Chapter Eleven: Hostage

Annabeth's POV

The more they climbed, the more Annabeth felt this was a one-sided quest. The assassin wouldn't utter one word in her direction except the usual request advising her to hurry. Annabeth couldn't help if she was a slow climber. She just didn't want to fall to her death.

"We have only a day's hours left," the assassin told her again. "Hurry."

"I-I'm trying." Annabeth said, her teeth chattering in the process. Even though she wore the layered gear to protect her from the cold and harsh winds, she was still, well, cold.

The assassin scampered up the top of the ice-snow cliff. He hauled himself up with great grace, and jumped to his feet at the top. His figure disappeared as he continued on.

"Wait!" Annabeth struggled up half of a precious inch, jamming her foot into a pinky-finger-sized hole in the side of the cliff. Hot pain filled her frozen foot, but Annabeth didn't care. She was only focused on catching up to the assassin.

When he didn't appear for a full minute, Annabeth couldn't help but think he abandoned her. Great. She'd die here. What a stupid way to die...

Why did she even go with him? This was hisquest, not hers...

Annabeth regretted it; regretted it all.

"Coming?" His head popped over the edge.

"I- uh-" She cleared her throat and blinked out the unexpected tears of happiness from her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah."

When Annabeth studied the hard snow above for handholds, she couldn't find any. How did he make it up there? The assassin sighed, reaching his hand out for her to grab. Annabeth let go of the ledge she was maneuvering rather slowly across and grabbed his offered help, nearly losing her balance and falling to her death in the process.

"Hold on," he told her.

Annabeth didn't need to be told twice. She did as she was told. The assassin managed her weight, pulling her up with steady, strong breaths. How he did it, she would never know.

As her head poked over the top, Annabeth noticed his cape had fallen to the snow behind him, but he hadn't realized or he simply didn't care; both were an option. Under his cape he wore a simple ink-colored t-shirt that showed his tan skin. And muscles. Muscles that proved he could handle any weapon thrust upon him with an ease that signified simplicity.

Stop, Annabeth chided herself. He's married, he has a family. You shouldn't like him; he's a cruel, heartless, assassin...

Annabeth's feet were now the only limbs dangling over the edge. He set her on the packed snow like, Eh, whatever, threw his cape over his shoulders, and secured it to his t-shirt.

So what if he was selfish sometimes? He could have let her fall to her imminent death, shot her, or even snapped all the bones in her body.

But he didn't.

Hesavedher.

"T-thanks," Annabeth said.

The assassin avoided her eyes. "Hurry, daughter of Athena. You of all people should know that by now."

He grabbed a ledge and was up seven feet before Annabeth could muster enough courage to say the one thing that bothered her.

"You know, if you can summon portals, why can't you summon one to Artemis, take her, and be back to Camp in no time?"

That struck the wrong chord. Already halfway up the ledge, he froze. He looked back down at Annabeth, his figure resembling one donned in black, absolute madness in his eyes. That was it... Annabeth would be vaporized any second now.

Instead, he said rather icily: "Go back to Camp, daughter of Athena. Your presence is needed there more than here."

"B-but I-"

"I said go!" he yelled, his outburst echoing through the many snowy mountains in the distance. Annabeth inwardly cringed. He didn't seem to notice the echo, his eyes deadly fixed down on her.

"Leave."

"How can I even get across the Atlantic?" Annabeth demanded. "You're deserting me, just like that!?"

His truculent personality shone through him. "Yes, you stupid girl!"

"I came to helpyou," she sneered, enunciating each word clearly.

He let go of the edge he was holding onto and fell. Annabeth would have admitted later, she felt a little worried for him, but not now.

He landed feet-first on the reasonably flat, snowy area he had left her. Annabeth stared with wide eyes; he seemed okay. Okay was good. That was good.

He took a slow, deliberate step toward her, folding his hands behind him in the process. And he took another.

His composure freaked Annabeth out. She backed away from him until she took a third step, expecting packed snow, but- nothing.

She gasped, glancing down at the scene below her. The last breathtaking scene she would probably see in this life.

"I. Don't. Want. Your. Help," he growled, his face mere inches from hers. "Crossing the Atlantic is not my problem. Your mother is Athena, correct? Ask thatbitch for help." With every sentence, he drove Annabeth back.

"I don't need you," he spit. "You're a distraction. You were sent by your Camp to get information about me, weren't you? Hoping to befriend me in hopes of my backstory?"

Annabeth stayed silent, in fear of her life.

"Weren't you?" he asked again.

Annabeth shook her head.

"Liar," he whispered, a cruel smile on his impassive face.

That was when Annabeth saw white. White everywhere, and blue. Those seemed the primary colors of the vision she could muster. Cold winds whipped at her from all directions, but the clothing she wore was not helping one bit.

It took her a moment to discovered she was falling. Falling through the air.

"Help!" she screamed, uselessly flailing her arms. "Help me!"

She wasn't expecting anybody to respond, but they did anyway. It was quite a small sound, something like a butterfly's quiet, graceful wings.

But it got louder.

You wish help? it asked her.

Annabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes and say, no duh. Instead she screamed, "Yes!"

The voice laughed in her ears. What fun, it mused. What fun this will be. Capturing his daughter and his girlfriend. A two-in-one deal...

The snowy ground was appearing fast below her. "Any day now would be great!"

The voice, as gentle as a feather, laughed again. Fine, fine...

A stinging, fire-like force grabbed her sides and Annabeth instantly lost consciousness.

Annabeth opened her eyes to darkness and an everlasting numbness echoing through her whole body.

Her vision was tinted; tinted dark. Annabeth could tell she wasn't on Everest anymore; the atmosphere was strangely warmer, more moist than the dry, oxygen-lacking air back on the mountain. Where in Hades was she?

"Welcome, daughter of Athena," the same voice came from everywhere, but nowhere.

Annabeth turned around, ready to face the figure- nothing.

"Or should I call you hostage?"

She screamed.