Warrior Enchanted: The Sons of the Zodiac

by Addison Fox

  Instead, he walked forward and placed a finger under her chin, forcing her gaze up to his. “I just can’t agree with you.”

  Eris ran a hand over the smooth silk of her shirt, the material soft under her hand. Although she never wore her clothes for long when they were together, it didn’t stop her from spending far too much time worrying over what she’d wear for her assignations with Rogan.

  Gods, she loved Las Vegas and their time there. Humans called it Sin City and the moniker fit.

  But to her, it had become so much more. She and Rogan met there with increasing frequency, this strange thing between them growing with the intensity of a wildfire. Like a dream she could escape to. When she was there, staring out over the lights, her body humming from their lovemaking, she wasn’t a goddess.

  She didn’t have a reputation to live up to.

  She was simply Eris.

  The sensation had grown increasingly heady as the months had passed and their liaisons had become more frequent. Of course, none of it—no matter how enticing—could stop her from her course of action.

  Which seriously sucked.

  But there was no help for it. She’d been the goddess of discord far longer than Rogan Black had been her boy toy. She had a job to do and she did it well.

  If the thought of him as an object made her wince, well then, she was growing far softer than she’d have ever believed.

  To prove to herself she could resist him—could still be the person she was born to be—she turned away from the mirror and focused on her current problem. While she had no intention of talking to Rogan about the little report she got back from the docks, she still had a problem and it sat squarely with one of his brothers.

  She needed to get that apple back.

  When she’d spoken to Gavelli earlier, he mentioned sending her some video footage to view. Although she had no doubt the security video from the site would be corrupted—or simply nonexistent—apparently Gavelli knew how to protect his own.

  That included securing his own footage when he went to meetings.

  Reaching for her phone, she pulled up her e-mail program and, just as promised, there was attached video with a very clear image of just who had invaded their little meet and greet with the Lavanos. As the short clip played out, she watched the Warriors port into the room, two large bodies filling the screen and quickly surrounding the lawyer.

  Grey. The Aries. She’d suspected when she saw the finely cut suit, but confirmed it the moment the camera captured his features. He poofed out of view and the camera swung around to the large Warrior stalking Gavelli. His face was turned away from the camera, but Eris paused it and expanded the frame.

  Damn it, but were they all chiseled out of marble?

  Living on Mount Olympus, she’d always had ready access to fine, fit, healthy male bodies, but these guys took the cake.

  They were perfect.

  The paused image had the man in question in profile, the side of his face, neck and shoulder visible in the frame. His jaw was straight and firm and his neck was thick with muscle. Her gaze followed the form on the screen.

  Damn, but she had a weakness for broad shoulders.

  Hitting PLAY again, she waited to see if she’d catch a more full-on view. Although she didn’t know all of Themis’s boys by name, she had a good sense of who they all were and how they fit in.

  His face stayed in profile, but she didn’t miss his hand reaching for Gavelli’s lapel. One of the goons got a shot off on him, but it didn’t matter. A moment later, he was gone.

  So he was hurt. Even if it wasn’t a kill shot to the head, he had to be feeling relatively shitty right now.

  Which means he’d go back to Warrior Central to nurse his wounds.

  She glanced at the clock. An image of Rogan flitted across her conscious once more, but she ignored it. With a quick scroll through her phone book, she found the name she was looking for and tapped out a quick text.

  As she hit SEND, she again thought of Rogan and the look in his vivid green eyes when he brought her to orgasm. The sheer possessiveness in his gaze never failed to enhance the moment and she always came hard, that instant of connection heightening the experience in a way she simply couldn’t ignore.

  Heat licked at her belly as her nipples hardened into tight points.

  Gods, how was it possible?

  How could she have such inconvenient feelings? Especially considering the orders she’d just dispatched.

  With a quick glance down at the phone in her hand, she tossed it into the top of her open purse.

  She would not think about that right now.

  All that mattered was her and Rogan and what they shared in that room in Vegas.

  That’s all that could matter.

  Chapter Six

  Emerson was surprised to find a rather sizable well of guilt in her stomach the following morning as she laced up her shoes for a run. She’d lain awake for most of the night thinking about her exchange with Drake and the small, petty behavior she’d exhibited. As one minute ticked into the next on her bedside clock, she replayed their conversation on a continuous loop in her head.

  And had to admit as she’d risen bleary-eyed to face the day that she’d been exceptionally bitchy to him, even for her.

  Not for the first time, she allowed herself to imagine what it would be like if she just let go.

  Let him in.

  Let herself love Drake.

  The idea suffused her with warmth and more than a little bit of terror.

  Terror that he’d ultimately go away again.

  Just like her mother.

  Even if she could see her way past that, Emerson mused, the life of a witch wasn’t an easy one. She chose it proudly and freely, but it exacted a price.

  Although she never spoke of it—her grandmother kept her emotions under heavy guard—Emerson knew Hippolyta had some serious heartache in her past. Even Veronica, who refused her gifts of magic for a thousand and one reasons, had often argued through the years that Emerson would never find a successful relationship with a man if he thought she could spell him into oblivion if they had a fight.

