Calistos: Guardians of Hades Series Book 5

by Heaton, Felicity

  She couldn’t be.

  A beautiful woman like her?

  Nah.

  He stared at the back of her head, rapidly running over how she had reacted each time he had touched her, whenever they had been close to each other the last couple of days, and how sometimes she would keep her head down and hurry away from him as she blushed about something.

  Maybe that innocent and sweet thing she had going on wasn’t just an act.

  He gritted his teeth, his lips peeling back off them as he grimaced.

  And now he probably came across as some sex-starved, lust-crazed, total pervert.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  “What was that?” She half-turned, her cheeks pinkened, and she looked away again. “Look… has your brother been able to get any information yet? I really need to know.”

  She asked him that five times an hour and it was getting tiring. Coupled with how damned horny he was and that the object of his wildest fantasies was sharing a house with him and he couldn’t bring himself to make a move on her, it was making him seriously cranky.

  “Marek is doing his best to get into the police system unnoticed, but I told you, it’ll take a while.” Those words came out hard, as sharp as a blade. “Marek will no doubt get it done. The guy is a genius… but he’s no hacker. This isn’t something he does every day.”

  She whirled to face him. “I need to find them!”

  Her eyes shone bright violet rimmed with obsidian.

  He splayed his fingers, easing his raised hands towards her as he stiffened, bracing himself in case she lost control. “Marinda… I know that. Just be patient. Breathe.”

  “Oh, stop telling me to breathe!” She stormed towards him. “I’m sick of being holed up in this house. I’m sick of knowing they’re out there. They murdered my father. They need to pay. You said they would pay.”

  The violet blazed brighter still.

  “Marinda,” he whispered as she squared up to him, all fire and spit, raw fury that was the complete opposite to how she normally was.

  Hunger blazed in her eyes, need that gave him the oddest feeling that if he so much as twitched right now, she would be on him.

  And not in a fighting kind of way.

  That need echoed in his veins too, drummed in his blood, cranking his temperature up to an unbearable degree where he was aching for her to step over that line and take what she wanted.

  But weirdly, he found he didn’t really want her like this.

  That hit him hard, had a thousand thoughts spinning through his mind that solidified into one clear feeling.

  He wanted the other Marinda.

  The sweet, kind and beautiful soul who abhorred violence.

  “Marinda,” he breathed as she stared him down, her chest straining with each inhalation, her pupils dilating to devour the violet of her irises. “I’ll talk to my brothers. Okay? I’ll do it right now. I’ll set a fire under their arses for you.”

  She blinked, looked down at the small gap between them, and stumbled back a step. Her hand shot to her forehead and she clutched it.

  “I’m sorry. I just…” The violet faded to blue-green in her irises and she backed off another step. “I…”

  She pivoted on her heel and rushed from the room. A door slammed a moment later.

  Cal scrubbed a hand over his mouth and exhaled, able to breathe again as the anticipation leached from him.

  He needed to talk to Keras. His absentee brother had a lot to answer for right now and it was time he stepped back in and took control of the team. Plus, maybe Cal would relent and get him to take a look at Marinda’s memories, with her consent. It would be faster than trying to get the footage from the police, and it might go some way towards calming Marinda down and making her feel they were making progress.

  Because she really needed to know they were getting somewhere.

  Whatever the side of her that emerged from time to time was, it fed off her need for vengeance, and he had the feeling that if he didn’t feed it something that satisfied it soon, she was going to go nuclear.

  And he didn’t want that to happen.

  She feared that side of herself, and he had vowed to help her with it, and he intended to do just that.

  He strode into the living room, stared at her door and pulled his phone from his pocket. He dialled Keras. The bastard didn’t answer.

  Well, Cal was done waiting for him to sort his life out.

