by Addison Fox
Drake tossed the body aside and sank to his knees to gather Emerson into his arms. As he reached for her, the air grew heavy beside him.
Well, fuck it all. There went his plans to port them both out of the park.
Turning so that he had Emerson behind him but protected with the rocks at her back, Drake faced his attackers. And was surprised when the object of his attention danced like a mad toddler before him.
“Deimos?”
A small pout touched scaly lips as Enyo’s nephew let out a low growl. “It’s Phobos, asshole.”
Drake desperately wanted to shift away from the threat, but the same barrier of protection the rocks created kept him and Emerson firmly in the sphere of Phobos’s life force.
Which meant Drake would risk possibly pulling the demonic god into the port right along with them if he attempted it.
They were trapped.
Forcing bored calm into his words, Drake reached for Emerson’s thigh, reassured by the feel of her as he stared up at that visage that was perpetually tinged with madness. “You and your brother are both interchangeable as far as I’m concerned. Speaking of the vile little fucker, where is he?”
Irritation bloomed in concert with the insanity, but the taunts did nothing to make Phobos lose focus. The only sign of anger was his increasingly agitated hopping from foot to foot. “We’re hardly interchangeable.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Drake tightened his grip on Emerson’s leg in hopes he could bring her to consciousness, but she still didn’t stir. He wasn’t sure what would have placed attention on her—especially not the attention of one the demon twins—but he was going to find out.
Although not technically demons in the most descriptive sense, the gods of dread and fear were the closest thing they had to actual demons on Mount Olympus. Add in their fierce devotion to their aunt Enyo, and Drake and his brothers had met up with them on more than a few occasions.
“What do you want? Or should I say, what does Enyo want?”
Phobos emitted a sharp giggle. “Aunt Enyo’s not the one who sent me.”
“Who did, then?”
“Unh-unh-unh.” Phobos waved a finger. “Like I’d give you those details.”
“If you won’t tell me who sent you, tell me what you want.”
The worthless piece of shit’s eyes shifted determinedly toward the ground. “She’s awfully pretty.”
Drake shifted to shield her from that lascivious gaze as he kicked out a foot at Phobos to get his attention. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“You’ve got something that doesn’t belong to you.”
The apple?
What would Phobos know of it?
“What are you talking about?”
“Playing dumb isn’t going to help you, Pisces.” The air crackled again as three Destroyers moved up to form a half ring around Phobos.
Drake tried one more squeeze on Emerson’s leg, angry at himself as he knew he’d cause a bruise but desperate to wake her. “It’s not playing dumb if I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Phobos took another step forward, his thugs closing ranks behind him. “Oh, but I think you do. Where’s the apple?”
The air crackled with static electricity as Drake felt the slightest movement behind him.
Was Emerson conscious again?
Her leg quivered under his hand in the slightest movement, and he unclenched his grip just as the Destroyer on Phobos’s left reached forward and emitted a stream of voltage strong enough to reanimate the dead.
Drake fully released Emerson’s leg as he took the hit, unwilling to allow her battered body even a bit of exposure to the current. Clenching his teeth, he fought through the pain, using his own life force to fight it back.
And then the world around them exploded as fire crackled from behind him, traveling like a live wire back toward the Destroyer’s extended hand.
“What the fuck?” Shouts erupted in front of him as the Destroyer who’d been supplying the power reached for his head—which had suddenly erupted in flames—and fell to his knees.
The other two Destroyers fell back in self-preservation, and it was their retreat that gave Drake the break he needed.
“You want to get us the hell out of here?” Emerson hollered at his back.
“Hang on.”
Reaching for her hand, he mentally counted off Phobos’s steps as the god shifted back to holler at his minions. Three…two…
Now!
The world around them evaporated as he and Emerson were spun into the ether.
Finley rubbed at her forehead in time with the screaming chorus of jackhammers that had taken up residence there.
What had she been thinking?
Cracking an eye open, she saw the empty bottle of Screaming Eagle on Grey’s glass coffee table and remembered exactly what she’d been thinking.
The gun and the warehouse. Grey’s sudden arrival and their equally sudden departure. His lips and that kiss.
Even an entire bottle of one of the world’s finest wines couldn’t erase the rich taste of him or the sweet memory of what it felt like to kiss him.
She’d let her guard down. Guzzling down bourbon followed by wine on an empty stomach and a bloodstream full of adrenaline hadn’t helped the matter.
God, but the man was infuriating, keeping her here and acting like he knew better. The thinly veiled implication that she was his prisoner, despite the plush surroundings and fancy liquor. She’d bet every last ounce of instinct she possessed that he wasn’t a bad man, but it didn’t change the facts.
She was stuck here.
Ignoring the confusing thoughts of a man who was far too compelling a mystery, she shifted gears.
Had she really been set up?
Despite Grey’s insistence she focus there, nothing about it made any sense. Her boss had nothing to gain by feeding her to the wolves, and Melanie had a large case to prosecute that would benefit from whatever could have been learned in the warehouse.