  Not that Drake couldn’t put up a damn good fight of his own, her conscience quickly defended him.

  With a final tug as she double knotted her shoelace, Emerson stood and resolved to give herself an hour where she thought about nothing but the pounding of her feet on the pavement and the bright, crisp air of morning. All of this would still be here when she got back.

  Not to mention part two of her argument with Magnus, which would surely greet her on her return.

  Living on the West Side of the city, she normally ran the length of Riverside Park. But the churned-up reminder of what Magnus might have been involved with there before he performed his little four-year disappearing act had her heading for Central Park instead. Although the city’s most well-known park was more crowded this time of day, the anonymity would provide a welcome distraction.

  Emerson stretched as she waited at the crosswalks while she headed east across West End, then Broadway, then Amsterdam. She’d nearly crossed Columbus—could see the edge of the park—when the sound of her name broke through her thoughts.

  Along with that spear of guilt she’d resolved to ignore for an hour.

  “Drake? What are you doing here?” The light turned and she continued moving toward the park, adding another item to her list of bitchy behavior.

  If her heart gave a small lurch at the sight of him in a gray T-shirt and navy blue workout shorts, well, that was only further proof she had no objectivity over her hormones when it came to Drake.

  She tossed a sideways glance at his narrow waist and powerful legs as he easily kept pace with her crossing the street, and another spear of attraction arrowed through her.

  Damn.

  No control whatsoever.

  “I saw you leave and thought I’d join you.”

  “Spying on me?”

  “Looking out for you. And before yo
u get too suspicious”—he held up a hand—“Callie heard me up and moving around and sent me out for bagels. I saw you as I got back and decided to join you. I will, however, admit to watching your house whenever I pass to make sure things look as they should.”

  Another brick around her heart crumbled to dust. Even his excuses were logical. And sort of sweet. Unwilling to show she was flustered, she put on her best Ellie Mae voice and batted her eyelashes. “That’s right neighborly of you.”

  “We’ve always watched out for your grandmother, and her mother before her and her mother before that. Consider it the side benefit of living next door to a horde of ass kickers.” Drake bumped her hip with his as they cleared the crosswalk and moved into the park entrance. “My extra interest in your body doesn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”

  She wanted to stay mad and annoyed and irritated. Wanted to rant and rail that she didn’t need looking out for. Or watching over. The knowledge that he did watch over her—that all his Warrior brothers kept an eye out for her and her family—felt sort of…good.

  Emerson stepped off the sidewalk and onto a dirt walkway that led to the jogging path around the reservoir. “You’re looking awfully chipper for someone who got shot last night.”

  “And you’re looking rather unhappy to see me that awfully chipper.” His broad grin and the pure mischief that filled the green of his genie’s eyes didn’t suggest the slightest bit of remorse.

  “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “You up for seeing just how okay I am?”

  “It’s awfully early for innuendo, Ace.”

  A loud bark of laughter greeted her. “I meant a bit of a race around the reservoir, but if you’re up for turning around and heading home I’d be more than happy to oblige you.”

  The heat crept up her cheeks, but she refused to let him see he’d managed to mentally knock her sideways. Again. “You’ve got well over a foot on me. I’d never beat you in a race.”

  “I’ll spot you a few lengths.”

  “You just want to watch my ass.”

  “I won’t deny that.”

  Emerson shook her head but found the banter went a long way toward improving her mood. “Just run next to me and keep me company. You know. Since you’re here and making a nuisance of yourself.”

  “As you wish.”

  They flowed in with the rest of the runners on the dirt path that surrounded the reservoir—the large body of water in the center of the park—and Emerson let the moment simply envelop her. Allowed the rhythm of the morning and the soothing slap of her feet on the ground to keep her focused as she took one step at a time.

  “That was pretty nifty. What you did last night.”

  “Nifty?” Emerson turned to look at Drake without breaking her rhythm. “Are you going to ask me for a soda next?”

  “I meant what you did with the fire. When you sterilized my Xiphos before removing the bullet.”

  “Oh.”

  Yep. There it was. The questions about her talent and her capabilities, just like Veronica said there’d be.

  “After thinking about it, I realized I haven’t seen you do any magic since that first night I met you. When you helped us in London.”

  “I don’t do magic, Ace. It’s a gift and I use it when appropriate.”

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult. More as an observation. A curiosity, really.”

  A runner stumbled in front of them and she focused on paying attention and running around him.

  A curiosity? As in freak show, more likely.

  “So?” he probed.

  Emerson held back the small sigh but knew she couldn’t hide the defensive tone. “So what, Drake?”

  “Your abilities. I know you’re a powerful witch. What you did last year in London to help Kane and Ilsa was proof of it. But what are you truly capable of?”

  “Why? Are you suddenly worried I’ll put a spell on you?”

  “Too late.”

  The mixture of shock and outrage that filled her stomach in short, sharp jabs had her speeding up. The nerve of him!

