When she opened her mouth to give them the fuck you that they deserved, Atticus crowded close behind her and clamped his hand over the bottom half of her face, the other one went around her wrist, preventing her from pulling her knife. Refusing to bend to his will, she sank her teeth into the fleshy part of his palm, grinning in triumph when he grunted.
Blood coated her lips, but she refused to release his hand until he let her go.
She would not be a bone fought over by two asshats.
She could fight her own battles.
Instead of releasing her, Atticus tightened his grip on her wrists. Her hand went numb, and she lost hold of her knife. When she tried to jerk away, he wrapped his arm around her waist and hefted her inches off the ground. As she tried to kick his knees, his arm tightened, forcing the air out of her in a rush.
“She’s not going anywhere.” Warrick crossed his arms, blocking Travers’s view of her with his broad shoulders. “She’s in our custody. The bounty has been rescinded.”
A muscle ticked in Warrick’s jaw, and she froze when she realized he wasn’t going to hand her over to this snot-nosed idiot. A trickle of relief poured through her, leaving her almost giddy…or it could be the lack of oxygen.
Travers’s smile fell and he scowled like someone had taken away his favorite toy. He crossed his arms, mimicking Warrick’s stance, calculation hardening his expression. “Then why is she here?”
Nikos spread out slightly, watching the other guys in the hall, while Keegan removed his glasses, folded them, and calmly put them in his shirt pocket, all of them bracing for a fight…over her.
She relaxed in Atticus’s arms, and his hold instantly gentled, his palm skimming along her hip where his fingers had bitten into her skin, as if to apologize. Her lungs automatically sucked in a breath…and she lost it all over again when her back slid along his front as he slowly lowered her to the ground, every muscular inch of him pressed against her—including his massive erection. He didn’t release his hold, which was a good thing, since she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand on her own, her insides squirming at his obvious attraction.
“She’s our new trainee for the trials.”
Travers burst out laughing, but no one else on either side joined him. “You’re not serious.”
He eyed her like she was a bug that needed to be scraped off the bottom of his shoe.
“If you disagree, you can take it up with the Lady Philomena, the Moerae demigod.” The muscles of Warrick’s arms flexed, his smile more a baring of teeth, but genuine amusement flickered in his eyes. “I’m sure she would love to hear your input.”
Travers blanched, his arms dropping to his sides, and he instinctively took a step back. “No need.” He shot one more glare at Octavia, then marched past them, making sure not to get too close as he and his cronies headed toward the elevator, like she and the guys had the plague or something.
When the doors slid shut, Atticus retreated a fraction to give her room to breathe. He didn’t go far, and she instantly regretted the distance between them, the loss of his warmth leaving her aching. She gritted her teeth against the emotions, then cocked her head and eyed Warrick. “Why do they act like you made a deal with the devil himself?”
Warrick glared at her, then turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.
Keegan didn’t hesitate to follow. Nikos spun and walked backwards after them, never taking his eyes off her. “Maybe because you’re not far off.”
Before she could demand answers, he spun back around and marched away. She scrambled to catch up, wanting to growl when he didn’t slow down, forcing her to chase him like a lost puppy seeking attention. “What do you mean?”
Nikos shrugged, scanning her face, then sighed in defeat. “Everything you’ve ever heard about the old gods being fickle and capricious is true. Demigods are almost worse, because they have something to prove. The Moerae can easily take our free will and change our fates with just the blink of an eye. Piss them off and you might as well rub your crotch with poison ivy…it would feel better.”
Her eyes jumped to Warrick’s back, watching the flex of his muscles as he moved, everything about him screaming danger, as if he was seconds away from exploding. She couldn’t help but wonder what he had to give up to get her into the trials.
Whatever he promised, it was too much.
They stopped in front of a pair of doors. Warrick gripped the knob, his knuckles white, his shoulders going back as he opened the door and stepped inside the room.
As she entered behind the guys, Atticus following her, she studied the apartment with interest, curious to see how the other half lived.
It wasn’t what she expected.
The suite was open, but small for four adult men to live in together without tripping over each other. The main area had a couch that was more of a love seat, and two uncomfortable-looking chairs, a coffee table and two end tables. On the opposite side from the main area was a small kitchenette, four stools across from the small counter island. Four rooms led to stark, utilitarian bedrooms. Nowhere did she see any softness or creature comforts.
The only saving grace was the view. Bay windows on the far side of the room revealed miles and miles of nothing but the great outdoors. Used to living in the city, she could appreciate the beauty, but couldn’t help gazing out into the wilderness with a little trepidation.
“And these rooms are better than the barracks?” She glanced at the guys dubiously.
Atticus shrugged, not seemingly bothered as he nudged her farther into the room. “There are a few master suites for those who earn them. Since we’re personae non gratae, we’re lucky we don’t have to bunk with the trainees.”
Keegan and Warrick said nothing, heading in opposite directions and claiming their rooms. She eyed the other two guys for a second, then followed their example and claimed the room nearest the kitchen.