It just didn’t add up.
Frustrated at the lack of movement, she struggled to sit up, the shift not nearly as difficult as she’d expected it to be. And was immediately forced to rethink her cocky self-assurance as the room began spinning.
“You okay?”
She squinted at the cheery voice that greeted her from the office doorway as the subject of her thoughts materialized. “Unless you have some magical hangover remedy behind your back, you can go right back out the way you came.”
“I actually do have something for you.” Grey moved into the room, a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin in his hands. “It’ll hold you until we get some food in you.”
Her stomach growled at the thought of food—something that was greasy and came out a window, preferably—but even the insistent roll of hunger couldn’t blunt just how good he looked this morning or the fact that her hormones had sat up and taken notice the moment he stepped into the room.
His long legs and trim waist were covered in black slacks—did the man wear anything else? A gray silk shirt hung on his broad frame, the tails untucked. The look was far more unkempt than he usually wore, but she found the contrast enticing.
She also found the slightest bit of evidence that perhaps he wasn’t completely perfect each and every minute of the day oddly endearing. Their fingers brushed as she took the water and aspirin and a bolt of awareness shot through her.
Damn, but she didn’t need this.
Attraction wasn’t often convenient, she knew, but it didn’t usually produce such raw dread in the pit of her stomach.
She liked men. Had enjoyed their company since she’d been allowed to date in the eighth grade. And truth be told, she’d had a man on her arm in the ensuing twenty years pretty much nonstop.
None of them had ever filled her with such supreme confusion.
Or such raw attraction that she had moments where she wondered if she could even stand on her own two legs.
After sw
allowing the aspirin and downing the glass of water, she looked up at him. “You want to tell me what happened last night?”
“We discussed it last night.”
“No, you neatly avoided my questions last night. I won’t be so easily distracted again.”
“You sure about that?” Grey took a spot next to her on the couch, the warmth of his body a swift reminder she wasn’t immune to him and that she’d need to stay on her guard.
Unwilling to be baited, she shifted and put a few inches between them. “Yes, I’m sure. Now. How about some of those answers you’ve no doubt got hidden up your sleeve?”
“I do have answers, but I can’t give them to you. I just have to ask that you keep what happened last night to yourself.”
“What if I decide I can’t do that?”
He shifted again but didn’t touch her. Instead, his gray eyes bored into hers, his gaze absolutely unwavering. “You have to.”
“Grey, I’ve spent my professional career committed to the truth. I can’t sidestep that just because some thugs put my life in danger last night.”
“It goes way beyond that and you know it.”
“Then help me understand.”
“I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it matter?” Steel threaded the notes of his deep voice, punctuated with a distinct undertone of stubborn tenacity.
“I won’t stop until I get the answers I’m looking for.”
“Finley, you want answers that fit neatly into the world you live in.”
“And this…situation?” She searched for the right word until she could find a diplomatic solution.
“Does not fit into the world you live in.”
“That’s why you did that fancy jump through space and time?”
When he remained silent, she added, “Are you trying to tell me you’re not really human?”
Her stomach did a slight pitch and roll as she said the words, suddenly afraid of the answer.
What if he wasn’t human?
“Hell no.”
She held back a smile at his affront, but wouldn’t let up with the questions. “Then help me understand. You can trust me.”
“You sure about that?”
“Of course.”
“You can honestly tell me what we discuss isn’t going to find its way back to your boss? Or into one of your files?”
The hangover was fading away to be replaced by increasing frustration and not a little bit of anger at his unwillingness to listen to her. “I don’t lie, Grey. I won’t make you false promises, but I can understand the line between information that can help and information that can get someone killed. You can trust me to separate the two.”
“Gods help me if you can’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Grey extended his hand, palm up. “Take my hand.”
Finley extended hers in return, the sharp jolt as their fingers entwined shooting through her stomach in a sparkle of fireworks.
“Hang on.”
Before she could reply, the room disappeared from view on a rush of air.
Chapter Seven
Drake took another bite of syrup-covered waffles—not so much because he wanted it, but because he knew his strength depended on it—as he stared across the kitchen table. His gaze hadn’t left Emerson’s for more than fifteen seconds at a stretch, while Callie fluttered and forced food on both of them.
“I’m fine, Drake. You don’t have to keep watching me like I’m going to disappear,” Emerson grumbled as she picked at half of a bagel.
“Bad choice of words, seeing as how you did disappear from my sight an hour ago.”
“She’s not going to disappear in this house,” Callie said, swatting him on the back of the head before laying down a freshly filled platter heaped with more waffles and several pieces of French toast. The fresh platter dwarfed the heaping pile of bagels he’d brought home earlier, which sat at the opposite end of the table. “Let the woman eat.”
Even as he made a show of rubbing the back of his head, Drake didn’t miss the small smile of gratitude Emerson shot Callie. “I’m fine, Drake.”
