Marked

by Elisabeth Naughton

  She crossed to Nick and handed him his Coke. “I’m heading out, Nick. You need anything else, Dana will take care of you.”

  He lifted his fresh glass. Long sleeves covered his arms, and the fingerless gloves he always wore kept all but the tips of his fingers from view. “Will do. And Casey?”

  She stopped midturn and glanced back. “Yeah?”

  “That guy who ran into you? If you see him around town, I want you to let me know.”

  Casey’s brows drew together. “Why?”

  “Personal reasons.”

  Okay, that was weird too.

  “And you’d be smart to stay away from him if you do see him,” he added in a low tone. “Far away. He’s dangerous.”

  That spot on Casey’s lower back tingled again, and she lifted her chin. There was looking out for her, and then there was telling her what to do. And even though something instinctive told her she’d never see the Greek god again, right now, coming from Nick, she wasn’t wild about either.

  “Yeah, Nick,” she mumbled as she turned and headed for the dressing room. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

  “Theron, put me down.” Isadora’s free hand pushed against Theron’s chest, but her protest did little more than annoy him.

  He wouldn’t lose his temper. The fact that he’d spent four days tracking her down was inconsequential at this point. So was the fact that he’d left his kinsmen to come after her. He would simply take her home before the Council discovered she was gone and all hell broke loose.

  “Theron, I mean it,” she said again, as the door to the human skin club snapped shut behind them and he headed away from the building.

  “It’s time to go home, Isadora. You’ve had your fun.”

  Isadora glanced over his shoulder back toward the building with a defeated look in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I need her.”

  Need her? Like hell. He was the only one she needed right now. If her father found out what she’d been up to…

  He gnashed his teeth at the thought and kept walking. If it were up to him, no one would know where she’d been these last few days or what she’d been up to. The last thing he—the leader of the Argonauts and a descendent of Heracles, the greatest hero ever—needed was for his warrior brothers to know his future wife had a human-female fetish.

  He cringed at the thoughts. Both “human female” and “future wife.”

  Isadora squirmed in his arms again, but finally gave up with a sigh. And that was just fine with Theron. He wasn’t in the mood to play nice.

  The air was cool, but Theron barely felt it. A muffled thump-thump-thump echoed from the club behind him as he walked. Quietly, Isadora said, “She was beautiful, wasn’t she? Graceful and tall. I…I didn’t expect her to be so tall.”

  More frustrated by the second at Isadora’s strange behavior, Theron picked up his pace. It wasn’t until Isadora sighed again and rested her head against his chest that he remembered how inebriated she was and how tightly he must be holding her.

  He loosened his grasp and forcibly gentled his voice, though even he knew it came out rough and stilted. “Isadora, you cannot just run off like this.”

  “I…I know,” she breathed against him, her body growing lax in his arms. She shivered and tried to burrow closer. “I just wish…”

  Her fading voice made him remember how she’d had trouble standing in the club. For the first time, he realized there hadn’t been a single glass on her table. Not even a watermark from one that had been recently cleared away. Gathering her in one arm, he reached around and felt her forehead. Her skin was cold and clammy.

  His aggravation morphed to urgency. She wasn’t drunk at all. She was sick.

  Skata. He had to get her back to Argolea. Like, now. “Hold on to me,” he said firmly in her ear, repositioning his arm under her legs again. “I’ll get you home.”

  She closed her eyes and, after a moment of what looked like incredible pain and heartbreak, nodded in what he could tell was great reluctance. “Yes. Yes. You’re right. It’s long past time. Take me home, Theron.”

  He took one step forward with her in his arms and felt the air change. It went from moist and warm to frigid in the span of a nanosecond. And he knew without looking that they were not alone.

  Four daemons, beasts of the Underworld caught between mortal and god, horns sharp, teeth bared, appeared as if from thin air. One directly ahead, two to Theron’s right, one to the left. They had bodies of men, covered in leather and trench coats that flapped behind them as they moved, with hideous faces, something of a mix of lion and wolf and goat.