When Nikos trailed after her, she slammed her hand across the opening, gripping the doorframe, blocking his entrance. “Sorry, room’s taken.”
He blinked, then gave her his most charming smile. “Sharing is caring.”
Amusement bubbled up, and she couldn’t stifle her snort. Not gullible enough to be swayed by his charm, she pointed toward Atticus when the wolf turned and headed in the opposite direction. “Yeah, good luck with that. Maybe you can con Atticus into taking pity on you. If you don’t speak, maybe you’ll live until morning. Or I’m sure the couch is comfortable.”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” He clutched at his chest, then leaned closer, and she crossed her arms, not swayed in the least, leaning against the doorway when he tried to wiggle past her. He gave her a puppy-dog look. “But he snores like a herd of wildebeests. You wouldn’t do that to me, would you, sweetheart?”
Octavia didn’t even blink. “In a heartbeat.”
He gave her a sharp smile, and she made a mental note to check the locks on the door before nightfall. She wouldn’t put it past him to pull a prank or two. The last thing she wanted was to wake up bald or the color of a Smurf.
Her amusement gradually faded, and her eyes flicked toward the room next to hers. “He’s still hurting.”
“Healing him completely would knock him out. He refused.” Nikos’s smile drooped, and he straightened. “He’s a stubborn asshole.”
She nodded with a grunted.
Then Atticus was standing behind Nikos, holding his hand out toward her. “Why don’t I give you a tour on the way to collecting our bags?”
She sighed at Nikos’s too-innocent expression, not fooled in the least. They wanted her out of the way while they plotted. Arguing with them would get her absolutely nowhere.
“Sounds wonderful.” They weren’t the only ones who could make plans.
Chapter Thirteen
Octavia noted the other doorways on their floor but remained silent as they walked through the quiet hallways. Unable to help herself, she peeked at Atticus out of the corners of her eyes.
And fo
und him watching her, his eyes shimmering bright green with amusement and speculation.
Not wanting him to question her motives, she went about distracting him. “Where is everyone?”
Atticus pushed the button for the elevator, then turned and stared at her, not even pretending to not watch her. “They’re out on missions, training, or sleeping. Daemons don’t have much down time. When they do have free time, they don’t spend it here.”
She couldn’t blame them.
The compound was as inviting as a mausoleum.
The elevator dinged, and they stepped into the steel contraption. With Atticus next to her, the roomy elevator shrank to half the size. The oxygen vanished, as if he took up all the air. All she could smell was him, the slight campfire and matches scent luring her to relax.
She looked straight ahead and glared at her distorted reflection.
She would not be swayed by him or any of the others.
Magic or no magic, she would use her head to decide if she trusted them, not emotions that weren’t her own, and hope her choices didn’t get her killed.
“Why didn’t Warrick just turn me over to the daemons? It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.” She watched Atticus’s reflection for his reaction.
She might as well have been speaking to a wall. If anything, he appeared even more amused. “He made a promise to Eldon. He would never break his vow.”
He was absolutely convinced of it.
She wished she could be so sure.
The elevator doors opened and a babble of voices spilled into the tight space. A group of twenty or so daemons around her age tumbled down the hall like a pack of wild dogs while they elbowed and shoved at each other, and Atticus nudged her to follow. The daemons were in excellent physical condition, their eyes sharp and calculating, never missing any details.
Magic fluctuated in the tight space, tinging the air with spices that were a little too sharp, the combination leaving a slightly stringent trail behind. They entered a large, narrow room that had single military beds lined up against the wall, thirty or so of them in total. Everyone had a nightstand and a footlocker, but not much else. Above every bed were a row of shelves and dozens of weapons.
“The barracks are for the guards on duty.” Atticus nudged her out of the way when the guards quickly dropped off their gear and streamed toward the door. “Time for breakfast and the weekend furlough.”
“Breakfast?” Octavia blinked in surprise. “It’s close to three in the morning.”
“Shift change.” Atticus informed her, not bothering to step aside when the guards headed toward them. “It keeps the guards fresh.”
When more than one pair of eyes swung toward them as they exited, some curious, others distrustful, Atticus finally tugged her out of the way. The majority of the guards were men, only a handful of women were present—though she’d admit the women seemed more than capable of taking care of themselves, every one of them nearly as tall and bulked-up as the guys.
“And the trainees?”
“Trainees are assigned to the barracks underground in case they lose control of their abilities. Tons of steel and dirt are enough to contain almost any blast. They live and breathe their drills in preparation for the trials. While daemons are taught different methods to contain their abilities from birth, it’s a different matter altogether to control them when they finally manifest. What they learn here is what will keep them alive. It takes a lot of skill to keep their abilities under control. The slightest rise in emotion can get someone killed. It’s something only half of them will learn in time.”
She followed his lead, memorizing the route they were taking. “Isn’t there a way to bind their abilities and give them time to gain control? Why don’t the demigods just take the excess energy instead of letting them die?”
It seemed cruel to know there was a slim chance of them surviving into adulthood.
His lips tightened, and he avoided her probing look as they headed toward the exit they used not too long ago. “Only the strongest are sent to the trials to gain a benefactor. Those with minor abilities are usually left to learn how to survive their powers on their own. Most manage to live through it.”