  He stepped, savouring the cool embrace of the Underworld as he passed through the link to it and emerged in the middle of the living room of his townhouse in London. Keras had tidied it. The wooden floor of the pale-grey-walled room was empty of the usual scattering of clothes, books and other things he left on it, and the dark grey couch that faced the fireplace was lacking the sweatpants and hoodie he remembered dumping on it.

  Cal approached the couch.

  His brother had even arranged the cushions on it and neatly stacked the magazines on his glass coffee table.

  The cheek.

  If Cal wanted a maid, he would hire one. He liked his house the way it was—the complete opposite of Keras’s immaculate and sterile home.

  His brother’s voice came from the kitchen door to his right.

  Cal headed in that direction.

  “We need to track down the wraith and the necromancer soon. Esher won’t wait much longer and we can’t have him going off the rails.”

  Ares answered him. “I know. We turn Esher loose and he’ll probably kill Eli, and then we’re down to only the necromancer, whoever he is. We need one of them alive if we’re going to find out where he’s holding Calindria’s soul.”

  Pain shot across Cal’s mind, a thousand fragmented fiery streaks that lit it up with an image of a young woman. Her blue eyes were bright with her smile as she bounded away from him and spun, her aquamarine dress flowing outwards from her waist as she pirouetted. Her laughter rang in his ears as she bounced backwards, teasing him as he pursued her, chasing her deeper into the verdant valley of Elysium with the intent of capturing her and teleporting her before she could get them both into trouble.

  Again.

  He gritted his teeth as the scene darkened, his hands flying to his head and the pressure in his skull mounting as he clutched it. His teeth hurt, adding to the pain streaking through his mind as another scene tried to construct itself.

  He reached for it, labouring for breath as he strained to seize hold of it and bring it into focus, aware that it would slip away if he gave it the chance.

  Aware that if he pushed himself any harder, he would collapse and wake remembering nothing.

  That had him pulling back on the reins.

  Because he was damned if he was going to forget what he had just heard.

  He stormed into the kitchen.

  Both of his brothers swung towards him, shock rippling across their faces.

  “Cal,” Ares started.

  “You know who killed her.” Cal launched himself at Keras, expecting his older brother to defend himself.

  He didn’t.

  Cal’s fist slammed into Keras’s jaw, knocking his head to his right. Keras’s eyes closed, his nostrils flared as he inhaled, and then he sighed and straightened, looking right at Cal without an ounce of remorse in his green eyes.

  “You fucking know and you kept it from me,” Cal spat, tears burning his eyes as hurt welled up inside him, shredding him to pieces. He looked at Ares, fury getting the better of him. “How long have you known? How long were you going to lie to my fucking face?”

  “Not long, Cal. I swear we were going to tell you when we had a solid lead and could help her.” Ares pushed away from the black marble counter on the oak cupboards and moved around Keras, coming to stand in front of him.

  Shielding him like a good guard dog.

  Wind whipped around Cal as his temper mounted, as the hurt boiled down into a seething, twisting thing inside him. A tempest he wanted to unleash on his brothers.

  Because
he realised something else too.

  Something he had only dared to hope was possible before.

  “Her soul is intact.” Those words fell from his lips, rang in his empty mind as he struggled to comprehend that and make himself believe it. “Her soul…”

  He looked at Ares, unsure whether to believe what his heart was telling him, and then at Keras.

  His brothers nodded.

  “We don’t know where it is though.” Ares stretched a hand out to him, his palm facing him. “So we need to do this right. We can’t rush into anything, Cal.”

  “No. No way you’re gonna stand there and tell me to just let this sick bastard keep her soul caged… tormented.” His voice cracked and the rage that had begun to subside built swiftly again as he thought about how long the enemy had been in possession of her soul, keeping her from entering the afterlife, and that his brothers had allowed that torment to go on longer, doing nothing to save her.

  To spare her.

  They hadn’t kept everything from him because they had thought it would hurt him, not like that look in Ares’s eyes said they had. They hadn’t done it to spare him.

  They had done it to prevent him from attempting to get her back.