  Isadora’s muscles relaxed in Theron’s arms. He wasn’t sure if she’d fallen asleep or if the sickness that racked her body had pulled her into unconsciousness, but at the moment he didn’t care. It was better for her if she didn’t see what they faced.

  “Release the princess, Argonaut, and your life will be spared,” the daemon directly ahead announced in a raspy voice.

  A humorless sound bubbled from Theron’s chest even as his mind spun with options on how to get out of this one. His kinsmen were nowhere close. He’d come looking for Isadora on his own. “Since when have daemons been known for their mercy?”

  The leader growled. “Our mercy is the only thing that will save you. Unhand her. Now. You will not be given another chance.”

  They were about out of chances, as far as Theron could see. He glanced down at Isadora, out cold in his arms. For nearly two hundred years he’d served his race because it was his duty. Even though it hadn’t been his first choice, he’d been willing to marry her if it meant preservation of their world. Tonight, though, he knew he would serve the gynaíka who would one day be Queen of Argolea in order to save her life and that of their people. Even if it meant losing his own.

  The two daemons on his right moved closer. Theron closed his eyes and used every ounce of strength within him to form a protective shield around Isadora. The effort drained him of his powers. He had nothing left for the fight to come.

  Knowing she was now safe from the daemons, he slowly set Isadora on the ground at his feet. She curled onto her side on the cold asphalt but showed no other signs of consciousness. He rose to his full height of six feet, five inches and stared at the four daemons who still towered above him. “If you want her, boys, you’ll have to come and get her.”

  The one in the middle, who was clearly in control of the others, chuckled, though the sound was anything but humorous. “So arrogant, Argonaut. Even when you’re trapped. Atalanta will be most amused by your brashness.”

  “Atalanta is a petty hag with a perpetual case of PMS. And let me guess…As her number-one whipping boy, you get what? The right to wipe her ass?” He laughed, though he knew all it did was enrage the beasts in his midst. If he was going to go out, though, he might as well go in a blaze of glory. “Let me ask you this, dog face, just how inconsequential is your race that Hades would so easily hand you off to a bitch on wheels like Atalanta, anyway?”

  The four growled in unison. The leader’s eyes flashed green. “Taunt all you want, Argonaut. In mere minutes, you’ll be begging for us to kill you.”

  They moved forward in a unit, as if of one brain. And without hesitation, Theron brought his fingers together until the markings on the backs of his hands glowed from the inside out. The portal opened with a flash and closed seconds later, leaving him alone with the daemons in the cold parking lot.

  In the split second of silence that settled over them like a dark cloud, fury filled the face of each daemon, followed by a roar the likes of which only a god has ever heard.

  “Sending the princess home was the last mistake you’ll ever make, Argonaut,” the leader growled.

  They struck as a pack, taking him down to the pavement hard before he had time to reach his weapons. Teeth bared, fangs unsheathed, they tore into his flesh.

  As his back hit the unforgiving ground and the last vestige of strength rushed out of his body, Theron had one fleeting thought
.

  This was going to be bad. Before it was over, it was going to be very, very bad.

  CHAPTER TWO

  In the club’s locker room, Casey changed quickly back into her jeans and white fitted tee. She slipped on her Keds, threw her pathetic excuse for a uniform into her backpack and headed for the service entrance on the side of the building.

  She chanced one quick look back into the club as she pushed the door open, and saw Nick was watching her.

  Her nerves jumped a notch, but she told herself there was nothing to worry about as she fingered her keys and crossed the parking lot to her car. The mid-September night in the foothills of the Cascades of western Oregon was balmy, with just enough bite to remind her fall was right around the corner. In another week or two she’d need a sweater when she came out here after work.

  After unlocking the door of her Taurus, she slid behind the wheel. She knew without looking that Nick was standing at the door, watching her. Sure enough, once she started the ignition, flipped on her lights and glanced back, he was there.

  Don’t think about it.

  She wouldn’t.