“But not all.” She remembered the kids in the square and knew they were the forgotten ones, abandoned by even their own kind. “The weak are left to suffer.”
Atticus opened the door, and the sweet-smelling night air wrapped around them. “Most not called to the trials have abilities so miniscule they’re often no more than instinct or luck. Others burn themselves out when they overuse those abilities. If they’re lucky, they survive, but their abilities never return to full power. Parlor tricks at best.”
Octavia trailed after him, noticing the tense set to his shoulders, and gave a wild stab in the dark. “And those who don’t burn themselves out?”
He hesitated slightly as he popped open the back of the truck, quickly hauling the bags out, and she snatched hers up before he could grab it. He lifted the four packs over his shoulder with ease, then reached for a larger black bag that clanked when he pulled it out. When he turned, she crossed her arms, blocking his way, and didn’t move.
“If they have control, nothing happens. If they draw unwanted attention to themselves—and in turn, daemons in general—they’re deemed a threat.” He didn’t wait, but walked around her and headed back into the compound.
She hurried after him, lost in thought, unable to imagine such a life. “You’re sent after them.”
“We hunt them down.” When he reached for the door, she got there first and opened it for him. He paused, as if flustered, staring at the door, then at her, before he ducked inside, a slight flush to his face.
“A bounty.” Cool air hit her as they entered, but the chill bit deeper while they walked down the darkened hallways, the emergency lights barely penetrating the darkness. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened to those who don’t bend to the will of the demigods.
He grunted his acknowledgment. “They have a choice to turn themselves in for training or be arrested. For the weak, they must pledge themselves to the demigods in return for their training. Usually a few years at most, but many never leave. It’s different for those with power. They’re entered into the trials.”
“The bounty on my head…it wasn’t rescinded, was it? Warrick forfeited that as part of the deal he made with the demigod. Instead of being rewarded for catching the great Valkyrie, he sacrificed that and more in order to stay and train me, didn’t he?” Dread pooled in her gut as she imagined what else they might have asked of him.
The foolish idiot made a bargain with the devil.
She just hoped it didn’t end up costing him and his men their souls.
“You’ll have to ask him.” From the way Atticus avoided looking at her, she knew she’d get nothing more from him.
As they headed back toward the bank of elevators, she noticed the different levels. Before she even asked, he pressed the button to summon the elevator and explained.
“There are a total of seven levels, three above ground and four below. The security and weapons room are on basement level one. The pit, gyms, and medical are located on level two. The locker rooms, barracks, and cafeteria are on three.”
As the elevator dinged open, she entered first at his nudging, a warmth heating her chest at the way he was so aware of her every move. She’d never had anyone concerned about her welfare in such a way, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
It also meant she would need to take care not to get caught if she decided to investigate things on her own. To distract herself, she cleared her throat and pressed the button for the upper floors. “And the fourth level?”
“The dungeon.” Atticus’s reflection turned grim, and he didn’t expand.
Only then did she spy the nearly invisible keypad for the subterranean levels.
The chime of the elevator broke the silence, and she leaned back against the wall in the back corner, as far away from
him as she could get, trying to find a spot where she didn’t have to breathe in his enticing scent.
It didn’t help.
From this angle, she had the perfect view of the broad, muscular lines of his back and an ass that made her hands itch to touch and find out if it was as firm as it looked. To distract herself, she tore her eyes away and watched the numbers on the elevator.
“What about the upper floors?” She scowled at her slightly breathless tone.
Stupid magical attraction.
“The ground floor is for security and the main office area for the demigods. The top two floors are living areas where elite daemons and their teams can relax between jobs.” The doors chimed seconds before they opened. “A few are conference rooms.”
Atticus stalked into the hallway, ever alert and expecting trouble. Something about the way he moved was like an animal prowling for its prey, making her breath catch as she imagined that focus directed at her.
When he disappeared, she shook her head and blinked away the lust, then gave a sigh, exited the elevator, and hurried to catch up with him.
She couldn’t help but be suspicious that the guys weren’t telling her everything about this magical pull between them.
There had to be a way to shut it off.
The apartment was silent when they entered, the locks clicking shut behind them. Keegan and Warrick remained in their rooms, so Atticus dropped their bags near their doors. Nikos was sprawled uncomfortably on the tiny couch, his legs and arms askew, hanging off the edges, his body kinked uncomfortably. He was passed out cold, wearing nothing but sweats that hung dangerously low on his hips. His bare chest was surprisingly sculpted, making her want to explore more.
He snorted on a snore, then turned and flung an arm over his head, and she realized she’d been gawking. Heat seared her cheeks, and she grabbed a blanket off the back of the tiny couch and carefully covered him, hiding all that yummy deliciousness.
Atticus nudged her away, shepherding her to her room. “You need to rest. Sunrise will be in a few hours. They granted us the small concession of allowing you to stay with us, but you’ll be expected in the pit bright and early in the morning.”
Daemon Grudge Page 12