  “I’ve done no such thing. As if I need to put a spell on a man to sleep with me.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.” He maintained that damn casual, laconic tone that made her want to turn around and beat some sense into him. “Because it feels like you put a spell on me.”

  “Why’s that, Ace?” She couldn’t hide the cocky grin that spread across her lips. “You can’t get enough of me?”

  He held his hands up. “There you go, practically admitting it. You did put a spell on me. Bubbled up a witches’ brew and made me think it was one of those cold bottles of beer I’m so fond of.”

  “Blame your uncontrollable lust wherever you’d like. Last time I checked, we were two consenting adults who enjoyed each other’s company. End of story.”

  The hands he had up near his head shifted so they clutched his heart. “It really is just about the sex? I feel so cheap. So used.”

  She laughed in spite of herself. “You’re in rare form this morning. But if it makes you feel any better, the only thing that bubbles and brews between you and me are a boatload of hormones.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. When done right, there’s an awful lot of magic in that.”

  She nearly stumbled at the truth of his words, but righted her footing as he steadied her with a hand on her elbow. Dragging the smile from her lips, she readjusted the mantle of sarcasm and self-protection that served her so well. “Look, if you’re just here to bait me, maybe I will let you spot me a few yards.”

  “If I’d known you were so easy to bait, I’d’ve joined you for a run a lot sooner than this.”

  She held her tongue, not sure what else to say to him. Their time together was normally so intense—so full of the passion she refused to put a name to—that it was more than a little unnerving to find such enjoyment in sparring with him.

  “Come on. Are you going to answer my question and tell me a bit about your magic?”

  She bit back the sigh, unwilling to mess up the even breathing she worked so hard to maintain on her runs. “What do you want to know?”

  “How do you do it? Where does it come from? Has it grown stronger over your life or can you make it stronger? Build it, like a muscle? I’d like to understand.”

  “Understand so you can protect yourself?”

  “From what?”

  She’d hazarded a look at his face and couldn’t stop the surge of surprise at the lines that furrowed his forehead. “From me.”

  “You wouldn’t hurt me. Or at least you wouldn’t hurt me with your magic.”

  Again, Emerson couldn’t fight the sensation that her world was tilting.

  How did he manage to do that? Trip her up with his softly spoken words that should have sounded needy but didn’t. Instead, they dragged at her in intense layers of need and want and quiet truth because he wasn’t afraid to put to words that he wanted her in his life.

  Why couldn’t he be content to stay an arm’s length away? And why couldn’t she keep her footing with him?

  When he said things like that it was like riding a roller coaster at the carnival. She could see her broader surroundings didn’t change, but her view of them just wouldn’t stay constant.

  Emerson fought to keep her breathing steady as they continued to run. Pushed through the beginnings of the pain as they moved into what had to be their third mile. “Callie was right about you.”

  “I figured out a long time ago that Callie is usually right about everything. But what, specifically, do you think she’s right about?”

  “She said not to be fooled by you. That you only look dreamy on the surface.”

  Amusement sparked in the green and gold of his irises. “And my still waters run deep?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I don’t know about that. I’m a simple guy. I like simple things. A good meal. That cold beer I mentioned.” He shot her a saucy look that nailed her low in the belly. “A hot wom
an.”

  Emerson veered off the dirt path to vary up the run a bit. “If that’s where women rank on your list, no wonder you’re still single.”

  Drake’s stride never broke; he just continued to keep pace beside her as they cleared a stretch of path. A large set of boulders framed the edge of their next turn. “I’ll give you the still waters, but—”

  Emerson didn’t hear the rest of it as his words were replaced by a rush of air that filled her ears. Before she could react, she lost her footing and felt herself fly through the air.

  The lazy calm of their run evaporated as Drake went on high alert, scrambling as fast as his legs would carry him.

  One minute Emerson was standing next to him, the very next her body was flying through the air to land on the other side of the boulders they’d nearly cleared.

  What the hell was this?

  Although the urge to port was strong, if Emerson was on the other side of the rocks, he could do more damage if he landed on her. Racing to the edge of the rock formation, he kept his body shielded as he looked down the jagged length.

  And felt his heart stop as his gaze took in her still form where she lay sprawled on the ground, a man standing over her. Drake would have known it was a Destroyer without seeing the soulless gaze that greeted him, but the static electricity that snapped and snarled off his form confirmed it.

  Destroyers always traveled in pairs, and under normal circumstances he’d bide his time to get the lay of the land. But there was no way he was leaving Emerson there. Without another thought, Drake pushed his body into a port, re-forming next to her and leaping on the Destroyer the moment his feet hit the ground.

  Momentum and sheer, white-hot anger gave him the advantage as Drake slammed the asshole’s head into the rocks. Streams of static electricity flowed through his hands and up his arms, but Drake wouldn’t release his grip.

  Wouldn’t let go as he slammed the Destroyer’s head a second time.

  The head was the key, Drake knew, and the force of his blows had the body in his hands going limp, the electric charge cutting off abruptly. The kill was quick and had the husk of the Destroyer’s body disintegrating as its life force drained away.