeing a kaleidoscope in them or whatever everyone else thinks there is, he sees Eros with an arrow knocked at him, a cruel glint in his blood-red eyes. Other times, he sees himself kneeling in a meadow with the broken form of a young Spartan prince in his arm, the manic laughter of a wind god ringing in the distance. Then, there are times when he hears the desperate wails of a young girl unable to prevent a war because of the curse he placed on her, her prophecies lies in the ears of people.

This time, though, Apollo vows to himself, he will be the one to spit in Aphrodite's face.

He lays Percy down on the bed that will be hers for the unforeseeable future, and looks at her sleeping form. She looks innocent, peaceful even, in a way he has never seen her look before. It's dark outside, the sky dotted with thousands of gleaming stars, and a breeze flutters through the white silk curtains that separates her room from the balcony, but still she seems to glow as if illuminated from the inside, something bright seeping through her pores, and he thinks that yes, she has always looked too much like one of them.

Apollo cannot seem to stop himself, some deep part of him drawn toward her like a moth to a flame, and before he knows it he's reaching out, brushing his fingers across her forehead, tracing the elegant curve of a dark eyebrow. His heart aches as he remembers that the fate of the world had rested on her shoulders. Looking at her now, he can't imagine this small thing of a girl (woman) battling hordes of monsters and titans, but he knows she did. He can sense it even now, the undercurrent of power simmering beneath her skin, an entire vast of oceans at her command. He can even sense the traces of the curse of Achilles, and it makes him frown, just a little, because that could turn out to become a problem.

But for now …

"You will not end in a tragedy, my love," he promises her sleeping form, his voice soft and quiet. "I won't let you."

With a last long look at her, he turns and, once again, disappears in a column of flames.

In her dreams, Percy is levitating, her feet not quite touching the ground.

She is somewhere in the woods, with nothing but darkness and huge, monstrous trees for company, and it's silent, a kind of silent that does not belong inside a forest. There should be the call of animals, branches snapping and leaves rustling as rabbits scuttle across, maybe even the sound of a creek lapping in the distance. Instead, there is a faint whimper, not very far away from her.

Percy hesitantly steps forward, still levitating a few inches above the ground, and reaches out to place her palm against a tree trunk. It feels cold and rough against her skin, even a little wet as if it rained just minutes ago. She squints into the darkness, trying to make out where the whimpering came from, and there … a human shape slumped against a tree, illuminated in the glow of the moon. Taking a few more steps forward, Percy sees that it's a young woman dressed in a long, white cloak. The hood is pulled deep into her face, but still she can make out a few strands of hair, fair as wheat, glowing silvery in the moon light. However, what concerns Percy more than anything else is the fact that the woman is clutching her very pregnant belly as if trying to hide it away from something, or someone.

Knowing she can't do anything but watch, Percy inches closer toward the woman who, as if startled by her presence, lifts her head and stares into the air. The movement causes her hood to lower, revealing two wide eyes that glow like ambers in the dark of the night. The woman's face is beautiful, much too beautiful to be human, and she looks vaguely familiar, as if Percy has seen her features on someone else. She holds her breath when, suddenly, that beautiful face contorts in a grimace and a second whimper rips from the unknown woman's throat.

"Let the old ones take you away," the woman whispers into the darkness. "Let them curse you the way you have cursed me, you cruel, spiteful woman."

Frowning, Percy follows her deeper into the heart of the woods, uncaring about the dangerous creatures that might be lurking in the shadows. She has a feeling that the woman, despite her current state, can defend herself very well if needed. They come into a clearing, a meadow covered with dandelions and other strange flowers that blossom and glow in the moon light.

The woman falls to her knees, plunging her hands into the wet earth, and looks up to the sky. "Please," she whispers, "I need help. I don't have anywhere to go. I cannot give birth like this."

Nothing.

No answer.

Just deep, deep darkness.

Percy feels pity for the woman, a need to help her, give her shelter and comfort. No woman should suffer something like this. She inches closer, her hand already reaching forward to the touch the woman's hand when a faint light emerges from between the trees. It's more of a shine than a real light, kind of reminding Percy of a little fairy. She glances at the woman, expecting her to be just as astonished, but the woman merely laughs, relief etched on her face.

"Thank you," the stranger whispers, whether to the earth or the sky Percy doesn't know.

She has no chance to find out, because the darkness starts to melt around her, and she wants to hold on to the woman, wants to shout Wait, please, I want to see if she makes it out okay.