  They had done it to stop him from saving her.

  The rational part of him whispered that it had been right of them and believed Keras when he spoke.

  “We were going to tell you when we were sure of everything, Cal. We were going to tell you when we felt confident she could be saved.”

  He couldn’t deal with this.

  It hurt too much and he was going to unleash that pain on his brothers if he stayed near them any longer. All that mattered was that they had kept something important from him, something they knew would have gone some way towards easing the constant agony that ate away at him each day he lived without her, knowing her death had been his fault.

  Something that gave him hope and a reason to live.

  “Go fuck yourselves.” He stepped before either of them could stop him, landing in the Paris living room in the exact spot he had been before he had left.

  He pulled his T-shirt off over his head, unfastened his jeans as he strode towards his room, and shoved them down. He kicked his boots off, following them with his jeans and his socks, and grabbed a pair of black sweat shorts from his dresser.

  He couldn’t believe they had kept something so important from him.

  No. He could.

  And that was the reason he wanted nothing to do with his brothers right now.

  They were treating him as if he was fragile, a weak little kid who couldn’t handle the truth, who would fall apart at the merest mention of his twin sister’s name.

  They always treated him like a kid.

  Well he wasn’t one. He was a grown man and he was a warrior, and nothing was going to stop him from saving his sister. Not even his so-called brothers.

  He pulled the sweats on and stepped again, appearing on the ground floor of the townhouse, a space Keras had converted into a gym and training room. He strode across the black rubber mats to the punch bag that hung near the corner of the room, rolled his shoulders and growled as he slammed his right fist into it as hard as he could.

  The bag swung violently upwards, almost touching the ceiling despite the weight of it. His bare knuckles burned and he relished the ache.

  He set a new goal for himself as he gave the bag hell, raining blow after blow down on it, striking it the moment it was back within reach.

  Fuck the gates.

  Fuck his brothers.

  His mission now was to find the one who had Calindria’s soul, beat him to a pulp until he surrendered its location, and free her.

  “Cal.” Keras’s voice came from behind him.

  Cal’s hackles rose again.

  He slammed another left hook into the punch bag, following it with a swift right that knocked it back the other way. Plaster rained down on him. If he kept beating the crap out of the bag, the ceiling was going to give out, but he didn’t care. Not his house. Not his problem.

  “Cal.”

  He sensed his brother behind him.

  Pivoted and swung with every ounce of his strength.

  Smashed his fist into Keras’s perfect face.

  “Fuck off.” He followed it with a shove, and Keras casually edged a foot backwards to brace himself, barely moving a muscle.

  As if Cal’s blow had been weak.

  Which really pissed him off.

  He swiped his hand across his damp forehead and breathed hard as he pushed past Keras, not interested in anything he had to say.

  Keras appeared in front of him again, swirls of black smoke caressing the shoulders of his onyx shirt.

  Cal was about to tell him to get out of his face when his brother unbuttoned that shirt, removed it and carefully folded it.

  “You want to hit me… so hit me.” Keras walked over to one of the benches that stood against the white wall and placed his shirt down on it, following it with his shoes and socks.

  No way he was serious.

  The look in his brother’s green eyes as he moved to face him again, rolling his shoulders in a way that flexed the muscles of his torso and arms, said he was deadly serious.

  “It was my decision, Cal.” Keras moved to stand a few feet in front of him, in the centre of the mats, and flexed his fingers. “So if you need to take it out on someone, take it out on me. Whatever blows you need to deal, I’ll take them. Just get it out of your system and move on, because we can’t afford to have you doing something reckless.”

  Cal barely gave him a chance to finish his pretty speech before he landed the first blow, a swift uppercut that knocked Keras’s head back and ruined his immaculate black hair, turning the longer lengths into tousled ribbons.

  Keras blocked his next punch with his left forearm, leaving himself wide open for Cal’s left fist. It struck hard, splitting Keras’s lip. Keras edged back a step, touched his lip and frowned at the blood on it.