  She pushed the thought aside and told herself to be thankful instead of creeped out as she pulled out of her parking spot. He’d saved her once. If he’d ever intended to do her harm, he would have done it long ago. She turned up the volume on the CD player as she rounded the building, then slammed on the brakes when she saw the group of animals scavenging what had to be the carcass of some poor unsuspecting raccoon or opossum or deer.

  Her first thought was dogs, but it changed to wolves as she got a closer look at their ears. But when the one closest to her lifted its head and turned to face the blare of her lights, her mind went blank.

  A chill slid down her spine. Not a dog or a wolf or anything else she’d ever seen in her life. This thing had the face of a lion, the ears of a dog and the horns of a goat. And, holy hell, it was wearing clothing. Dressed…like a man.

  She shook her head, closed her eyes and opened them again, sure what she’d seen was a figment of her imagination. And that’s when she noticed that what the animals or things—she didn’t know what to call them—were feasting on wasn’t a carcass, but a human body.

  In that instant, she was back in that empty lot, the hard, cold earth pressing into her back, the two powerful men tearing at her clothing as she screamed in futility and tried to get away. Sickness pooled in her stomach as she saw herself there on the ground with no one to help her.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she jerked the car into neutral, pushed the door open and jumped screaming from the driver’s seat, arms waving wildly in an attempt to get the animals to leave the person alone.

  Four sets of glowing green eyes turned her way as she ran at them. Four low growls echoed in her ears. It wasn’t until she was nearly on top of them that common sense finally kicked in and she realized she was in deep shit.

  She skidded to a halt and froze.

  The closest rose to his feet, and she saw, with vivid clarity, that he did indeed have the body of a man. Only he was huge. Easily seven feet tall and close to three hundred pounds, with crimson blood trailing down his face to drip onto his chest. The other three, equally large, rose quickly at his back and joined ranks behind him.

  “Get back in your car, human. This does not concern you.”

  Holy crap, it talked.

  Cemented in place, all Casey could do was stare wide-eyed at something that couldn’t possibly be real. She glanced down at the man behind them, covered in blood, as the contents of her stomach lurched up her throat. “Oh, God. What—what happened here?”

  The creature who’d spoken stopped midstep toward her. He sniffed, long and hard, as if trying to draw her into his lungs. His eyes widened, and something like shock, or maybe recognition—if you could call it that—raced across his catlike face before he turned and spoke in garbled words to the three at his back.

  They all stared at her in wonder and then, in a puff of smoke, disintegrated into thin air.

  Casey gave her head a swift shake. Smacked her hand against her forehead. Told herself what she’d just seen couldn’t possibly be real. Good Lord, she needed to stop purchasing those vampire romances for her grandmother’s store.

  When the man on the ground moaned, Casey glanced down sharply. No matter what had happened, there was definitely a man hurt in front of her.

  Head still spinning, she rushed to him, dropped to her knees and stared down at his face. The Greek god. From the club. The one who’d swept out of there with that blonde woman in his arms like a knight in shining armor. He was hurt bad. Cut and bruised and bloody over nearly every part of his body. For a moment, Casey didn’t know what to do. Then he tried to move, and her brain kicked into gear.

  “No, don’t get up. Oh, God. I’m going to call for help. You’re—” She forced back the bile. “What happened to you?”

  “No…help,” he croaked in a deeply accented voice. “Rest. Just…need…rest.”

  The man was delirious. He needed a hospital and a gallon of blood and doctors who knew what to do to help him. Good God, were those bites on his arms? It looked as though his flesh had been gnawed clear to the bone.

  She tried to keep him still, but even hurt as he was, he was too strong for her. He pushed up so he was sitting. His head lolled around like it might just fall off his body.

  “Please,” he rasped. “Just…get me out of here before they come back.”

  At those words, Casey looked up and around. There was no wind, no crickets chirping or cars moving on the street beyond. No other people either. The woman he’d left the club with had vanished. There was only silence. An eerie, strange silence completely at odds with the normal night sounds of Silver Hills, Oregon.