But the dream comes to an end as she wakes up with a start, eyes flying open to discover that she is, indeed, surrounded by darkness. But beneath her hands, she finds something soft and smooth instead of cold, wet earth. It also doesn't smell like a forest, the scent of crushed leaves and damp moss now only a faint reminder of her dream. Lavender, Percy thinks. She can smell lavender. And something else, too, something comforting like warm honey and amber. If sunshine had a smell, this would be it.

Slowly coming to realize that she is lying on a bed, a very soft, comfortable bed, Percy sits up, her eyes gradually adjusting to the darkness. She finds herself in a beautiful, circular bedroom, the ceiling high enough to fit marble pillars the size of a god in his true height. Torches line the stone walls, but the fire inside them is snuffed out, and fur rugs litter the stone floor. The bed she's sitting on is bigger than any bed she has ever seen, a four-poster, with white linen curtains neatly tied away, and she is, indeed, surrounded by crumpled silk sheets. In front of the bed, a huge fireplace that must have housed a fire earlier if the faintly glowing embers were any indication. A few feet away from her, an archway leads into another room.

A breeze whispers softly across her face, and Percy's head whips around to find a pair of fluttering curtains. Another smell creeps into her nose, salty and fresh, and this one she knows. Straining her ears, she can even hear waves lapping against a shore in the distance.

The sea.

She has, for the life of her, no idea how she managed to end up in this place, but still she scrambles off the bed, running through the curtains onto a big, round balcony with a stone rail. It's dark outside, but she can still make out the sea and wilderness. There is nothing but wilderness, and it's not the woods of Camp Half-Blood either but rather something that reminds her of a jungle, with the occasional noise of a wild animal.

Percy slaps her palms on the stone rail, exhaling heavily as she rakes her brain, trying to figure out how she got here. What's the last thing she could remember? She had been at the camp lake, and a mountain lion had approached her, the same one who had sought her out for the last past days … Percy freezes with wide eyes, a horrible thought striking her. Could it be? She knows, of course, about the stories of gods turning into animals to kidnap a maiden, or worse, but she didn't think any of them would still dare to do something like that.

Then again, it was the gods.

They could do a number of things a normal human being would shy away from.

Her train of thoughts ends abruptly when she senses movement behind her, a trill of warning running over her spine. Whipping around, she steps back through the curtains into the bedroom, just in time to catch the flames solidifying into the shape of a tall male. And she knows him, of course she does, he's impossible to forget, him with his shiny blond hair, dazzling smile, and his glowing golden skin. The picture of male perfection, a god with so many domains it's easy to forget some of them.

"You," Percy snaps.

Apollo smiles. "Hello, Percy. It's good to see you awake. Though, I admit I have not expected you to be up this early. It's still not fully dawn yet."

She doesn't care for his friendly words.

"What are you doing here?" Percy growls and, almost immediately, corrects herself, "What am I doing here?"

Apollo eyes her carefully, and she doesn't like the way he looks at her. There's something in his eyes, something dark lurking behind his good-natured tone. She has never been afraid of him, but right now she can't ignore the underlying danger coming from him.

"I suppose you don't remember. Oh well," Apollo sighs and then snaps his fingers, "here you go."

At once, the memory of yesterday's evening comes rushing back to her. Finally realizing what had happened, Percy staggers back, eyes wide with horror, mortification filling every inch of her body. The mountain lion, how it had changed into him, his naked form, how he had pounced on her, completely surprising her. Percy reaches for her sword, safely stashed in her jeans pocket as a ballpoint pen, but finds it nowhere to be. Her stomach drops. A lump tightens in her throat.

"Where is my sword?" she hisses, eyes flashing.

Apollo raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Hmm, I don't know. I guess it vanished when we got here. The island doesn't like anything that could potentially be used as a weapon against me."

"What does that mean?" Percy's voice rises in volume. She curls her trembling hands into fists. "Where am I? Why did you take me here? What is this, some kind of sick joke you gods came up with?"

"The gods didn't come up with anything," Apollo answers, still looking as if this was a stroll in the garden for him, completely unbothered. "I am the only one that knows of you being here. I took you."

"Why?"

Sighing, he takes one step forward, a dry smile curling around his lips when she takes one step back. Narrowing her eyes into green slits, she orders, "Stay where you are. I don't want you any closer to me."

He does as she asks, but his eyes narrow as well, and his smile turns bitter. Something else flashes across his expression, something almost like hurt, but he conceals it quickly, replacing it with a blank focus. "I believe you are misunderstanding some things here, Percy."