  Too far?

  Apparently not far enough.

  Keras sucked his finger clean and while Cal was distracted by the disgusting sight of his brother tasting his own blood, his other fist ploughed into the side of Cal’s head like a sledgehammer.

  Cal almost went down, tripped and cursed as he fought for balance and tried to shake off the blow. He glared at his brother when he finally righted himself.

  “I did not say I wouldn’t fight back.” Keras readied his fists.

  And his brother meant to go all out. Nothing held back. He couldn’t remember the last time they had fought like this. Not since they had left the Underworld two centuries ago at least.

  Cal rubbed the back of his hand across his bloodied lip and grinned. “Good.”

  Because he wanted a proper fight.

  He kicked off, feinting left so his brother would lash out in that direction and then dodging right to land a hard blow on Keras’s kidney. His brother grunted, grabbed him around the back of his neck and twisted with him, slamming him into the mats with enough force to knock the wind from him.

  Cal rolled onto his back, eased his weight onto his shoulders and sprang onto his feet. The moment they touched the mats, he twisted at the waist, dropping his upper body as he brought his leg up. Keras blocked it, grabbed his ankle and pulled him towards him.

  Nope.

  A grin stretched Cal’s lips, splitting his lower one, as he launched his other leg up and twisted again, using the leverage from Keras holding on to his other one to aid him. He slammed his foot into the side of Keras’s head. Pain ricocheted up his bones and his grin widened as adrenaline surged, mingled with his anger and gave him one hell of a high.

  Keras seized his arm, yanked him up and flipped him. His brother’s weight came down on him as his back hit the mats again. All the air burst from his lungs. They burned as he sucked in a breath and wrestled with his brother, landing a rapid series of rabbit punches, the best he could do in the limited space.

&n
bsp; He cursed when Keras backed off, giving him room again, and stared down at him, waiting for him to pick himself up off the mats.

  It wasn’t a win for his brother.

  Cal whipped onto his feet again and let his fists do the talking, relishing every blow he landed that sent a sharp thrill through him, and the sting of every one he failed to block. He breathed hard, heart hammering as the fight escalated.

  Damn, it felt good.

  Cathartic.

  He refused to pull his punches, a need to push Keras filling him as he pushed himself to the limit too. Blood streaked Keras’s bare chest as he dodged back a step and then lunged forwards, bringing his left fist up in a blow that connected so hard Cal swore he saw stars.

  The coppery tang of blood grew stronger in his mouth and he spat it on the floor as he realised they were no longer alone.

  He flicked a glance at the bottom of the stairs.

  Where Marinda stood.

  Staring at his brother.

  That jealousy he had been fighting to ignore over the last few days snaked around his heart and squeezed it hard, sinking fangs into it.

  On a vicious roar, he launched at Keras.

  Chapter 13

  Marinda stopped dead at the foot of the staircase, arrested by the fight taking place in what appeared to be a gym. She had wanted to apologise to Calistos about her behaviour, including the fact she couldn’t seem to stop bothering him about Marek. The thought that Cal and his brothers might know one of the men who had killed her father and might be able to point her in their direction gnawed at her, had her awake most days and restless most nights.

  Even when Cal had gone above and beyond to keep her up to date whenever a message came in on his phone, and had been taking good care of her, making her feel at home.

  That need to apologise fell to the back of her mind as she watched Cal and Keras.

  Bare-knuckle boxing.

  The fight was brutal, like nothing she had ever witnessed before, not even on television. The level of violence was disturbing, had her backing towards the wall and on the verge of going back upstairs.

  And then Cal looked at her.

  His blue eyes held a trace of disbelief and she glanced away before they could lock with hers, and her gaze fell on his brother. Keras was bare from the waist up like Cal, his honed body streaked with sweat and blood, muscles tensing and flexing as he dodged the blow Cal had aimed at him in the second before he had noticed her.