  Since he was already rising to his feet, she helped him by slipping an arm around his back and draping one of his over her shoulder. By some grace of God they made it to her car, though she wasn’t entirely sure how. As he dropped into the passenger seat like a ton of dead weight, Meatloaf pumped out of the stereo, singing about what he’d do for love. Casey grunted as she lifted the man’s legs inside the car and shut the door after him.

  Nausea continued to pool in her stomach as she hustled around to the driver’s side, but she stopped at her open door and momentarily thought of the blonde again.

  She glanced over the asphalt to the empty lot beyond and the copse of trees that turned to forest past that. Where the hell was she? Casey considered looking for her, but the man moaned once more, the sound pulling at her attention.

  “Please,” he croaked out. “Hurry. They’ll be back.”

  Remembering what she thought she’d seen, Casey climbed into the car, turned down the stereo and hit the automatic door locks, just in case.

  Okay, think. She’d take him for help, then call the authorities to come back and look for the woman. Figuring that was as good a plan as any, she glanced at the man to her right and started the ignition. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  His hand snaked out so fast, she barely tracked it. It closed around her wrist with stunning force for someone who looked to be on his deathbed. His index finger pressed against her pulse point. “No hospital. Rest.” The fight slipped from his words, and in his heavily accented voice she sensed something…familiar. Dark eyes focused in on hers until all she saw were pools of obsidian, black as night. Warmth rushed through her limbs until every muscle in her body relaxed. “All I need is rest. Then I promise I’ll leave you. I won’t hurt you.”

  It was a strange comment coming from a man who couldn’t even keep his head up. The safest thing to do would be to head straight for the hospital or police station or simply run back inside the club, where she knew Nick was sitting.

  But she didn’t. Instead, she nodded slowly, unable to stop herself. A strange fogginess filled her head, one she tried to shake off but couldn’t. As she put the car in gear, pulled out of the parking lot and attempted to turn toward the hospital, a tin
gling vibrated across her lower back. The car made a right-hand turn onto Old Cornell Road almost as if it had a mind of its own, heading for her house at the lake.

  “Thank you, meli,” he whispered as he released her arm and closed his eyes. “This will be over soon. I promise.”

  Nick Blades kicked the apartment door closed and tossed the keys to his Harley onto the small card table in the middle of the empty living room. He peeled off his leather jacket and threw that over the keys, then pulled out the desk chair and sat, cheap vinyl creaking beneath the weight of his body as he did.

  Something didn’t jell.

  He flipped open his laptop—the only expensive thing in the shabby apartment he kept here in Silver Hills—and waited for the machine to boot. As Windows blinked onto the screen, he chewed on the inside of his lip and ran his hand over the stubble on his chin.

  He’d recognized the blonde in the corner of the club the moment he’d walked in. No telling how long she’d been there, but the way she’d been staring at Casey set his instincts on alert. What in hell was an Argolean doing in that club, trying to pass herself off as a human?

  He rolled his finger over the keyboard and called up his instant messaging. He hoped Orpheus was on so he could get some of these damn questions answered.

  Sure enough, the one link he had in Argolea was there.

  Computer nerd.

  He started typing.

  Niko: Need answers. Can you chat?

  Orpheus: What up, my man? Been a while. How’re those human women treating you?

  Nick frowned as his fingers flew over the keys.

  Niko: Like a stallion. Why the fuck do you think I stay here?

  A laughing smiley icon rolled across the screen.

  Orpheus: You are the biggest frickin’ liar I ever met. And I am jealous as sin. What do you need?

  Niko: What rumblings have you heard from the Council?

  The cursor blinked, and Nick leaned back in his chair, one hand on the armrest as he waited to see if Orpheus would answer. The guy was the most techno-savvy person—mortal or god—Nick had ever met. He gobbled up human technology like a child in a candy store and morphed it with what his race was doing, which was the only reason Nick could chat with him like this. If there was a chance Orpheus thought their conversation was compromised, he wouldn’t risk answering.