"Yeah? Then enlighten me, oh high and mighty Lord Apollo. Because as I understand, you kidnapped me from camp, forced me into this room, and now you're acting as if this is a cakewalk to you. Do the other gods even know that you abducted me?"

She's literally sneering at him, eyes as bright as Greek fire, and oh she looks magnificent in her fury. Apollo stares at her, drinking in her features, imprinting this picture into his mind. He can just see so clearly what colors to take for her eyes, how to glide a brush against a canvas just ever so slightly to capture the scowl marring her beautiful face. How he would mix browns and blues with black to hit the rich, glossy color of her hair, thick with wild curls, and how he would emphasize the slight pucker in her upper lip.

"No, they will never know," he says pleasantly. "You will stay here, with me. And I will decide if I should let you leave this place."

Percy stares at him. "If?"

"Yes, if." Apollo comes closer, and this time she doesn't retreat. She's frozen in place. "Haven't you understood already, Percy? This is your home now. Forget your camp, forget your silly little friends."

She just keeps staring at him, horror written all across her face.

Then, before he can even stop her from acting, she pounces on him, hitting him in his face, fingernails burying deep into his arms. One second, she is as still as a statue, and in the next she is a lioness, clawing at him und trying to hurt him with her bare hands. He is so surprised that she would even dare strike him that he stumbles back from the force of her, his face full of dark, curly hair and her scent under his nose. Apollo quickly regains his control, though. With a speed that is entirely not human, he catches her wrists and forces her back, slamming her against the stone wall.

"Try pulling this little stunt again, and I guarantee that it will not end well for you, sweetheart," he warns her, keeping her in check with a hand against her throat, not hard enough to bruise but sufficient for her to get the warning. Or at least, he hopes she gets the warning, because Percy Jackson is notorious for ticking off the gods and having no self-preservation. He knows he wouldn't seriously hurt her, would never be able to cause her pain, but he also won't tolerate this amount of disrespect against him.

"I don't need a sword to fight you," she hisses back, fingernails clawing into his hands so deeply that she draws ichor. "And you will not be able to hurt me."

"Oh, I know that. I know about the curse of Achilles. But it's not my intention to cause you pain."

"Then why did you take me away? Why bring me here?"

He frowns, leaning in closer, allowing himself to catch a whiff of her scent that is like a fresh ocean breeze and something else as well, something sweeter, like orange blossom and coconut. "I think you already know the answer. And if you truly haven't figured it out by now, you will soon enough. But do not think I will let each of your insults against me slide. You may still have the curse of Achilles, but it will be of no use to you here."

Percy laughs, a sharp, piercing, bitter sound that does not suit her. "What, you think I'm afraid of you?" She looks at him, her eyes like steel. "I have faced worse things than you, Apollo. I have fought worse things than you, and I've won. Every. Single. Time."

No self-preservation at all.

"But you have not fought me yet," Apollo says, amusement twinkling in his eyes. He leans in closer until his lips are inches away from her ear. For a brief moment, he is tempted to throw all caution into the wind, to bury his face in her neck and bite into her skin, take her right here and there, make her his. He wants it so badly he can feel his whole body hum with need, every inch of him yearning to be closer to her, to be skin against skin. "Do not forget, my sweet Percy, that it was I who cursed Cassandra to a terrible fate. It was I who skinned Marsyas alive because the stupid satyr thought he could best me."

Instead of flinching away from him in horror, Percy spits in his face.

He is momentarily frozen with shock. No one, not even one person in his entire existence, has shown him this much impudence and disrespect.

"You're sick, that's what you are," Percy hisses, and then, a shadow of disappointment flickers across her eyes. "I can't believe I've thought you were one of the good ones. You've always voted to let me live whenever all of you came together to assess whether I was a threat to you or not. I guess you were just saving me for your own personal slaughter, huh?"

Apollo lets go of her as if she has burned him.

Immediately, she brings as much space between them as she can, messaging her sore throat while glaring at him with dark, angry eyes.

I can't believe I've thought you were one of the good ones.

"I will leave now," he tells her coldly, vanishing the string of saliva on his cheek with a wave of his hand. "I'll arrange some breakfast for you. If you get bored in the meantime, have a look at the books here, I'm sure you'll like them." He nods at the tall bookcase next to the fireplace, and then points to the archway leading into another room. "There is the bathroom. Freshen up if you want to. Do not try to escape. It won't work."