He reached out and brushed a finger over her left cheekbone, the bruise that swelled under his touch sending a renewed rush of anger hurtling through his system. “He laid a hand on you.”
“I was there, Drake.” Emerson ripped another piece, color rising in her cheeks. “I’m not helpless and I’m fine now. Can we just drop it?”
Quinn’s heavy voice boomed outside the swinging door, announcing his arrival. “What the hell happened?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Drake grumbled before reaching for another waffle.
“Well, who was the target?” Quinn pressed as he reached for his own plate. “You or Emerson?”
“It was me.” Emerson’s gaze grew thoughtful. “Or at least I thought it was me. But maybe you’re right. He did ask Drake about the apple.”
“Is Grey back?” Drake reached for more bacon. Despite his lack of hunger, Callie had figured out—as usual—the perfect food to keep them fueled. “Have you even heard from him?”
“Other than a text that he’s fine, I’ve got nothing.”
“Convenient,” Drake added drily.
“Or very inconvenient. I don’t think he’s shaken the lawyer loose yet.”
Drake didn’t miss the avid interest that filled both Callie’s and Emerson’s faces as each leaned forward eagerly.
“What lawyer?” Emerson was the first to get the question out.
“The op last night was a mess from the get-go and Grey’s source of information was captured.”
“He’s probably been busy wiping her mind,” Quinn added around a mouthful.
“Doubtful.” Drake shook his head. He quickly got the rest of them up to speed on their Aries’s challenges with his informant.
Quinn’s gaze sharpened, his security skills veering onto high alert. “You think she’s still aware of what’s going on?”
A heavy thud reverberated around the room as Grey materialized before them with a slender woman in his arms.
Drake didn’t miss Emerson’s raised eyebrows, but it was Callie who spoke first.
“I’d say that’s a big messy yes.”
Magnus slipped into the warehouse, the dim lighting no match for his recently heightened senses. Everything was different now, he thought as he ran a hand over his shoulder blade, even his fucking eyes.
The layout matched his intel, so he allowed himself a moment to relax as he waited for his target. A few oddly arranged folding chairs sat in the middle of the room and he took one, stretching out his long legs.
He hadn’t intended to become an assassin, but oddly, the job suited him. He enjoyed the way his large body easily provoked fear in his targets. Add to that the unexpected side benefits and he couldn’t complain.
What he hadn’t banked on was the way the kills fueled the fever inside of him. All that horrible anger that gripped his nerve endings and wouldn’t let go no matter how hard he tried to leave it behind.
Memories—still so vivid in his mind’s eye—rose up, their cadence familiar, their moments bitter.
His mother’s voice, full of promises for a better life.
The realization as all her carefully laid plans came crashing down around her.
And the moment—that hideous moment—when she’d vanished through the portal, her form and her soul lost to the other side.
Even now, all these years later, he couldn’t escape the anger and the hatred that boiled in the very darkest parts of his soul.
As he gave the anger free rein, allowing it to roil and churn through his system while he prepared for the kill, his mind drifted past those last images of his mother to more recent images.
Emerson.
His little sister had always been independent—always convinced of her choices—but she’d changed with them in the time he’d been gone. Had grown ha
rder, somehow. Her absolute defense of her pure magic practices, for one thing. He knew how she felt about the darker side of magic, but the loathing he’d seen reflected in her gaze when he’d dared her to think bigger had been a surprise.
Didn’t she ever wish to toy with the dark side?
And then there was her relationship with their neighbor. The big man next door made him itchy, his laconic gaze and easygoing smile too easy. Too casual. Magnus didn’t trust him and he most certainly didn’t trust the man’s influence on his sister.
A heavy scraping at the sound of the door being unlocked caught his attention and Magnus sat up fully in his chair. Thoughts of things he couldn’t control fled in the face of the one thing he could. A light flared in the small entryway at the far side of the room, but he stayed where he was, unwilling to leave his seat.
He didn’t need to in order to accomplish his task.
Another light flared, this time over his head, and two men crossed the room deep conversation, both ignorant to his presence. With deliberate slowness, Magnus pushed back on his chair, allowing the metal to echo gently on the floor.
The two men scrambled in alarm, drawing guns from their waistbands, but he was on both of them before they could get off a shot.
Emerson took another bite of her breakfast, curious at the drama playing out around her. She’d diligently avoided becoming too enmeshed in the politics of Warrior Central, but even she wasn’t immune to the big shit-storm that had just arrived in the kitchen.
There was no doubt the woman attached to Grey was a mortal.
While Emerson knew she fit in the same category, her skills had always made her far more receptive to the unexplainable things in life most people didn’t understand.
And didn’t want to.
She’d spent most of her life keeping her skills a secret from everyone she met. While she intuitively understood most people weren’t broadminded enough to accept someone who could conjure elements, it had always hurt to hide such an important part of herself from the world.
Add to it the fact that witchcraft had a relatively shitty history in the timeline of human events and she’d always found it far easier to close herself off.