He leaves her no time to respond.

Just as he erupts into flames again, Percy grabs a vase from a chest of drawers and hurls it at him with a furious yell, but he is already gone, and the vase shatters against the wall into a thousand pieces of shards.

A few thousand miles away, very far from the island Percy has found herself captive on, the sun rises over Camp Half-Blood and brings about a new morning.

It's eerily quiet. Dew covers the strawberry fields, a thick fog curls over the lake and the woods, and the campers are still asleep, warm in their beds, unassuming that someone from their midst is missing. Only one person is awake already, a tall blonde girl that leaves her cabin, balancing a handful of books and scrolls, and walks toward the third cabin, a low building made from gray stone and seashells.

She knocks at the door, once, twice, before calling out, "Come on, Percy, wake up! We have to start inspections soon and go through Chiron's reports together."

No answer.

Annabeth Chase is a smart girl, she knows instinctively when something is wrong, and right now something was telling her that Percy was not inside her cabin. She knocks again, just for the sake of it, and when she gets no response, she pushes the door open and peeks inside. The bed is made. There are no clothes lying around. No indication whatsoever that her friend spent the night in her cabin. With a queasy feeling in her stomach, Annabeth closes the door and turns away from the cabin, frowning.

She checks the beach.

Nothing.

She checks the amphitheater.

Also nothing.

She checks nearly every corner of the camp before accepting the fact that Percy is nowhere to be found. The queasy feeling already replaced with dread, Annabeth runs toward the Big House, hoping to catch either Chiron or Mr. D. The sun has risen by now, a few campers starting their morning and greeting her on their way to the bathrooms, but Annabeth ignores them. At the Big House, she finds Chiron sitting on the porch in his wheelchair, enjoying a cup of Earl Grey and reading a novel by himself.

He looks up as soon as he hears her approaching.

"Good morning, Annabeth, how―" His good mood quickly evaporates when he catches sight of her face. "What has happened?"

"Chiron, I think … I think Percy's gone."

He looks puzzled. "What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean gone as in nowhere to be found!" Annabeth's voice rises slightly. "I woke up this morning and went to her cabin so that we could start our morning inspections and go through your reports, but she wasn't in her cabin. I don't think she spent the night there at all. I've looked everywhere, and I can't find her."

Chiron becomes somber very quickly. Placing his 'Kiss the Centaur' cup and his novel aside, he rises from his wheelchair into his full height. "Let's go look for her together, shall we? I'm sure she is somewhere around, Annabeth."

An hour later, at breakfast in the pavilion after their search came to no avail, Chiron informs the rest of the camp of Percy's disappearance. The reactions are as he expected. Murmurs everywhere, gasps, campers looking worried and anxious.

"What do you mean, she's gone?" Clarisse asks loudly. "She can't be just gone. She must be here. No one has seen her leave camp, right?" She looks around the tables, meeting many clueless and fearful faces. All of them are weary from the war. The fact that Percy Jackson has disappeared doesn't sit well with them.

Chiron runs a hand over his face. "I'm afraid that we―"

Travis Stoll comes running into the pavilion, breathing heavily. "Hey, guys," he wheezes. "I found something down at the lake."

He holds up a red scarf, and Annabeth catches her breath. "That's Percy's," she says. "It's a gift from her mother. She wouldn't just leave it lying around like that."

Silence engulfs the pavilion.

"Well," Clarisse says, looking around grimly, "then we better start up a search party."

Annabeth looks at Chiron over the arising chaos among the campers, and meets his eye. He looks as worried as she feels. Half-bloods vanishing isn't a rare occurrence but it's never happened before inside the borders of the camp. The only beings with the power to go in and out of camp without being detected by Mr. D are the other gods themselves, and they are far too busy on Olympus to even think about spending a second down here.

It could have been a monster, Annabeth thinks. Percy would never simply leave the camp on her own without telling anyone. Someone from inside the camp could have summoned a monster here, out of revenge or something. Someone still with ties to the titans, their loyalties skewed. It's not the first time something like that happened. But then again, it's Percy. The curse of Achilles is still intact. There aren't many people that could stand a chance of winning against her in a fight, no matter if monster or half-blood. What or who could have been powerful enough to simply snatch her away in the dead of the night without being seen or noticed by anyone?

Chiron nods at her gravely as if knowing what she's thinking, and Annabeth knows that there is one absolute thing they both agree on.

Percy didn't disappear voluntarily.

Something, or someone, must haven taken her away right from under their noses.